There's Your Karma, Ripe As Peaches

Am I Crazy or Is That a Ghost?

I like to think I can handle most scary things - psychos, serial killers, really aggressive dogs. But the one thing that scares the living hell out of me is the paranormal. The slightest hint of it and I'm running for the hills. And it's not just movies like The Shining and The Ring. It's campy and ridiculous things like Large Marge from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure and Ghostbusters, which I haven't watched since the opening scene turned me into a neurotic, six year old mess back in 1988. It's a sad state of affairs. I couldn't even handle the trailers for Paranormal Activity. For weeks, I kept my eyes closed whenever I woke up in the middle of the night just to be sure I didn't catch some specter standing over my bed.

So given my extreme fear of ghosts, I'm going to take an extreme leap in logic and assert that if anyone can identify them, it's me. And I'm pretty sure that's exactly what I'm seeing in the cockpit (left window) of this plane crash that happened outside of Cleveland yesterday.

Why Can't Men Cheat with Hot Girls?

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

The Foolish Hubris Files: Eric Mangini & Me

As I'm sure you've ascertained, I was appropriately pwned for betting on Radiohead in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile on Saturday. I know it was dumb but I couldn't fight the compulsion. Sadness abounds. In any case, Radiohead never contended for the win and finished a middling 7th in the 13 horse field. On the bright side, this not so mighty emo steed surely hasn't the skills to qualify for a Triple Crown race, so I don't have to worry about foolishly screwing myself out of money in a few month's time.

---

In other news, Eric Mangini, head "coach" of the Cleveland Browns took stupidity and hubris to a new level today when he refused to announce whether Derek Anderson or Brady Quinn will be the one whose life comes to a sad, unfulfilled end at the hands of Ray Lewis next Monday night. According to reports, Mangini knows who he's going to choose but plans to make his QBs and, laughably, the Baltimore Ravens defense, sweat it out a little.

Ray Lewis should slap this bitch around just for having the nerve.

When you're the conductor of the biggest on-field trainwreck in the NFL, you have no right to be secretive or clever or coy. In fact, as a dead man walking, you have no rights. The only things on your mind should be:

• Finding ways to improve the team
  
• Making the final three months as painless as possible
  
• Showing NFL owners that you're a competent head coach in a bad situation

Mangini has struck out looking on all of the the above, but even worse is that he's arrogant (or delusional?) enough to think the Ravens will buy into his bullshit. What, like they'll develop two game plans? The Browns could start G-d and still lose by 30. Even G-d would tell ya that. What He'd also tell you and what the Ravens already know is that Brady Quinn will be under center on Monday night. Not because this QB selection process was like choosing between agony and despair and despair tasted a little better, but because throwing Quinn back in the mix at week 9 allows the Browns to boost his trade value without triggering $10.5M in performance incentives in his contract.

If I can figure that out, so can the rest of the league, Eric. It's not rocket science. I just wish I could go back in time and un-do that Radiohead bet, so I could throw 5 grand down on the Frowns to be torn limb from limb, set aflame in a funeral pyre and then sent out to sea.

I would have been the winner on that one. 

Gambling, Radiohead and Trusting the Signs

My gambling problems started at 13 years old. I was selected for a gymnastics team competing in an invitational in Spain; one of those trips where parents don't come - just coaches. As the youngest person on the squad by about four years, I was stupid enough to do anything my teammates suggested. So when they started playing a card game called Between the Sheets (explanation), I dove in.

At first, it was just a pound here and there, but then I got on a roll and landed what had to be the Holy Grail of the game - a high ace and a low ace. "Bet the pot, kid! Bet the pot!" Back then, I was an albino outcast with mad athletic ability but no social skills. You have no idea how good it felt to be palling around with 17 and 18 year olds who were living and dying with your every move. So I did exactly what they told me to do, and, perhaps justly, went down in flames when another ace landed in-between.

As devastating as it was to lose, I'd never felt such a rush. From then on, when I wasn't competing, I was gambling. The last of my £100 pounds spending money was lost to a 17 year old boy on the plane back home. We bet on the flight attendant's hair color. Turns out she wasn't a natural blonde after all.

These days, I'm backed by a self-replenishing gambling fund that keeps me from turning into Antoine Walker. Though I still betting on everything from horse races to sporting events to whether I can beat you in a footrace (you don't want to take that bet), I like to think that I go about things with more smarts. But every once in a while, gambling nirvana sends down signs that force me to remove any amount of good sense from the equation. Case in point:

Radiohead to get crack at Breeders' Cup

Radiohead, the impressive winner of the Norfolk Stakes at Royal Ascot during the summer, has been sold to the New York-based owners of 2008 Kentucky Derby hero Big Brown for a crack at next month's Breeders' Cup Juvenile.

IEAH Stables have purchased a controlling interest in Radiohead for an undisclosed fee, with current connections Carmen Burrell and Jonathan Harvey retaining a 10 per cent stake.

Radiohead will remain in trainer Brian Meehan's care until Santa Anita but the colt's future beyond then has still to be determined.

The deal represents a calculated gamble on behalf of IEAH, as Radiohead has yet to race beyond 1200 metres or on an artificial surface.

In addition to doubts about his stamina to see out the 1600-metre trip of the Juvenile, his new owners will also need to fork out the bulk of an entry fee because Radiohead was not Breeders' Cup registered as a foal.

However, on the upside, his sire, Johannesburg, successfully bridged the distance gap from the Norfolk to the Juvenile during his unbeaten two-year-old campaign in 2001.

"IEAH have been keeping a close eye on Radiohead ever since Ascot, specifically with the Breeders' Cup in mind," said Bloodstock agent Andy Smith, who helped broker the sale.

"He reminds me of Wilko, the horse Jeremy Noseda won the Juvenile with five years ago - a feisty, well-built sort who should do well out in America."

First, WTF on the Wilko bit? How random. Second, long time readers of this site know about my Radiohead fanaticism. The band captured my heart a good year before gambling did, so even though this mighty steed "has yet to race beyond 1200 metres or on an artificial surface," this whole thing just seems like destiny.

The Breeder's Cup Juvenile race is today at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. Since I can't beam myself to California from London, I'll do the next best thing -- get liquored up and hit Ladbrokes. Right now, Radiohead is a 20/1 but I've never been more sure of a bet in my life.

(Picture courtesy of Pitchfork)

Irony Awards: Ron Artest Raps for Abused Women

When the Taliban was temporarily stifled in 2001, a more egalitarian notion of women's rights took hold in Afghanistan. Women could walk around without burqas; they could vote; they could even escape abusive marriages by seeking refuge in women's shelters. But having rights didn't protect them from abuse. According to non-governmental agencies, nearly 90% of Afghan women have experienced domestic abuse. Since Afghanistan is a patriarchal society trapped in the stone age, these stats are really no surprise. 

What is surprising, however, is that Ron Artest has come to their defense. Yes, that Ron Artest. The mercurial basketball player with the emotional stability of a bag of rats in a burning meth lab. Over the last few years, he's become known for strong defense and:

• ripping a phone out of press row
  
• smashing a $100,000 camera in a fit of rage
• drawing 8 suspensions between 2002 - 2004.
• starting a near riot in the Palace at Auburn Hills
• neglecting his animals
• abusing and confining his wife
• running up on Kobe Bryant in Lakers' locker room shower
  
• being generally violent and insane

Warning: Video contains uncomfortable and graphic images.

Too many of our athletes and celebrities sit idly on the sidelines even though they have platforms to affect change, so Artest deserves a lot of credit for what he's trying to do here. The problem, however, is his execution is a hot ass mess loaded to the gills with irony and awkward moments.

• Problem 1 - rapping about the horrors of domestic abuse while wearing a wife beater
• Problem 2 - rapping about the horrors of domestic abuse when he is, in fact, a convicted domestic abuser
• Problem 3 - using horribly misdirected lyrics, which give the impression that he wants to salve the wounds of abuse with his penis. NOT GOOD.
  
• "I wish I was there so you could feel me/run my fingers through your hair through your hair/caress your face to show you that I care"
• "Cupid open up the door. And if you do so, she will want more. If you want it, you know she got it stocked in store."
  
• Problem 4 - juxtaposing disturbing images of abused women with shots of him rapping serenely in a park
• Problem 5 - rapping with a flow that is as brutal as the subject matter
  

Were You Trying to Seduce Me, Mr. Pettitte?

1. Last night, Andy Pettitte worked the strike zone like an attentive lover. I wish I could trade places with it. I'd tell him myself but he's yet to respond to the last letter I sent with locks of my hair in it.
   
   
2. If Robinson Cano was a genre of music, he'd be jazz -- one of those smooth Charlie Parker joints with cool, easy getout phrases and soft, sweet, fairytale solos. Though Cano's defensive play ranges in quality, the way he turns double plays is absolutely sublime.
   
   
3. Vladimir Guerrero is dumber than hair
1. In related news, the bulk of the Angels roster is shockingly dumb as well. The words fundamentals and smart should never be used in the same sentence as "Angels" ever again.
   
1. I mean, wow.
   
   
4. The Yankees were .187 (how appropriate) with RISP in the ALDS, but unlike the Angels, the Phillies are aware that they play in the major leagues. This means they won't play like asshats in the World Series. it also means they will pound us into submission if we dare leave 52 men on base. You hear that, Posada, Swisher and Teixeira?
   
   
5. After watching the New York Jets violate Jamarcus Russell and the Oakland Raiders, I've come to the conclusion that the Silver & Black should change their logo to the Gordian Knot. It is the only image that can truly define this sad organisation.
   
   
6. In related news, I got a call from my 9 year old nephew, Alejandro, who was distraught about the Raiders' spectacular ineptitude.
   A: Aunt (Flash), I'm confused.
   F: And I'm here to help.
   A: Well, we are Warners.
   F: Sure are.
   A: And Papa says that makes us winners. (We have a lot of family pride. If we were chavs, at least one of us would have our surname tattooed in Old English across his or her shoulders)
   F: Don't ever forget it, hombrito. Papa speaks the truth.
   A: Then why are we cheering for the Raiders? They are not winners.
   -- I had no answers for him. Sadness abounds.
   
   
7. When will the Indianapolis Colts and the New England Patriots stop running up scores like they're in the SEC? You don't need style points to impress BCS voters, assholes. You're going to the playoffs, not the Sugar Bowl.
   
   
8. ESPN fired Steve Phillips, the former Mets GM who had an affair with a 22 year old production assistant. If ESPN cared as much about the quality and competency of their on-air talent as they do about scandal being brought upon them, they wouldn't be doing to sports what MTV has already done to music.
   
   
9. Like all public figures who get into trouble, Phillips has decided to enter "a treatment facility to address his personal issues." I assume this means sex addiction rehab, but the reality is that Steve Phillips doesn't have a sex addiction problem. He has a Settling for Ugly Bitches problem. If you're going to cat around and ruin your career, do it with a woman who is worth a damn. Not some hideously fugly broad who looks like Snoopy and spreads like peanut butter because she's insecure. I wish I had more hands to give this man more thumbs down.
   
   
10. The man in my life is a very fit fellow of Middle Eastern descent. As a result, people keep suggesting that we attend Halloween fancy dress parties this weekend as Aladdin and Princess Jasmine. I don't know whether to be offended or amused.

CNN Continues to Aid in Our Decline (& No One Cares)

I swung by CNN today because someone told me about an article on Sarah Palin uploading her resume to LinkedIn. I assumed it was created by her enemies because really? Once you become the most polarizing Vice Presidential candidate in the history of your country, there's no reason to post your CV on the internet. What, like she's gonna apply for a job? Will she provide references upon request? Pfft.

In any case, the sidebar of the post features a Twitter section that shows the most recent tweets from CNN and its personalities. At 2:00 AM BST, here are the top 3:

@KuhnCNN: RT @CNN: A MUST READ: We watch the Sunday shows so you don't have to. John King's Crib Sheet for October 18. http://bit.ly/2KNOGC
Updated: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:53:40 -0700

@cnnsotu: We watch the Sunday shows so you don't have to. Read @JohnKingCNN's Crib Sheet here: http://bit.ly/2KNOGC
Updated: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:52:00 -0700

@CNNPolitics: A MUST READ: We watch the Sunday shows so you don't have to. John King's Crib Sheet for October 18. http://bit.ly/2KNOGC
Updated: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:23:37 -0700

A must read crib sheet that covers "the Sunday shows so you don't have to." What CNN and most of America fail to appreciate is that they not only should have to but they also need to. You can't grasp the depth and breadth of what's happening in DC and the international arena by reading John King's two paragraphs on "the clear message from the White House" and bulleted quotes in the "Highlights of the Sound of Sunday" and "A Few Parting Notes and Sounds" sections. You'll have an idea but you'll never understand.

"But I don't have time!"

Sure you do. We spend all day wrapped up in sports and entertainment news - reading articles, watching press conferences and interviews, taking polls, checking injury reports. We waste hours on message boards complaining that Charlie Weis can't coach his way out of a paper bag (a fact that is not up for debate) and even more checking in on those douchebags on TLC with 8 kids. But we can't find time to catch programs like Meet the Press or Face the Nation, which provide information straight from the nation's leaders, while doing their best to peel away the spin and prefabricated bull.

Now, these shows don't always accomplish the latter. In fact, they sometimes become podiums for the guest's agenda, but at least viewers can develop informed opinions based on what they've actually heard instead of ignorant ones based on prepackaged soundbites delivered out of context. But I guess doing that would require actual effort and participation - a tall order for people who often seek to get by doing as little as possible.

"I want to lose weight but I don't want to eat right or exercise." "I want to be a better athlete but I don't want to train." "I want to get rich but I don't want to save." "I want to keep up with world affairs but I'd rather watch Berman, TJ and Keyshawn jaw on NFL Countdown."

The United States has become a CliffsNotes nation that thrives on the half-ass shortcut. People don't form opinions until someone does the legwork for them. What's astonishing is that they then have the nerve to react and get all up in arms as if they have half a clue.

I started out this post planning to rail on CNN for exacerbating this problem for profit, but we're the ones at fault because no one cares enough to do anything about it. But who knows, maybe CNN can create a slick method for caring on our behalf.

A MUST READ. We care so you don't have to. 

Cheeky Cognitive Dissonance, FTW!

G-d bless the internets; I just found one helluva deal!

Whether you're an Obama supporter who dabbles in white sheets and/or good old fashioned Southern pride, or an ironic, attention-seeking, hipster doofus who hopes to upset those around you, this 3' x 5' vinyl beauty can be yours (wrinkles included) for just $12.95 (USD). Talk about a bargain! I mean, you're getting a handsome set of Stars & Bars, AND an undeserving Nobel Peace Prize winner who didn't have the minerals to decline even though he's fighting two wars, is about to bomb the moon and excels in little more than oratory seduction and good intentions.

50% off the retail price is so cheap it's almost offensive.

Now, I don't know where you display this or even how you  talk about it to others without putting yourself in danger. But I have a feeling that the only time and place you could get away with it would be in SEC country during Rivalry Week. When your neighbors question you, and they will, just shrug your shoulders and say, "Hey, we're just a house divided." They'll understand. It's the South - a land where seemingly illogical and nonsensical juxtapositions require little to no explanation because people have grown accustomed to having neighbors like this:

Gruden (v): To Perform Shameless Verbal Fellatio on NFL Player

You know, a lot of people have been talking mess about Jon Gruden for adding absolutely nothing but energetic inanities to the weekly Monday Night Football broadcasts.

Now maybe some people don't like him because he reminds them of that evil high school boy who they secretly hoped would get the emotional shit kicked out of him by life after graduation. Or maybe its because he spews rubbish like this:

• "When the Dolphins run the 'Wildcat,' they want positive yardage. They don't want negative plays"
• "Great players have to step up and make big plays in big games"
• "Jake Delhomme leads the league in grit"
• "Mike McCarthy is one of the best challenge coachers in the league"
  
• "This guy will blast you and like it"
• "We used to call this the VICTORY play"
  

All are completely valid reasons to hate on the man (guess which one is mine), but I think it's time we stop criticizing and give this championship coach the credit he's due. You see, Jon Gruden just successfully called a 3.5 hour football game with Brett Favre's cock lodged balls deep in his throat.

What, like you could do the same? Please.

But you know what? I bet tonight was a pretty cool experience for the old chap. Even though it goes without saying that Gruden always had a mouth like a Hoover, I bet he never imagined he'd reach the highest heights as the Champ Kind to Brett Favre's Ron Burgundy when he was the Packers receiving coach in 1992 (did you know he had that job?). So let's give a hip, hooray and huzzah to Jon Gruden. It's time we tip our hats to him for a job well done.

UNSEXY UPDATE:

After giving Gruden the Maypole dance of a lifetime, Favre got the rest of ESPN drunk, made sweet love to them under the Minnesota stars and then cooked pancakes and sausages for them this morning.

What really scares me now is the possibility that the Vikings could somehow end up in the Super Bowl. Normally, I'd take solace in the fact that after week 12, Favre starts shitting the bed, but now he has Adrian Peterson and the Jared Allen defense. Who's going to stop them? And more importantly, who is going to stop the media from shoving it down our throats? ESPN has monopolized sports broadcasting and the rest of the media takes its cues from the Worldwide Leader's example.

We're in serious trouble. 

Oh No They Didn't!

Today, the IOC did the unthinkable by telling Oprah, Team Obama and the USOC to go eff themselves right out of the gate. Even Tokyo got to pass "Go" and collect $200, while Chicago and its sad 18 votes had to pack up and go home.

Perhaps members believed they were voting for the country that they DIDN'T want to host the games. Or maybe it's all a conspiracy to get the previously discussed O-lympics off the ground and the IOC members are in on it.

In any case, after putting their collective foot in America's ass,  the IOC did something even more insane. They granted the 2016 Summer Olympic Games to a city renowned for being a debauched, delicious cocktail of samba, sun and sex*.

What the hell were they thinking? :-P

*Rio is famous for murders too but murders aren't sexy. Besides, throwing that in there jacked with the alliteration, and I know those subtle touches are why you read this blog.

The Power of O: Chicago Will Score the Olympics

So the Obamas are in Copenhagen trying to convince the IOC to award the 2016 Summer Olympics to Chicago. It's logical to think that Chicago is a lock because what member of the international community can resist Barak Obama's charms? Over here, he's like the Second Coming with a splash of Bono, so the mere thought of being massaged by his seductive baritone should make even the most mercurial characters of the IOC weak in the knees.

But like men who blurt out "I love you" during sex and don't mean it, the IOC will declare their love for Chicago when Obama delivers a moving speech about the spark, energy and verve of that toddlin' town only to reverse course once they come out of that post-Oh haze. By dinner time, Chicago will be back where it started - scrambling against the intoxicating flora and fauna of Rio, the sentimental favorite in Madrid and the awesomeness of their bribes.

See, IOC members base their votes not on the quality of the host location but on the quality of its corruption, and even though no town does corruption like Chicago, Rio and Madrid have been leaning on the IOC since the late 1990s. So even though Chicago will generate more revenue and guarantee more profitable television contracts, the Second City is far from having this in the bag. That's why the delegation brought along its ace in the hole - not Barak Obama or even Michael Jordan, who would just sabotage the effort by talking about how the IOC wronged him, but Oprah Winfrey.

If my twenty-odd years on this earth have taught me anything, it is this: you don't fuck with The O. Should the IOC rule against Chicago, Oprah will direct her self-actualized, co-dependent army to boycott the 2012 London games. They won't attend and they won't watch. Christ, some may not even participate. NBC, Coca-Cola and McDonalds won't have the minerals to fight her stand, and by the time the 2016 Games roll around (assuming O hasn't already bought it and shut it down), it will be banished to the Versus Network, where it will compete for airtime against Slam Ball, IndyCar and the World Combat League. 

In its place will be the O-lympics, a new brand of games put on by Harpo Productions. It'll be just like the old games but Oprah-fied to be bigger, better, faster, more. Mary Carillo will do features on athletes who live their best lives, while Gayle King takes over Bob Costas' chair at the update desk. Baseball and softball will return, and women who don't know what to watch when gymnastics, swimming and track aren't on will be aided by The O List - a ranking of useless, bullshit pursuits like the biathlon, dressage and power walking that she deems worth the watch.

What, you doubt Oprah's ability to pull this off? Anyone who dares go up against her fails with spectacularly disastrous results. Just ask the Texas cattle industry or Hermes or even Chris Brown.

Oprah is a post-modern priestess who controls the hearts and minds of 89% of the world's women between the ages of 18 - 75. Her show is seen in 140 countries, and through that medium, she legislates what they eat, drink, read and wear. In Saudi Arabia, she's revered as some sort of mystical goddess, and if she could wrangle the affections of the non-sensitive male, I'd swear she was the Antichrist.

Her poor choices in literature ensure that even the most undeserving authors can land on the New York Times Bestseller's List. Her recommendation can turn a barely-getting-by niche operation into a multi-million dollar global behemoth. She got a man elected President* and had the power to shut down Michigan Avenue, one of the busiest streets in the world, so the horrifyingly awful Black Eyed Peas could perform in front of a flash mob.

Her mere mention of free gifts causes women to spontaneously combust, screaming and crying and praising Jesus. They find out they're getting a Josh Groban cd and a pair of cashmere mittens and react like they just found out their vaginas are made out of diamonds.

I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Oprah was responsible for Jesus Christ's crucifixion. When Pontius Pilate asked, "Which one do you want me to release to you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?" Oprah whipped up the crowd for Barabbas and fled the scene, cleverly disguised as a Hebrew mother of twelve. 

In short, when Oprah says jump, you don't ask how high. You fucking jump and sweat the details when you come back down. What Americans know and members of the IOC had better understand is that this is Oprah's world. The rest of us are just squirrels trying to get a nut, and if the IOC knows what's best for them, Chicago will be awarded the 2016 Summer Olympic Games.

* Oh so vital edit
Rabid Crazies picture courtesy: The Huffington Post

Warren G: Citigroup's Ass is a Busta!

So the man most likely to take over Warren Buffet's title as Smartest Investor in the Universe is John Paulson, a hedge fund titan who made about $6B shorting mortgage backed securities in 2007 and banks in 2008. Paulson is now betting on financial recovery and has reversed his stance on banks, most notably snapping up a 2% stake in the much-maligned Citigroup.

Now, Citi's shares have more than quadrupled since March, so it stands to reason that Mr. Paulson might be on to something. But it's possible that Warren G, last seen in 1994 regulating bustas with Nate Dogg and laying dames at the eastside motel, knows a little more. 

His newest album, The G Files, drops on Tuesday and features a track called "Swagger Rich." Since I live in the world, I know that swagger is all about attitude; confidence. It's having a certain air about oneself that causes people to turn their heads and marvel. But some grade A cockhat at Vanity Fair was so vexed by the meaning of the title that he rang up Warren for an interview. You see, we're in a recession, and if Warren is talking about swaggering rich, then he "has yet to realize that his bank account is empty or he’s a financial wizard the likes of which hip-hop has never seen before."

From Madoff to AIG, it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody we can trust. In this financial climate, does it make more sense to invest in Citigroup or the Crips?

Oh, hell no! Invest in the Crips? That’s crazy, man!

So you think the Bloods are a better investment?

Neither one of them! You don’t wanna get involved in any of that!

(Ed. note: this interview must be over the phone. Surely, Warren would have slapped this clown by now.)

You’re not seriously suggesting buying Citigroup stock, are you?

None of that shit, man. I think this recession was all caused by these humongous corporations. Those motherfuckers got money. Even with the recession, those motherfuckers got money. But everybody use the recession as an excuse. Everybody in the music industry, they be like, “We can’t pay you. It’s the recession, it’s the recession.” Recession my ass, motherfuckers. People got to get paid for what they’re worth. You know what I’m saying? You making a hundred thousand on a show and you only be giving me some crumbs. That shit gonna run out.

Where is the Wall Street Journal to snap him up for a column? What was that, Peggy Noonan? Warren doesn't have the expertise to speak for the Journal? Step aside, honey. Your shit is played and tired. We're ready for a man who will punch us in the mouth with real knowledge and opinion. See Peggy, Warren is no geek from the street. He's from the G-Funk era, which, as you may or may not recall, was funked out with a gangsta twist. Financial bustas came at him with gats drawn. They took his rings; they took his Rolex. They did what they could to take Warren's wealth. But when Nate Dogg rolled up with 16 in the clip and one in the hole, he and Warren G made those bodies turn cold. And that type of funk is just what the Journal needs. In fact, it's what the United States of America needs!

It's time for President Obama to nominate Warren G as the Czar of Financial Regulators. We could even bring in Nate Dogg to sing Cliff's Notes of his speeches.

REGULATORS! Mount up!

Happy Belated Festivus

As most of you are aware, I've participated in the Festivus celebration over at Airing of Grievances for the last 4 or 5 years. Well this year, they held Festivus about 5 days early, which seemed to damper the enthusiasm a bit.. but well meh. Since this blog is one continuous aired grievance where I rarely say anything positive, you might find some of it a bit familiar :)

To Bernie Madoff: The world of finance was built on shameless, unapologetic thievery. But the rogue and the crooked have nothing on your shenanigans, you fraudulent, traitorous cunt. You are a rapacious, wild animal that preyed upon your own people under the guise of tzedakah. You've victimized countless charities and spiked another rise in anti-semitism yet you still have the audacity to walk the streets of Manhattan with that smug, shit-eating grin.

Is it because you know you should be in shackles? Is it because you squirreled away a large portion of the funds and confessed to provide cover? Or is it because you're wearing a bulletproof vest under that $5000 Burberry coat and you think no one can touch you? Something tells me it's all of the above.

If it were up to me, I'd take it to you Rikers-style with my strap-on of justice before dragging you to an alley, beating you with chains and bamboo shoots and throwing you into a lion's den. Let's see how smug you'd be then. Now, I'm not foolish enough to believe this will ever happen, so I'm going to pin my hopes on the goyim being right about the existence of Hell. Because if they are, I'm pretty sure you'll be immersed to your neck in the ice of Cocytus for the rest of eternity. When G-d shuffles you loose the mortal coil and dumps you in the 9th Circle, tell Cain that we all said hello.

To Madoff "Victims" (the individuals): You followed that Pied Piper down the primrose path and straight off the cliff and now you want someone to feel sorry for you? Why? Because now your kid has to go to Rutgers and you'll have to trade in the Bentley for a Jetta? Eat a fucking dick. When common sense advised that you look beneath the hood, you put greed on autopilot and bought another home in Montauk. And it's not like you battled with that decision. It was easy for you. Why? Because you were making money. Oh, and because Bernie was a member of the Tribe and your 98-year-old Zayde thought he was a nice guy. If there was any justice in this world, you'd be spending next Hanukkah working as greeters at Wal-Mart. Chumps.

To Congress: Shame on you. You had a real chance to not only help the people of Detroit but NFL fans at large by forcing the Ford family to give up ownership of the Lions and Ford Field before allowing them to visit Capital Hill. What'd you do instead? You bitched about private planes. I know you people get paid to drop the ball and piss your collective pants at the site of union officials but have a little sack. If I went to Detroit and ran a campaign called "Oust the Fords from Football" I'd be elected in a landslide and wouldn't be sweating the possibility of some backwoods schmuck like Ron Gettelfinger screwing me out of an election. 

To Rod Blagojevich: Here's a tip: teabagging the constituency is a right reserved for charming, handsome men, not a man that allows his face to turn him into the margarine to John Travolta's cross-dressing butter. Know your place.

To Al Davis: I'm sick of this emotional abuse. Why do you treat me this way? Why do you make me think I don't deserve you? Am I not pretty enough? Is it my hips? I bet you didn't even know that I flirted with another team this year. Yeah, that's right. I had a date with the San Diego Chargers when you were out of town but then Norv Turner showed up and I had to run off to vomit... then I wept in shame :( I still can't believe I got so emotional about it but I guess that's what happens when you try to cheat on someone you love that doesn't love you back. 

To PETA: Breast milk for ice cream? Is this some type of self-sabotage? It's like you've gotten on your knees to beg us to blow you off. Your primary mouthpieces are porn stars, C-list actresses and a woman whose vagina could've hidden Roger Clemens and his ego from the Senate and still had room to accommodate Tommy Lee's forearm-sized penis.

These women can't even string 8 words together. All they can do is lie in a sexy repose and remind us that they'd "rather go naked than wear fur" and we should feel that way too. I've got a message for you silly broads - we already do! Being naked is awesome. It's liberating. It's divine. And it's the best way to feel the breeze. Fuck off until you say something that we can take seriously. Breast milk in ice cream. Someone oughta knock you out. 

To Cristina Ronaldo: Football has long fought for credibility in America, a pathalogically hypermasculine country where "real men" speak with "you-talkin'-ta-me" pugnacity and do pushups with their dicks. And yet here you are, the unofficial ambassador of our sport, prancing around Hollywood with shaved legs, booty shorts and a fauxhawk. Are you insane?

Look, the footballing world knows that you're a lothario with a penchant for hookers but Americans do not, soon they'll come off David Beckham's fraudulent sack to anoint you as the new role model for their little punters. And when they see you flaming out all over Europe with your self-tanner, crotch-hugging Pepe jeans and Louis Vuitton man purse, they will snatch their kids off the pitches and run for the hills.

You are the greatest talent of a generation; not one of Ricky Martin's dancers. Get your act together, you diving puss-in-boots. 

To Beyonce Knowles: The crimes: -

(On having an alter-ego with a name like a bootleg drag queen) - "I have someone else that takes over when it's time for me to work and when I'm on stage, this alter ego that I've created that kind of protects me and who I really am. Sasha Fierce is the fun, more sensual, more aggressive, more outspoken side and more glamorous side that comes out when I'm working and when I'm on the stage." 

- (On being a pop star) - "There is a time limit on being a pop star, yes. Being a legend, an icon? Absolutely not. I'm over being a pop star. I don't wanna be a hot girl. I wanna be iconic. And I feel like I've accomplished a lot. I feel like I'm highly respected, which is more important than any award or any amount of records. And I feel like there comes a point when being a pop star is not enough."

- (On the "B'Phone" by Samsung) - "When I was 10, I recorded a song called '632-5792' -- a phone number. It's a little embarrassing but it's cute. There's a recording of that song on the phone exclusively for my fans. I wanted to make sure people got a feel for who I really am. It's only through this phone that you can get this close to my life."

Bitches like you make me wish I carried around a floppy dildo that I could pull out of a hip holster and smack people with whenever the need arose. I don't think I'm alone in saying that you are in serious need of a cock punch. A fierce cock punch. To the face. It's time you and your busted weaves got a little street justice. 

To Madonna: It seems like an eternity since Guy Ritchie was a wunderkind whose films rocked us with brilliant pacing, outrageous humor and genius styling.

But then you came across the pond with your mysticism, faux English accent and desires to act. In no time, you had Guy's deflated balls locked in your roided-up vagina prison and a promising career was in shambles. I assumed that'd be the last impact you'd have on my life but then came reports that you'd used your crotch of destruction to trap Alex Rodriguez.

I'm sure it wasn't tough to lure him in, given his weakness for women with vaginas that flex like they're Mr. Olympia. But with the Yankees' hitting troubles, the last thing we need is an evil succubus like you turning A-Rod into the Guy Ritchie of baseball.

Both you and I know that your va-jay-jay is like The Ring and once chaps stare into that black hole, few are able to recover. If you leave A-Rod now, he may be able to recover by the All-Star break. CC and Teixeira can keep us in reach of the wild card until then.

And with that, I'm spent. Merry Chrismukkah, boys and girls. I've got 8 hours to start and finish all of my holiday shopping and do so without getting arrested for assault. Wish me luck.

Hey, Good Lookin' - That Means You, Teixeira!

I posted this image by mistake but since it's been up for a couple days, I'll add a little text -- not really for your amusement but because I hate the way the post formatted without it.

For Americans who don't know the identify of this modern day Venus, meet Camilla Parker-Bowles. She not only serves as the Duchess of Cornwall but also concrete proof that money, fame and blue-blood status have no bearing on one's taste in women. 

---

In other news of pure awesomeness, the New York Yankees just signed Mark Teixeira to an 8-year, $170+ million deal.

Sabathia, Burnett (meh), Tex. Who are these mysterious chaps in the front office and what have they done with Brian Cashman?! It's as if someone wants the Yankees to win again!

Now, I'll be honest - I remain thorougly unhappy that we solve problems by dumping billions of dollars into the laps of high-flying free agents. $400+M are tied up in our 3 recent acquisitions but at least Sabathia and Teixieira don't require Metamucil and Flomax prescriptions. At least they aren't 8 years past their primes. If we're going to spend money like a drunken hillbilly in a whorehouse, the least we can do is spend it on the best tarts in the building. Two of our recent moves reflect such thinking.

You know, when Madonna's roided up vagina prison trapped Alex Rodriguez a few months ago, I knew the Yankees could be in serious trouble for years to come. With the Yankees' hitting troubles and complete lack of pitching, the last thing we needed was that evil succubus turning A-Rod into the Guy Ritchie of baseball.

But with Teixeira in the lineup, we might just be okay. All we need now is another starter or bullpen arm and a relationship shakeup and the New York Yankees are back in business... the business of winning championships (that was cheesy and I am ashamed. My apologies).

Huzzah!

Cristina Ronaldo Destroys Progress

As an Arsenal Gooner and believer in the triumph of good over evil, I loathe Cristiano Ronaldo. He's a diving puss-in-boots that deserves a solid kick to the neck. As such, I'd like to think that if he ever crossed my path, I'd choke him out and break his knees but the truth is - he's a mesmerizing talent and the best footballer on the planet. It's not enough that his body is capable of doing things that others cannot; he pulls off moves that others can barely conceive of, let alone attempt. No one is as fast and agile, nor is anyone more inventive or cunning, and it's for that reason that he's rapidly becoming the face of football. 

But when you become the unofficial ambassador of a sport, it's important to remember that you're not just catering to over-tanned Euros who know that beneath the crotch-hugging Pepe jeans and Louis Vuitton man purse is a man that frequently has orgies with hookers. You're also serving Americans - Americans that are finally realizing how lame and fraudulent David Beckham actually is.. Americans that will snatch their kids off youth pitches and run for the hills upon noticing that their little boys are wearing the kit of a preening Mediterranean gigolo:

Come on, Cristina - we have to do better than this! You represent a sport that has long fought for credibility in a pathalogically hypermasculine country where "real men" speak with "you-talkin'-ta-me" pugnacity and do pushups with their dicks. And yet here you are, prancing around Hollywood with shaved legs, booty shorts and a fauxhawk. You are the greatest talent of a generation; not one of Ricky Martin's dancers. Do the game a favor and put on some cargo shorts and grab your crotch every once in a while. There are Americans to impress!

HT: Just Jared

CNN Has Completely Given Up on Journalism

Sometime last year, I was astonished to learn that in a time that sees the masses growing dumber by the minute, CNN added bullet-point summaries to their articles, effectively throwing in the towel on the effort to keep us moderately literate.

But since we all have ADD these days, I suppose that was inevitable. What I could not (and should not) have anticipated, however, was the possibility that CNN would completely forgo journalistic integrity in order to boost revenue and give The Onion a run for its money. Granted, you don't get gems like "Why Do All These Homosexuals Keep Sucking on my Cock" at CNN but it's fair to say that the level of news at this once venerable site has strayed well beyond the ridiculous and into the shameful. And now, they've taken things a step further by selling t-shirts that feature their own nonsensical headlines from articles and video posts.

Head over to CNN.com and take a gander at the headlines area. You see that t-shirt icon next to the video headlines? Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. For $15.99 plus shipping and handling, you can get t-shirts that say things like:

• Pacing man stuck 41 hours in elevator
• Synchronized swimmers faint in unison
• 'Hips Don't Lie' singer pushes education
• Rep calls workers 'illiterate peasants'
  
• Prince drops copter in gal pal's yard
• Russian missile obliterates spy plane
  

You know, it'd be one thing if these headlines were actually funny. At least then you could give CNN some credit for being creative as they continue their descent into becoming the American version of News of the World. But like The Simpsons these days, these efforts don't even elicit a smile, let alone laughter, and after the link cycles off the page, no one will ever know why (or how) it was supposed to be amusing. 

"Oh my shirt? Well that was a craaaaaazy headline that I saw on CNN 4 months ago! ... What? ... No wait, seriously! It's hilarious! Just let me explain -- there was this guy that paced all the time - you know those nervous types right? Well, he ended up stuck on an elevator for FORTY-ONE HOURS! Can you imagine? I mean, don't you see the irony of it? Totally nuts!"

By the looks of things, people are already buying into this crap.

Clowns like the ones seen above make me wish I carried around a floppy dildo that I could pull out of a hip holster and smack people with whenever the need arose. I don't think I'm alone in saying that the witless clowns shelling out cash for these shirts and the sad sack jokers in Atlanta that thought them up are in need of a cock punch. A fierce cock punch. To the face.

God Hates Hillary Clinton

I'm not one to harp on politics around this joint. What the hell am I talking about? I haven't harped on anything at all in ages. But in the interest of getting things rocking again in a suitable manner, we're going to start with this painfully shallow, fairly obvious observation. 

I wouldn't vote for Hillary Clinton if she promised me my own blue and red locomotive and then spearheaded a deal between Al Davis and the Devil that allowed Al to buy his soul back.  Now, 90% of this has to do with my being a government-hating libertarian, so it's not like I agree with her on much of anything. But the other 10% of me is completely turned off for two reasons, 1) she's a ball-busting, insincere, poll-catering dragon with the personality of a cold muffin, and 2) her voice sparks memories of my mum henpecking my dad into oblivion for not fixing that squeaky kitchen cabinet.

Look, I know that a double standard applies with the ball-busting issue. Hillary gets aggressive and she's a bitch. Obama and McCain get aggressive and they're strong leaders. Truth be told, being labeled as a bitch really isn't so terrible. "Bitch" isn't just a word; it's a lifestyle. Embrace it. But if you're gonna be a bitch, don't be an insincere, poll-catering dragon and don't have a voice that puts angels into the fetal position. It's as simple as that.

When Clinton and Obama got into it during that hellish Democratic debate a couple weeks ago, I had to plug my ears and resist the temptation to clean my room or take out of the trash. I felt lazy just watching. As if there were chores to be done and I was futzing around with video games, Legos and cartoons. If my mum had called, I would have broken down in tears and apologized for having to be told so many times.

In some ways, it's really too bad for Hillary. We can't help the voices with which we're born. I sound like a sultry English vixen. Hillary, on the other hand, sounds like a screeching harpy with a voice that makes me want to throw my brain into a blender. I guess God just hates some of us.

At first I thought Hillary had a tone issue or maybe she was just dealing with tough subjects. But even when she's pretending to be comforting, I want to yell back, "Ugh! I know! I did it!!!" And then mutter "bitch" and something about how I can't wait to move out under my breath. As a result, I can't imagine the reaction of psychos like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Kim Jong Il and other chaps that don't even like women when she scolds them for being hate-mongering killers. Hillary's first words to these men may be her last.

What, too much? 

I know I'm way off topic here but in context of all of this, it's really no wonder Bill Clinton couldn't/can't keep his snake in its cage. Close your eyes and imagine getting head from a woman that looks like the Witch in Snow White (when she was the haggard old woman with the apple, not the Queen. She was a hot bitch) and then looks up and asks if you like it. Not only does this translate into "Get the hell off my lawn!" but your penis has likely retreated somewhere near your liver and is quivering in fear.

Dammit. Now I've gone too far.

My original point to this post was to laugh at the following display of awesomeness. While perusing Paste last night, I spotted an article indicating that the Grateful Dead were reuniting for one show - "and one show only - in an attempt to Barak voters all night long." I didn't even know these chaps were still alive. But I have to say that no matter how many high-delegate states Hillary wins, when the Dead are so offended that they come out of their ganja-induced haze to re-purpose their logo and motivate people to vote for your opponent, you're in trouble. 

A Festivus for the Rest of Us!

As the loyalists know, I am an annual participant in the Festivus Extravaganza with my boys at The Airing of Grievances. But since Festivus falls on a Sunday this year, things are being celebrated today in order to maximize participation. Though I am somehow more angry this year than last (surprising given the rancid bitterness in last year's grievings) and about even with the year before, my complaints are really pretty tame. I don't even know if I dropped an f-bomb... it's kinda depressing really and I'm sorry.

It's fair to say that grievances are aired here at flashwarner.com in virtually every post but there's still something fun about finding the things that chap my ass the most (at present) and participating in a mass bitchfest. This is my third year doing so (2005 and 2006) and it is unbelievably gratifying. But enough fellatio. It's time to get things rolling.

I've got a lotta problems with you people...

To Al Davis: Thanks for nothing! We have Randy Moss, the most dangerous receiver in the NFL for, what, three years and this guy couldn't accomplish dick. And it's not like he rolled into the Bay with his typical "Yeah, I'm the laziest SOB on the planet. What’s it to ya" attitude either. In the beginning, Moss was actually trying! But it’s hard to stay positive when Martin Lawrence is "throwing" you the ball. 

So you ship him off to New England for 3 cheeseburgers and a pack of Newports and now he's got a Hall of Fame career. It’s like you felt bad for bringing him to Oakland at all, so you tried to make amends. So what do you do as an encore to an epic case of hospitality? You take a role as the Crystal Skull in Indiana Jones 4.

Nice commitment to YOUR excellence, Al. How about spending a little time on the Raiders now. Jerk.

To DirecTV: Your advertising agency needs to be slapped around with sticks and tossed off a bridge. The whole point of commercials is to get people to buy your products, not ram their heads through walls. Every time I see Beyonce Knowles gyrating, foot shuffling, and fierce walking through your spots (which is every 3 minutes), I beg the nearest person to choke me out.

This Upgrade commercial is the most baffling and preposterous ad of all time. I don't know if it's Beyonce's bizarre Axl Rose-like foot shuffle and scallywag, her horrendous speaking ability or the way she rolls over to reveal a gold "UPGRADE" chain in her mouth that was no doubt purchased from a bubble gum machine outside Wal-Mart. The whole spot is truly astonishing in its hideousness. I'm almost inclined to believe it was funded by the cable industry to put you out of business. If so, is Beyonce in on the joke? Likely not; she's too busy 1-click ordering boomerangs off amazon.com.

"Lemme lemme lemme upgradejya-gradejya." Upgrade, indeed. The only thing you're upgrading me to is suicide watch, DirecTV. 2 enthusiastic thumbs down.

To Faux Punk Avril Lavigne: I was caught in traffic the other day and flipped through radio channels only to discover that you actually had the nerve to sing this:

I hate it when a guy doesn't understand
Why a certain time of month I don't want to hold his hand
I hate it when they go out and we stay in
And they come home smelling like their ex-girlfriend

I'm just spitballin here, Avril, but my guess is that your boyfriend cheats because you won't hold his hand simply due to the fact that you're menstruating, you stupid bitch.

To people that bitch about the Patriots: I have sat in seething hatred of the New England Patriots since the Tuck Rule ruined my hopes way back in 2002. But even though I’m a depressed, Silver & Black degenerate, I'll still take awe-inspiring dominance every day of the week and twice on Sunday over the rest of this season’s mediocre shit snoggery. Parity is for sucks. Stop complaining.

To Steve McClaren: You should you should have been sacked AT Wembley - right on that jacked up pitch. And I don't mean fired. I'm talking literally sacked – beaten with your brolly, black bagged Peter Creedy style and carried away into the rainy night. Good luck with your prehistoric tactics in Iraq or Kansas City or whatever sorry squad settles on you as their shaman of mediocrity.

To Tony Dungy: "I won the Super Bowl the Lord's Way." Why, because you don't come from the Vince Lombardi School of Verbal Assault and don't seem to have a pulse? Let me fill you in on something - the fire and brimstone G-d that I know - Christians will know him from the Old Testament - isn't about calm and chill. Though it's true that He can love and be compassionate, the Almighty is vengeful and hot-tempered and He will not hesitate to kick you in the teeth with his Mighty Boot of Justice, also known as Samael, the Angel of Death. This cat doesn't turn the other cheek and He doesn't brush things aside. He rolls down from on high to beat that ass. Casting Satan out of Paradise, torching Sodom and Gomorrah, lighting people up in the New Testament's Apocalypse? THAT is the Lord's Way. The only thing you're practicing is the Tony Dungy Way. Stop giving credit where it isn't due.

To Jewelry Stores: You've been shilling a false Economics of the Pussy propaganda for years. It's offensive and you're just setting men up for failure. You know what happens to the guy that really believes the Kiss Begins with Kay? He makes out a little, she goes to bed and then he's cranking one off in the shower like Lester Burnham. Sure, the kiss begins with Kay but it ends there as well.

As such, I've created a totally reasonable and legitimate Diamond Reaction Index to let men know exactly what they should expect to collect as a return on different levels of investment:

The Petty Files: Wayne Gretzky Disappoints

*Disclaimer: Wayne Gretzky is awesome*
*Disclaimer 2: I'm overreacting* 

So yesterday I received an email from a Phoenix Coyotes multimedia person that wanted to promote some new interactive fan fun at the team's website. The first item was Coyote's Hockey HQ, a site that lets you create a game face, play games and make your friends look ridiculous. Meh. Not so into it. But the other nugget was "Coyotes Trax—Where we have players iTunes playlists so fans can find a common ground."

The only thing I know about the Phoenix Coyotes is Wayne Gretzky and goalkeeping great, Grant Fuhr, and most people would say that's more than enough. In hopes that I'd be able to see what The Great One was rocking out to, I eagerly followed the link... to a land of great disappointment. 

I really don't know what I was expecting when I clicked on Wayne Gretzky's tune resource. Since he came of age in the late 70s and early 80s, I assumed his list would be filled with a healthy Canadian mixture of classic rock, 80s new wave and some new but internationally chill band like Coldplay. But since he's The Great One, it'd be the cool classic rock, the cool new wave and the cool new but chill. But alas.

Mixed among obvious and perfectly reasonable favorites like Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Golden Earring, The Kings, Red Rider and Triumph, were the ultimate of horrors: Nickelback... Sarah McLachlan... (brace yourself) Nelly Furtado.

I'm not even going to start on Nickelback and I'm going to let Sarah McLachlan go because "Angel" is hauntingly beautiful. But Nelly Furtado? Really? The thing is, it's not even "Promiscuous" Nelly Furtado or the Nelly Furtado that got down with Missy Elliot in "Get Ur Freak On." At least listening to that version makes sense. Pop music becomes far more tolerable to men when they want to put their dick in the singer. But "I'm Like a Bird" Nelly Furtado? She only inspires me to get a Peter King style latte at Starbucks with money that I've pulled out of my bedazzled purse. I can't imagine how that version has any effect on men.

I know I'm overreacting here, but I don't know, I just didn't see this coming. Sarah McLachlan and Nelly Furtado are okay for women because, you know, we have vaginas. But The Great One? While I never expected Slayer or anything, I certainly didn't anticipate seeing the 2001 lineup from Lilith Fair.

Red Sox Punt Tim McCarver Into Broadcaster Abyss

As you all know, the Boston Red Sox unceremoniously punted the Colorado Rockies into the mountains last night for their seventh World Series Championship. Unless you live a mile above sea level, this wasn't a surprising result. Sure, no one guessed that the Rockies would tighten up like a gnat's chuff, roll over and die but let's be real - the only question was how long this would last, not who would win. All the same, it was a nauseating result. But while kneeling in front of the toilet after watching the Sux celebrate, I realized that there is a silver lining to this quick result: 6 months without Tim McCarver!

That's right - no Tim McCarver "analysis," no "Tim McCarver Show," no Tim McCarver anything. Just sweet  silence. And for that, I want to express my undying gratitude to the Boston Red Sox. By all but raping the Rockies in record time, they have ushered this addlepated baboon into the broadcaster abyss until March 30. Sure, Screamin' A. Smith and a legion of jackass basketball personalities stand to infect the airwaves in only a matter of days, but a season of that isn't nearly as painful as three more games with Tim McCarver.

As such, I leave you with a few parting remarks of Game 4 idiocy from the only man that can make the ears of a nation bleed (all comments provided in context):

On Manny Ramirez and aerodynamics while he's at the plate in the 3rd....
Joe Buck (JB): Last night doing what he has done throughout the post season and throughout the season... with the dreadlocks, running the bases, last night kicking his helmet back into foul territory and last night tagged out at the plate on a throw from Matt Holliday in left (long pause) but that's part of his action around the bases.
Tim McCarver (TM): It certainly does not make you faster.
JB: With two outs, there's a strike on the outside corner.
TM: If that were the case, you'd be seeing marathon runners wearing helmets... hundred yard dash guys wearing helmets.

It's as if McCarver believes Ramirez is wearing the helmet for speed. It's not a fucking jetpack, you daft bastard. You don't throw it off and get a boost! Amazingly, this continues:

JB: Well, last night was the first time we've seen it in the post-season where he pushed it off and it came back and hit him in the heel.
TM: First time we've seen it hit him on the heel... RIGHT.

Yes, Tim. That is right. Don't act like you're combing through your memory banks to check Joe's facts. We all know you've got the short term retention ability of Leonard Shelby. As ironic proof of this, McCarver re-tells the story of Manny's base-running/hat issues in the bottom of the 6th, as if the previous conversation never occurred. Joe Buck, as usual, responded with silence.

On Hank Aaron during the recap of Prince Fielder receiving the Hank Aaron Award...
TM: If there was anybody in baseball history with a more appropriate nickname, HAMMER (McCarver's emphasis), could he ever "hammer."
TM: You could take those 755 homeruns away and he'd still have 3,000 hits 

Pitcher Aaron Cook bats for the Rockies in the bottom of the 5th...
TM: I know Aaron Cook is a good hitter, but I don't think he can hit right here. The Rockies have 14 outs with which to score at least 2 runs. That's provided they hold the Red Sox down.
*Cook bunts*
JB: He pushes a bunt past the pitcher and has a base hit! That's the first time that a Rocky hitter has pushed a bunt to the right side, and once it got past Lester, it was a base hit.
TM: But he wasn't up there hitting, he was up there bunting! 

No, that's not a typo. During the commercial break, McCarver thinks up a way to redeem himself and drops this nonsense in the top of the 6th:

TM (confused): With Ortiz coming up, why didn't the manager have someone pinch hit for Cook last inning? I mean, Cook got a bunt hit, yeah, but you're taking the chance that he won't and there's an out! I'm just talking probabilities of getting a man on base here. You gotta pinch hit!

Oh really? Maybe that's why you're in the booth with Mr. Slamalamadingdong and not managing in the World Series, Tim. But I suppose it could be worse. You could be Dayn Perry of Foxsports.com, who suffered a case of Rocky Mountain hacking (click to enlarge):

In any case, thank you, Boston. Thank you for ripping off the proverbial bandaid as quickly as possible. I don't think I could have stomached much more... too bad you can't do anything about Dane Cook as well, but I suppose he's one of yours, isn't he? That just about figures.

Dennis Rodman Is A Classy Broad

Here's Dennis Rodman being a hot tranny mess at his "Rodmania" Halloween Party last night.

One would think that at age 46, Dennis would know that the whole point of Halloween is to wear a costume that is creative, funny, shocking, outrageous, or, if you're me and any other woman under 30, strongly indicates that you're suffering from a severe case of the sluts. Rolling up to your own party in your regular get-up and Tina Turner's hair from Mad Max is NOT a costume.

Come on, Dennis. It's time to raise your game and give us something new. You didn't even get your nails done! This tired shit is so 1998. Two thumbs down on this non-effort.

Here are some other gems:

HT: Dlisted 

Colts Fan Offends My Sensibilities

So I'm leaving a pizza joint the other day when my friends and I happen upon this monstrosity parked next to my car. After my eyes stopped burning, I whipped out my cell phone for documentation:

I'd ask myself what type of society would find this acceptable but having lived in Indiana for almost 7 years, I simply know better. When I first arrived for college, I didn't know what to expect of this place. For me, the American Midwest may as well have been that area on the Lenox Globe denoted by the warning "here be dragons." But in the time that I've been here, I've come to realize that though it is not as bad as people make out, it is still the only area where driving a vehicle so hideously ugly that people get mad looking at it is not only normal but celebrated.

I can only imagine the kudos that the owner of this tragic heap of a mess has received. I showed this picture to my neighbor only for him to say, "That's fantastic! I'd like that. Just Bears!" Ugh. It only figures. This is the type of dude that thinks a drive to Indianapolis, Chicago or Detroit is  as exciting and revolutionary as a trip to the moon. Hoosiers, ya know?

Now, I'm sure some of you are saying, "That PT owner has every right to display his or her Colts pride! Who are you to judge?"

Look, I'm all for people supporting teams and displaying allegiances. Magnets, stickers, decals - it's all good. Let your affections be known. But if you're a person that thinks its reasonable to drive a vehicle that looks like a mini-van with Down Syndrome, just stop right there. That tells the world enough about you already. We don't need your ridiculous fanboy decorations. Your car is already an offensive, obnoxious vulgarity. Frankly, I'm surprised it didn't turn me to stone when I tried to take these pictures. Considering that, forcing further attention upon it is nothing short of a crime. Shame on you Colts Fan PT Cruiser owner. Shame.

Suzy Kolber Joins Appalachian Emergency Room

If I had to guess, Suzy Kolber exited the womb squinting and rocking a pixie cut, and, from then on, was compulsively clad in turtlenecks and neck scarves regardless of the temperature. Whether it's true or not, I kind of enjoy the imagery, so don't spoil it for me. In any case, I don't know how long Suzy has been around but the only thing about her that seems to change as an NFL season progresses is how just how many layers of turtlenecks and neck scarves she can wrap herself in as we get nearer to the Super Bowl. Her seemingly pathological nature with wearing those particular items is actually somewhat fascinating.

But while watching Monday Night Football tonight, she popped on the screen not only wearing some type of business suit from JC Penney but also sporting hair that made her look like a patient on Appalachian Emergency Room:

What on earth could have gone wrong? And no, being in Jacksonville is no excuse.

I know these MNF people like to sample the local flavor - crab cakes in Baltimore, barbeque in Kansas City, buffalo wings in Buffalo, and so on, but rolling down to Appalachia is no excuse to show up on national television looking like two squirrels crawled on your head, built a nest, mated and died. That's simply unacceptable.

Look Suzy, I know you're supposed to be pregnant and all but you've got to get your act together. You're on tv. You can't just be running around looking like you just walked out of a Rush concert. 2 thumbs down.

Brief Departure Into Auditory Delights

1. I have neither the time nor the inclination to sit here for hours listing the multitude of obscure bands and artists whose styles suit my snobbish yet inconsistent fancy.
   
2. If we're really friends, I've already recommended more music to you than you can possibly handle. Music - like the sweet ganjah - should be free and shared with the masses... Music finds its way into the secret places of your heart and becomes an outburst of the soul, expressing your thoughts, fears and desires when words cannot do them justice. Life without music is one that is not worth living.
3. I will judge you on your music collection. I broke up with a boy once for suggesting that we attend a John Mayer concert. I'm not messing around. Look, we all have our weaknesses, guilty pleasures and shameful moments. I know every word to "Crazy In Love" by Beyonce - even Jay Z's parts. I can't begin to rock out enough to Bon Jovi when I'm in my car. I was caught dancing to Christina Aguilera's "Ain't No Other Man" on my desk in my office. But I don't care - there's a lot of brainless pop out there that's just damn fun. Besides, I love to dance and you can't do that to Dispatch.
   

That said, there is a distinct difference between shaking your ass at the club and singing along in the car and considering Top-40/TRL shite as quality, choice music. If it can be heard during an episode of "The Hills," "Laguna Beach," anything on E! or one of those terrible VH-1 "Best Of Shows," it is unacceptable. And if you're one of the people that disagrees with me, it is very likely that I don't want you in my life. I have found that 9 times out of 10, people who listen to this mindless, Studio Magic schlock inevitably have personality and lifestyle traits that I find reprehensible. I call them "Radio People."

Radio People must go. Every once in a while, I start liking someone before they reveal their true nature and I'm stuck, but on the whole, I can sniff them out from 8 miles away. I do my best to save souls from the pits of hell but some cannot be helped. At times, people get on my case for being an anti-Top 40-ite but in response, I ask you this - if a person has so little self-respect that he or she considers Jason Mraz, Fall Out Boy, Avril Lavigne, Nelly and Nickelback worthwhile, why should I give them the time of day? Why should I afford them the respect they won't give themselves? If you think "I'm hot because I'm hot, I'm fly because you not" is a lyrical and even musical marvel, you need to kill yourself. Seriously.

With that out of the way, I should reveal that I am a Radiohead fan. A fanatic, really. I'm one of those sanctimonious tools that considers Radiohead to be art. I'm one of the affected millions that considers OK Computer to be the greatest album ever made. I'm one of those losers that hears "Exit Music (For a Film)," "Paranoid Android" or "Fake Plastic Trees" and breaks down in tears before claiming to have had a spiritual awakening. And yes, I've honestly done that. Make fun of me if you want to but if a song or a band hasn't done that to you at some point, then music just isn't doing its job. In any case, one thing I have never done is pull the preachy Radiohead fan routine -- until today.

Musical taste is subjective and unless you are a Radio Person, you should not be judged. The same goes for Radiohead -- it's not for everyone. It's not even for most. Not liking them doesn't mean you lose your membership to the hip club. It doesn't make you a loser or somehow less knowledgeable about music. It is a band, like many, that some people just "get" and others don't. It is a band that through its evolution and continued pursuit of innovation, has lost many fans and turned away even more at the gate. But through it all, from the first time I heard Pablo Honey and The Bends to the present, Radiohead hits me in a place that no other band can. It's not because I'm one of the enlightened ones in a tragic world. Their lyrics and style have simply always spoken to me. There have been bumps in the road (Amnesiac) and holding patters (Hail to the Thief) but with each new album, they give me a little something I never even knew I wanted. And with yesterday's release of "In Rainbows," they did it again.

In a fuck you bitch slap to the music industry, Radiohead released their newest album as a digital download available only through their website and are allowing listeners to pick their own price for the album. Pay $0, pay $10 (I paid $20). As the website so kindly instructs, "It’s up to you."

In Rainbows is a beautifully balanced mix of the melodic and meloncholic, electronic and acoustic. It took two or three listens before each track took hold but, multiple repeats later, it continues to surprise and captivate with both its imagination and deceptive simplicity. From Pablo Honey to Hail to the Thief, elements of each album are felt on "In Rainbows" but are more focused and polished, making it, by far, the most accessible album to new fans since OK Computer.

I won't go track by track here because this is not a review, but download "In Rainbows" and take it through a couple spins. Maybe you end up liking its quiet, understated beauty and seek out more Radiohead albums or maybe you drag it directly to your trash bin. But either way, you'll have exposed yourself to something new and that's not something the music industry often gives us the chance to do these days.

Michael Vick & CNN Team to Boost Idiocy Rates

I've finished my transition back into the real world. Go ahead, stop holding your breath. I know you've been anticipating this for months.

So how many of you check out cnn.com on a regular basis? I usually don't but someone called my attention to one of their outrageous breaking news alerts about something mundane like Whoopi Goldberg joining The View, so I headed over. I spotted a story on Michael Vick in the headlines and took a gander only to happen upon one of the most troubling things that I've seen in months: bullet point summaries.

Has anyone else noticed this?? Why doesn't CNN just slap us around, pass out dunce caps and call it a day? I understand that we live in an instant gratification, ADHD, fast-food society, and that we are literally growing dumber by the minute but can't we at least rely upon news organizations to, I don't know, put forth a modicum of effort to keep us not only informed but literate? Is that so much to ask?

It's not as if AP and Reuters were beating us down with prose from honors English or complicated language from a PhD dissertation on the Bundle Theory. Their articles are, at most, 180 words, broken down into five, two-sentence paragraphs that are written at a fourth grade level. Take, for instance, this 104-word story about a Serbian man eaten by bears at a beer festival...

BELGRADE, Serbia (Reuters) -- A 23-year old Serb was found dead and half-eaten in the bear cage of Belgrade Zoo at the weekend during the annual beer festival.

The man was found naked, with his clothes lying intact inside the cage. Two adult bears, Masha and Misha, had dragged the body to their feeding corner and reacted angrily when keepers tried to recover it.

"There's a good chance he was drunk or drugged. Only an idiot would jump into the bear cage," zoo director Vuk Bojovic told Reuters.

Local media reported that police found several mobile phones inside the cage, as well as bricks, stones and beer cans.

Once you discount the time you spend laughing, it takes about 45 seconds to read, comprehend and move on. There are no monosyllabic words to stand in your way. No compound sentences. No string of thoughts more complex than "See Dick with no protection. See Jane with an infection." I'd like to think Reuters was doing us enough favors but apparently not. We need highlights.

• A 23-year old Serb was found dead and half-eaten in bear cage
  
• Naked body was found in enclosure at Belgrade Zoo
  
• Zookeepers believe man was drunk or drugged

I have to admit some surprise at not seeing "Devoured man must've been an idiot" as the fourth highlight.  

In the coming weeks, I anticipate another tragic article where some schmo laments falling literacy rates and the United States placing 13th in the "educated nations game" and, strategically placed in the upper-right hand corner, will be CNN's bullets explaining the rising idiocy rate in 40 words or less while directly contributing to the problem. I suppose the only irony to all of this is that the genius that thought up this plan likely proposed his ideas via power point - the only form of expression for braindead, communication addled business executives.

God bless American journalism.

And before I forget, you may now realize that the title of this post had nothing to do with anything at all. I just figured I'd jump onto the hate wagon with the hip kids since I'm so behind the curve.

But while we're on the topic, it's entirely too bizarre, not to mention quite unnerving, that the masses want Vick to catch a shank in the prison yard for breeding and killing animals when, if he'd raped a girl or been a partied to a murder, it'd be forgive and forget by Christmas...

Now excuse me while I dig out my Ray Lewis jersey and do a rousing squirrel dance for the upcoming NFL season on the lawn.

Barry Bonds - Always One Step Ahead

I have to think that an ounce of Frank Thomas' love is 100 times more potent than anything Victor Conte could whip up in a lab. Two drops of his freak of nature sweat would cause even a normal man to grow hair on his chest and wrestle a grizzly bear. God knows what it would do to someone that uses the cream like Jergens. As an added benefit, this method is far more discrete than going Jason Giambi with a syringe in the arse in some random clubhouse stall (especially in San Francisco).

Since I'm a Barry Hater and, as such, a huge racist, I hope he spontaneously combusts sometime in the next 5-7 days, but I'd be a petty fool if I didn't recognize and applaud such a fantastically creative effort.  

Good on ya, Barry! Keep it up.

I Just Agreed with Al Sharpton

And do you know what that means?? I either need to kill myself or Paris Hilton must be whiped off the face of the bloody earth. Actually, advocating for another person's death smacks of evil, so I would also accept her being thrown into a Chinese prison as a viable alternative.

But back to Al Sharpton, who has bounced back from his post-Don Imus malaise (which included cleaning up hip hop in Detroit) to respond to another celebrity fuck up.

When the LA County sheriff was releasing that spoiled, arrogant cunt from jail yesterday due to her tenuous mental state, he may as well have shown the bat signal in the sky because it wasn't 4 minutes before Al Sharpton was back in the spotlight with the same old song and dance about racial favortism: 

"...this early release gives all of the appearances of economic and racial favoritism that is constantly cited by poor people and people of color. There are any number of cases of people who handle being incarcerated badly and even have health conditions that are not released.  This act smacks of the double standards that many of us raise..."

Only this time, he was right. And frankly, I don't know if I can go on in a world where Al Sharpton and I are not only in agreement but I'm also devoting personal thinking time to a wonky-eyed twat like Paris Hilton. It's far too much to bear.

One of the more laughable things about this disaster is the claim that Hilton was released from jail because of her fragile psyche. After 3 days of incarceration in a 12x8 foot cell, where she was forced to fashion a pillow out of one of her blankets, poor Paris grew depressed and was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. How tragic. You know, I might buy that explanation if I could believe that Paris Hilton was actually smart enough to develop a little melancholy. You see, there is a difference between being depressed and being inconvenienced, and no one with such limited dignity and brain function could possibly grasp what being depressed is all about.

Why Do People Flock to Strip Clubs?

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.

Stereotype Overload or Well-Executed Mockery?

Ann Coulter & JJ Walker - Am I Missing Something?

Is anyone else confused? I can't make heads or tails of it. We have to assume that Jimmie Walker is too cracked out to see the irony of this pairing, so asking about his involvement will get us nowhere. But what about Coulter? She is the most bigoted cunt of the modern age. You'd think she'd cut out her adam's apple before going within 50 feet of Mr. Dy-no-mite. But since it appears to be in tact, there must be some other explanation. I can think of six and even they are a stretch:

1. "Sure, I'm a homophobe but I'm not a racist. Black people think I'm dy-no-mite!" (unlikely)
   
2. She plans to drop the n-bomb at the next Republican fundraiser and needs an anecdote or interesting experience to pose as a lead in. (possible)
   
3. She was drugged. (possible. too many estrogen pills?)
   
4. She is being held hostage. (unlikely. you take hostages to an undisclosed location, not the TV Land awards. Then again...)
   
5. As a part of her contract with Satan, she has to engage in zany shenanigans. Bonus points if she could get John Amos to appear on the other side. In exchange, Satan continues to allow her fame, fortune, and the freedom to be an unmitigated cunt without fear of true consequences. (possible)
   
6. Young Ann Coulter loved her some Good Times. (unlikely. her brand of cuntiness starts at birth.)
   

I'm leaning toward five but if it's six, we need to drag out the time machine to see just where Ann Coulter went wrong.

(link swiped from Paul Katcher)

PFA Award: Cristina Ronaldo > Snoop Drog

Cristina Ronaldo took home the double last night, winning the PFA Young Player of the Year and the Player of the Year awards. Though wholly lacking in testosterone and class, Cristina is in spectacular form this year but I still hoped the awards would go to Didier Drogba and Cesc Fabregas.

Cesc really had no chance but I kinda thought Drogba might. He had a storming season at the Bridge, saving Chel$ki's arses on numerous occasions. Cristina's brilliance notwithstanding shouldn't Drogba's season-saving efforts count more than what is accomplished by a prancing nancy that plays for the New York Yankees of the EPL?

The answer to that 100% serious question is yes. As such, Drogba's failure to take home the Player of the Year award must be unrelated to a supposedly brilliant season by Cristina and more to do with something tragic like this:

"CHELSEA’S DIDIER DROGBA looks set to be a hit-man off the pitch — with his own rap album.

The Premiership’s top scorer will release the SNOOP DOGG-style tracks under the alias DROGBACITE." (The Sun, of course)

No one in their right mind would knowingly vote for a raplete, least of all one who chooses to identify himself with a name that sounds like the bacteria eating away at Al Davis' brain. Oh well.

My real issue is this: When will the tragicomedy of professional athletes plying their trades as rappers come to an end? Haven't we all suffered enough? Having enough money to find a decent producer that can pump out some semi-catchy tracks shouldn't give one license to try to be Jay-Z but let's pretend that it does. How does one get the urge to cut a rap album or even a track?

I understand how it works when you're trying to rap your way out of poverty.. when your only lyrical fodder is guns, violence, and the tragic circumstances of your life. But when you're a professional athlete sitting on millions upon millions and, quite often, with championships to your name, how does the mood strike? Are you sitting in your Cribs-esque home (or dorm room), watching the three girls you just banged walk past your MVP trophy and think to yourself, "Damn. Being me owns. I oughta rap about it and tell everybody how hard I am." Is that how it works? Or is it just an extension of the theory that all singers want to be actors, all actors want to be Hamlet, and all comedians want to write novels? Whatever it is, it has to stop.

If you played any of these efforts at a party, your guests would mock you and leave in disgust. 

• Chicago Bears Shufflin Crew: Super Bowl Shuffle, nominated for a Grammy
• '86 Oakland Raiders Music Video
• Deion Sanders: Prime Time
• Shaquille O'Neal: Shaq Diesel, Shaq Fu: Da Return, Kazaam soundtrack... :(
• Kobe Bryant: Visions (with Tyra Banks singing the hook on the single K.O.B.E., sounded like a weak, latter day Will Smith)
• Clint Dempsey: Don't Tread
• Tony Parker: TP
  
• Terrell Owens: Eagles' Diss Rap
• Mike Ditka: that Grabowski crap where he wore those Zubaz pants
• University of Michigan's Measly Penny Crew
• University of Miami's 7th Flo Crew
• UConn basketball's Ed Nelson: Pickup Truck
• Ron Artest: My World
• Allen Iverson: Non-Fiction (homophobic anthem sung by A.I.'s alter-ego "Jewelz")
• Roy Jones, Jr.: Round One: the Album, Body Head Bangerz Vol. 1
• Jason Kidd, Gary Payton, Dana Barros, JR Rider, et al: Basketball's Best Kept Secret
• Ricky Watters: Eye of a Hawk
• Chris Webber: Too Much Drama
• Macho Man Randy Savage: Be A Man (rags on Hulk Hogan in a Rob Zombie sort of way)
• Hulk Hogan: posing as or living vicariously through Brooke Hogan; I can't figure it out
• Multiple WWF/WWE compilation albums
• Didier Drogba: Drogbacite

I'm all for exploring one's talents but at no time in the history of rapletes has any one of these blokes had a sodding lick of it that didn't involve hand-eye coordination. Now, if Tony Parker or Shaquille O'Neal or Clint Dempsey wanted to take up professional juggling or hacky sack, that would make perfect sense but rapping?

The fair majority of rap requires absolutely no talent. Anyone armed with a 3rd grade vocabulary and a pair of Timberlands can be one of millions paid to repeat asinine phrases like "skeet skeet skeet," "till the sweat drips off my balls," and "slap her with a dick." 

But rap done properly - the type where the voice is used as a rhythmic instrument instead of thuggish grunting and inane rambling for a club - actually requires talent, intelligence, and skill. So if you're a professional athlete, why subject yourself to the humiliation? Why be the guy music critics compare to a latter day, watered down Will Smith? Part of being a pro is having an ego the size of Wyoming but if you have a modicum of pride, why add yourself to the millions of faux-thug tools whose lyrical skill is based in telling you exactly why they're fly and precisely why you're not (the answer is:"I'm hot 'cause I'm fly; You ain't 'cause you're not"), and if asked not to use a verse that includes some Chronic 2001 cliche, their brains might explode?

It makes no sense to me.

Vick Donates More to Valtrex Than Victims' Families

Michael Vick, who is likely the richest and most well-known former student of Virginia Tech University, felt so sorry for the victims of this massacre that he donated not $100, $500 or even $1000. Nope, this kind citizen chipped in a cool $10,000! And if you're mocking his contribution, shame on you. $10,000 is some serious paper at work for a guy who has the highest NFL contract in the history of the league and pulled in $23,102,750 from the NFL alone in 2005. What can you really expect? Besides, it wasn't long ago that the NFL fined him just as much for flipping off Atlanta Falcons fans, so I could see how he might think it fit to lay the same amount of cash on 32 families whose loved ones were just lost in a senseless tragedy. That said - making any donation at all is a great thing but I can't help but think that a man of such substantial riches who sees it fit to spend tens of thousands on frivolities like rims for cars he drives a few times a year could have done a little more. I guess my logic is this - if you can drop $100K on a customized H2, why not this as well? I dunno. Maybe I'm being unreasonable.

Anyway, earlier this morning, Vin from SportsColumn sent me an IM, asking if I thought he was a jerk for thinking Vick's drop in the bucket donation was an act of superdickery.  I did my best to help disavow him of such notions...

Sportscolumn

Flash Warner: It's completely dick, especially when he probably spends more than that a year on his Valtrex prescription. Michael Vick is a complete waste. He was fined just as much for flipping off Falcons fans last year. Maybe this is his designated charity for the funds..

SC: Exactly. What's 10k? After his accountant gets through with it, he's out 5k. I realize that his name adds something to this cause... but what? It's not like this is some niche charity that needs his celebrity.

FW: This was a completely insensitive move. I assure you, the 24s that one of his 8 Escalades is sitting on cost double. My guess is that the donation will go up after the mockery and outrage starts to increase

SC: Right. If you're going to make a donation, make it one that is more than the jewelry you allegedly lost in your non-marijuana holding water bottle. “When tragic things like this happen, families have enough to deal with, and if I can help in some small way, that’s the least I can do,” said Vick

FW: Some small way is right maybe they can have pizza at the memorial now

SC: How about you put down the bong and fly up to Blacksburg to talk to the kids. You're a loser, a terrible QB, and a dick but you're still a legend up there.

FW: How long do you think it'll take him to come to that conclusion though? Even with the water bottle thing, it took him 3 months to realize that we needed an explanation beyond "that's mine. they can't take it" He is completely consumed with himself. The only way Virginia Tech is getting more money from him is if they promise to put his name on the stadium. It's pathetic.

SC: Michael Vick just called and said, "Did i donate 10k? If I'm donating, don't criticize me. That' all I'm saying." By the way, overlooked in our hatred for Michael Vick is the fact that he did donate *something*. Too bad he's such a douchebag and can't count. He probably thinks it's a lot of money.

FW: I think it's great that he at least made an effort but he's probably the richest and most well-known former student they have he can't find it in his budget to give a little more? If there was a massacre at Syracuse, I can't imagine Donovan McNabb sending a $10K check and calling it a day

SC: I wish Randy Moss would come out and donate $20k cash and say "what's 20k to me? ain't shit. Michael Vick can s%$ my dick"

FW: That will only work if he throws out a "straight cash homey" in there as well

Something to Consider: Caning Athletes

"I expected the suspension, but for a whole year for a guy that hadn't been charged with nothing? I really didn't agree with it. But for the most part, I'm taking it like a man. I'm going to appeal it."

Team offenses = 3 licks 

Come Back With Your Shield, Or On It

I've not yet had time to comment on how much Arsenal has hurt my spirit but I did make time for Sparta.

One of my favorite books of fiction is Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield. Recommended by a friend but given as a gift from my father, I hold it dear. Gates is an epic recounting of the Battle of Thermopylae, as told by Xeones, the lone survivor of the Persian siege. From the first page on, it captivated me.

Initially, I thought my background had something to do with my affection. My father and the generations before him are Chiricahua Apache, a band of warrior people trapped on reservations with nothing to fight other than their own vices. My biological grandfather left the rez to serve as a SEAL in the United States Navy during Vietnam. Though short on love for this country and her government, he wanted to fight and die with honor, as Apache were borne but no longer had the chance to do. Though he didn't return, my father eventually followed him and my brother after that. I like to think that I would have done the same but who's to say?

It was for these reasons - this similarity of mindset and my constant wondering of what-if - that I believed I liked the book. But over time, I realized that it went beyond that. I kept going back to Gates again and again because I was mesmerized by a type of manhood, courage, loyalty, honor, and discipline unseen beyond any military's elite in hundreds of years. So when I caught wind of Frank Miller's graphic novel 300, I bought it immediately. Miller's story isn't dialogue driven but his illustrations were masterful. And when I found out a movie was in the works, I awaited it with baited breath. 

So I caught the midnight showing of the 300 last night with a few hundred other dorks, history buffs, and comic book types... a handful wore togas while a few others sported red capes and carried swords, shields, and battle axes fashioned out of aluminum foil and cardboard. Ugh.

From the flash of the title screen until the final credits, 300 was an absolute marvel. Words cannot do this film justice. Taken page by page from the graphic novel, King Leonidas, gleamed both noble and cruel like all hero-kings of old and refused to allow the glory of Greece to fade before a barbarous horde. His defiance and courage were punctuated by breathtaking battle scenes, glorious heroism, and base treachery. I simply cannot express to you how stunning it is without swimming through another ocean of hyperbole. Every word, every movement, every moment was a necessary one. It was beautiful. It was flawless. And I'm going again tonight. You should too.

Sword-Wielding Virgin Mistakes Porn Sounds for Rape

While hanging out in his bedroom, James Van Iveren heard a woman's screams coming from the floor above him. Thinking she was getting raped, he did what any sensible 39-year-old man would do -- he said to hell with the cops and went all Prince Valiant, grabbing a cavalry sword and bounding up the stairs to save his lady fair. 

"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.

The Admiral Drops Knowledge on The History Channel

I've been laying here watching the History Channel for the better part of three hours... why? Because the History Channel is the balls. That's why.

When they followed "Nixon - A Presidency Revealed" with Modern Marvels I expected something about bridges or rivets, but the subject was George Washington Carver Tech. It sounded interesting enough. I knew little of Carver beyond what I learned in school and often read that it's difficult to tell where the truth of his life's achievements ended and the myth began, so I perked up a little. 

Ten or fifteen minutes in, a familiar face appeared on the screen -- David Robinson. Momentarily confused, I checked to make sure I hadn't changed the channel. Nope - still on channel 40. This must be a commercial then; what is The Admiral endorsing that is fit for the geek documentary crowd? Well, oops. That wasn't the case either. Credited simply as "David Robinson, NBA Star," The Admiral joined historians, botanists, and scholars as an expert on George Washington Carver.

I'll be honest with you, I didn't see that one coming.

Robinson spoke with passion about Carver's life, legacy, and accomplishments and appeared to have such a ridiculous breadth of knowledge that I started to wonder if the History Channel really needed to interview anyone else. I then figured that they added the historians to shield attention away from the fact that viewers were getting punched in the mouth with knowledge and opinion from a basketball player. But after considering that, I realized that 90% of the people watching this channel at 7 pm on a Saturday wouldn't have recognized him anyway.

"We are standing on the shoulders of Giants and Carver is one of those giants for us. We don't have to reinvent the wheel. What we do is we stand on that foundation that's already been laid; it's a great foundation. Carver's laid some blocks for us but we have to continue to take that tradition further." ~ The Admiral drops wisdom

As it turns out, he and his wife founded a private school in San Antonio called The Carver Academy that utilizes many of Carver's teaching techniques to provide education to K-6th graders.

Anyway, is this a first -- the professional athlete speaking intelligently about a historical figure that neither appeared in a video game nor served as a mentor/coach? If this has happened before, please excuse my ignorance. Frankly, before 7 pm tonight, I wouldn't have thought this was possible. It's not even that I think athletes are stupid or lack knowledge extending beyond their craft; I just can't imagine any being called for an interview for a program attempting to educate people. How does that even come about?? Who signs off on that?

"Okay, we'll need some experts for George Washington Carver's inventions on Modern Marvels. What've we got?" "Well, there's the tour guide from the Carver Memorial, a professor from the Tuskegee Institute, a botanist from UGA, an author on Carver's legend, and, uh, David Robinson."
"David Robinson. What school is he from?"
"... the San Antonio Spurs..."

If there was any athlete I'd expect to pull expert duty on an issue not involving athletics or weed, it'd be David Robinson. As far as I'm aware, he's the most intelligent, well-educated professional athlete of our time, at least, of those that are noteworthy... but still, this shit is bizarre and leads further credence to my belief that the world is about to come to a violent, tragic end.

How Many TrimSpa Jokes Have You Heard Today?

So Anna Nicole Smith passed away today at the age of 39. Since the authorities are citing heart failure and flu-like symptoms, I'm skipping the overdosed option and going straight to that creepy Howard K. Stern. A murder most foul, anyone? He probably whacked her for cash and prizes via slow-acting poison. Clever, Howard. Clever.

Aside from randomly shaking my head in amazement at her life events, which were often as baffling and tragic as they were amusing, I can't say Anna Nicole had any real effect on my life... sure, there was the time I got sucked in by her two-hour E! True Hollywood Story but hasn't that happened to all of us at one time or another?

Anyway, seven people told me she died over a five-minute span this afternoon -- 4 instant messages and 3 text messages... five had TrimSpa jokes. Blah.

After getting over the initial shock, I started having horribly depraved thoughts... first of her getting up to Heaven and St. Peter yelling, "Can we get a 90-year-old dick for her to suck on?" and then the hordes of men that are cranking off today in her honor... I feel kinda bad about it... but, well, since I brought it up, how about some pictures of her celebrated accomplishments after the jump (NSFW)!

ANGRY UPDATE: I gave the NSFW warning! That is all I'm required to do. So stop sending these e-mails complaining that you didn't see that coming and now you're in trouble. What did you think "pictures of Anna Nicole Smith's celebrated accomplishments" actually meant?!?! Let's try this again - if you look at the individual post, there will be naked pictures at the bottom. Said pictures will also come into view if you click the comments link and scroll up. If you click the link directly following this paragraph, you will be taken directly to tits and wool. You have been forewarned.

Finally, Kosher Porn!

Like everyone out there, I've seen my fair share of porn but I wouldn't exactly call myself an aficionado. Clinton Portis explained the difference between black and white porn a few months ago and since he didn't open my eyes to anything new, I've yet to broaden my knowledge on the subject. That said, if you had told me there was an adult film out there featuring an all-Israeli cast speaking Hebrew, I would have thought you were mocking me. But as it turns out, Jewporn exists beyond my hidden collection of self-made videos! Fancy a guess at the title?

Assraelis (nsfw).

Something about that is so smooth and refreshing.

But check out the DVD cover to your right... see anything wrong? Or, perhaps, right? Meh.. maybe not. Do you see the letter "k" tucked inside that backwards "c" in the middle of the box? That "c" is actually the Hebrew letter kof and when a k is tucked inside, it becomes the trademarked Kof-k certification for kosher food.

For those playing along at home, it means producer Oren Cohen of Tight Fit productions just gave the world its first taste of kosher porn.

Trouble is, Rabbi Yehuda Rosenbaum, whose company, KOF-K Kosher Certification, authenticates food for the Jewish market, wasn't down with the idea of tricking observant Jews into thinking they could enjoy Assraelis with their pastrami on rye.

While I know the Kof-K symbol is reserved for food, why can't they make an exception? I mean, the making and enjoyment of porn is a pleasure of the flesh, right? And in a way, that's all eating is - partaking in the flesh of another being for sustenance and enjoyment. So really, porn should be kosher and we should be allowed to watch it!

I simply can't understand why no one thought of this before Mr. Cohen. Since I just solved the "why porn can be kosher" riddle, the next issue would simply be finding a rabbi willing to supervise the action to make sure no filming occurs on Shabbat and all enjoyed pieces of flesh meet a certain standard of cleanliness. Rabbis aren't priests; no self-flagellation will be required once the process is complete! I don't think it'd be too difficult to find a rabbi that would sacrifice a week of his time for a great cause, do you? Someone has to get on this issue and make a change. To deprive the Jewish world kosher porn is like keeping vodka from the Russians. Okay.. maybe it's not that bad but I'm tellin ya, it's a serious trespass!

It's a Mony Mony Yuletide!

Alright kids, it's been a week but I'm back and better than ever.

Before I begin, thanks for the emails regarding Bret with one T. I feel much better about my reaction than I did a few days ago. The only somewhat negative feedback received was from my father, who was pretty sure I should have busted BWOT in the face but admired my restraint. And Boss, who thought I should have walked him off university property and then beaten him down to avoid a law suit. So let's move on.

For those around since the beginning, do you remember New Years two years ago when my Uncle Nat's drunken rant lead my family to momentarily believe I was the bastard child of Billy Idol?

If you don't recall, my uncle lost it when Idol came on tv during Dick Clark's Rockin Eve, shouting incessantly about Idol sleeping with his sister. When some genius pointed out that this happened about 9 months before I was born, the speculation was on. It turns out that he was talking about my aunt and not my mother but it took 5 minutes and some comments about my whitish hair and tendency to smirk and sneer to sort that out.

Nothing like drunk adults to make a mess of things.

I haven't thought of Billy Idol since that night but I'm happy to report that he's officially back in my life! While out and about yesterday, I spotted the finest piece of holiday fun since Alvin & the Chipmunks did Christmas -- Billy Idol's Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays features obvious tunes like Silver Bells, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Silent Night, and Frosty the Snowman ("This is Frosty the Snowman and we're not fucking around."), as well as self-written ditties Happy Holiday and Christmas Love.

But what's insane about this whole thing (apart from the fact that it's actually happening) is that this cd has no touch of the Rebel Yell. There is no Mony Mony Yuletide. 

Sure, Idol rocks out but he does it with Perry Como's cock out, which is as sad as it is hilarious.

You see, for Billy, a punk Christmas is bollocks. Christmas music is about the fireside, the family, and that whole feel-good warmth one gets while decorating the house with Christmas cheer. It shouldn't be about typical Billy Idol things like bringing it hard and tonguing it, which would probably make it more appealing for those of us on the Jew side of the fence. But those are the brokes, I guess.

While many might think seeing Billy Idol jazz around like Pat Boone is a bit of a surprise, I think he's just seen Love Actually one too many times.  

One tale is that of Billy Mack, a washed-up, aging rock and roll legend that records a Christmas single based on The Troggs' hit "Love is All Around." Though his record is a steaming pile, it shoots to number one on Christmas Eve and Mack returns to fame and fortune. But instead of celebrating Christmas with celebrities and other stars, he returns to his manager's house (his only real family) and they spend the holiday getting drunk and watching porn.

Frankly, this sounds like something Billy Idol would be involved in. And after this record shoots to #1 on Christmas (and it will because we Britons embrace horrible pop songs in spite of their badness), I hope he celebrates by bringing it hard and tonguing it or, at the very least, getting drunk and watching porn. I know I will be.

Dick Hammer & the Busty Crusade

So after the Pacquiao/Morales fight (which gets no space here because I've had orgasms last longer), we had a rather sizeable get-together at the house.

Around 2.30 or so, some drunken reprobate who thought he was at his own house turned on our living room tv to search for porn. We don't subscribe to the naughty channels and he was too lifted to figure out PPV, so he settled for HBO Zone's softcore menu.

[I'm not a big porn watcher but if I have to see it, give me some action. Softcore porn is like reminiscing on my dry humping days from high school. Two thumbs down.] 

Alabama Jones and the Busty Crusade -- "three women answer the call of the wild when a curator sends them to a treacherous jungle to search for an ancient relic." Turns out the ancient relic is a mystic mango that has the power to turn women into sex slaves, which seemed ironic for a movie that likely featured 27 different lesbian throwdowns and a few sessions against trees and rocks with island natives that spoke like Tarzan. But I digress.

The movie was on for a minute or so when one of the characters tried to seduce a guy carrying a spear. I've never seen 70 people collectively silenced that quickly but bad sex on a 60" plasma is more than enough to hold a bunch of hypersexed, 20-something drunkards captive for a few moments.

After a pretend makeout scene, the girl saddled up but before anything could really get going, Encino Man grabbed her tits. This was the worst thing he could have done. The move pulled her skin so taught that we could actually see the wrinkles in the bags that held her breast implants.

That was the end of tv time.

+

In seemingly unrelated news, WFMZ 69 is reporting that a bloke named Dick Hammer will be inducted into the Lafayette College Hall of Fame for radio broadcasting.

I'm serious.

At first I thought he was the holder of the magical sex slave mango in the above-mentioned "film," but it seems this is not the case.

Dick Hammer has called more than 1300 games, including the 100th Lafayette-Lehigh game, which is the longest uninterrupted rivalry in collegiate football.

"This is Dick Hammer saying good night and good sports!"

Valley Beats Bayside!

I was in elementary school when Emmitt Smith won his first MVP and barely in college when he left the Cowboys. From my perspective, Emmitt Smith killed men by the hundreds. He consumed the fiercest and nastiest of NFL defenses with balls of fire from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his arse.

That must have been my youth talking.

Over time, I caught a clue and realized that while Emmitt was an amazing running back, he wasn't the William Wallace of the gridiron (who could have done it all and more without the aid of that ridiculous O-line) and moved on to hold other men in absurdly high regard... I kinda forgot about Emmitt after that.

So it happens that the secretaries in my office spent most of Wednesday squawking about the "Dancing with the Stars" finale. Clearly divided into Team Smith and Team Lopez, the ladies would break every 45 minutes to mull things over and eat a (few) danish. Which guy was sleeping with his partner? Which one had the sexier outfits? Who's better in bed? At one point, I chimed in and said that Emmitt clearly had the best outfits, what with taking his cues from the Freddie Mercury School of Fashion and all. They were not amused.

In any case, I got home just before 8 and decided to tune in. What's the harm, right? After 10 minutes, I was sure that Mario Lopez would be the victor because I couldn't wrap my brain around the possibility that a person I once revered as more than a man could get in a dancing competition and proceed to out-gay Mario Lopez...

But he did.

It's like we're back at The Max or something, dueling for Kelly Kapowski's love. 

Caught Cheating On Your Man? Wear Nike!

I don't know when this ad ran, so forgive me if i'm 18 months late to the game. But where is Nike going with this one?

Did the shoes make her cheat? Did they help her snag the black guy that fathered the baby? Did he buy them for her? Maybe he wants her in pre-pregnancy shape.

Or maybe (and this is my guess) the Nikes are about to serve as getaway shoes. The mother will need them after the father gets over the shock and tries to beat her ass.

Hattip: Metadish (BlogNYC)

Curt Schilling Finishes Last on Celebrity Jeopardy

Check out today's musings on SportsbyBrooks where I make sniping comments on the following nuggets:

• Alex Rodriguez loses his "sounding board" with Sheffield's trade to Detroit
• Arizona Diamondbacks get new uniforms, vow to stop making our eyes bleed
• AJ Hawk sleeps in a hyperbaric chamber that increases red blood cells, size of manhood remains unaffected
  
• Yao Ming Sanitary pads and disposable underwear... just the man I want helping me out down there
• NYC residents can get potent strains of weed delivered to their door, reminding me just how much South Bend sucks
  
• Snag your next marlin with The Million Dollar Lure - sadly, that's not just a clever name
• Penny Marshall may direct the Joe Frazier biopic, final scene - Frazier to Ali: "die in a fire"
• Defend Indianapolis!
• Donovan McNabb unveils the Super Five clothing line for fatties "big men" that are sick of their clothes ripping when they sneeze
• Alabama student proposes banning Mississippi State from the SEC because they suck; the Mar oon Bulldogs respond by pounding the Tide
• North Carolina high school soccer team plays speech by Joseph Goebbels over the PA during pre-game; Croatian fans beam with pride
• Curt Schilling finished Jeopardy in dead last with $0

I'm an avid Jeopardy watcher, so I was pretty excited to see Curt Schilling on "Celebrity Jeopardy" last night. It's not often that I can actively root for someone to lose before they irritate me during the lame personal information segment, so I was feeling pretty lucky.

I have no problem with Curt Schilling, the pitcher. He's an amazing competitor and one of the most dominating pitchers of this era. Curt Schilling, the pitcher, commands respect. But off-the-field Schilling, the egomaniacal windbag? That guy chaps my arse.

Off-the-field Schilling doesn't just think he's omniscient, he also believes that the public is clamoring for his opinions, be they on social issues, political issues, or, well, any issue at all.

I'm in full support of people shouting their opinions from the rooftops but I take issue when an individual fancies him or herself an unquestioned authority by simple virtue of being a public figure.

Schilling is a serious offender in this regard. His ability to throw 95 mph fastballs and play through the pain shouldn't grant him expert status on geopolitical crises anymore than working on Syriana and The Thin Red Line should for George Clooney and Sean Penn.

But somehow, those are all the qualifications they need.

Tom Cruise got to watch Kurt Russell play a psychiatrist in Vanilla Sky, is well-versed in Scientology literature, and has a million-watt smile. Now he's ready to slang some knowledge about non-existence of clinical imbalances and yoga and a bottle of Centrum as the cure for depression.

Makes perfect sense.

You know what I'd like to do? Dump Schilling, Clooney, Penn, Cruise, and the rest of those self-important sacks on a Lost-ish island and let them duke it out. Schilling would likely emerge victorious, having beaten Sean Penn to death with a coconut but I digress... I don't even know where I'm going with this.

<-- Back to Jeopardy --> 

Curt spent a good deal of the first round in silence, holding his signaling button in the air while wearing a blank stare and a stupidly optimistic grin. But sometime in Double Jeopardy, he went on a three question rampage: 

• Shiny Things: this is counted as 1/20 of a British Pound
• What is a shilling -- how ironic
• Sounds the Same: ___ is a saline substance produced by the eye; one of two ro more layers one atop another
• What is tear/tier
• Sounds the Same (the Daily Double!): the right to ___ arms; and something about not wearing sleeves on your arms makes them ____
• What is bear/bare

It was like the scene in White Men Can't Jump where Rosie Perez whiped out the "Foods That Start with the Letter Q" category.

Schilling's score jumped from $600 to $4400 and left him trailing Malcolm in the Middle's mom and the gay guy from Melrose Place by $8000.

But then Final Jeopardy dropped this brainbuster:

• Celebrity Ancestors: Her great-great-grandmother, Louisa Lane Drew, once appeared in a play with the father of John Wilkes Booth

Schilling, who bet it all, answered: Who is Nancy Drew?

...

Look, I understand some people aren't aware that Drew Barrymore is something like a 12th generation actor, not to mention the only Drew of note in Hollywood. Pop culture isn't everybody's bag. But Nancy Drew? The fictional character? The girl whose next turn in a novel may have as much detective work as threesome action with the Hardy Boys?

Come on, Curt.  

TonyHomo.com: Drew Bledsoe's Blog

I have a new favorite spot - "TonyHomo.com: Drew Bledsoe's Blog," whose author is, naturally, "Really Drew Bledsoe."

There have been 9 entries thus far but Bledsoe's first move is to explain why he opted for such a colorful blog title:

"TonyRomo.com was taken, so I just chose this one. Also, that faggot stole my starting job."

From there, Drew fires the types of gems unseen since his days at Wazzou:

• As reported, I am staying on as back up. I'm looking forward to wearing a headset on the sidelines, and flipping through those printed glossy black and white pages, showing them to Homo after each pick he throws.
  
  "See that?" I'll say, "That's a defender. And that is the ball you threw into his hands. Generally you'll want to throw it to one of our players. But what do I know? 3,839 completions. 251 career TD's. They were all flukes." I'm sarcastic. That's something that doesn't come through in interviews. Now you guys know.
• At practice today I told Homo I would kick his ass at any event of the Quarterback Challenge on NFL Quarterback Club '96. Even the obstacle course and he could be Randall Cunningham. He was like "Drew, Come on, man. I'm trying to concentrate here." Goddammit this guy is such a pussy. How is he the starter!?
• Mailbag:
  Drew. Did you play any sports other than Football? Did Tony Romo? Thus, who is the better athlete?
  
  My Response: Great question Maureen. I was, in fact, a basketball All-American in High School. Homo, I believe said his second favorite sport is "the yo-yo." So I'm the better athlete.

Have a visit; it's a bloody riot. Either that or my hangover has skewed my judgment... it's probably a little of both.

(HT: Geiger & JC) 

The GOP: Party of Lincoln, Reagan, and... Mike Tyson

You've all seen Dumbo, right? Do you remember when the crows sang "When I See An Elephant Fly" after Timothy, the mouse, concluded that Dumbo must've flown into the tree after a night of drunken excess?

I heard a fireside chat,
I saw a baseball bat
And I just laughed till I thought I'd die.
But I'd been done seen about everything
When I see an elephant fly. 

No? Anyone? I suppose that reference was a stretch. But thanks to Mike Tyson, we are seeing the real life equivalent of a pachyderm taking flight:

The Baddest Man on the Planet is on the stump for the the Grand Old Party.

That's right. Mike Tyson - convicted rapist, possible cannibal, and resident of Bolivian - is on the campaign trail, convincing citizens of Maryland to vote for his ex-brother-in law, Lt. Governor Michael Steele, in the race for the US Senate.

While at a Steele function, Kid Dynamite was clad in a white and blue "Steele for U.S. Senate" t-shirt, stating that while he used to think black Republicans were "sellouts," he's done his due diligence in researching the issues and the party.

"We have to open our eyes more."

Is this the bizarro world? Is up, down? Is black, white? Are we actually on Htrae?

Well, maybe not. Brace yourselves! I'm about to work out a theory.

Put the GOP's moralistic agenda aside for a moment and consider that this is an economic issue.

Once one becomes rich, the goal is to maintain said level of wealth while working to increase it over time. And when one rises from poverty to having millions in the bank, spacious homes across the country, and budding entrepreneurial ventures, free-market policies supporting limited regulation, capitalism, and economic liberalism suddenly become matters of import. As such,
it's likely that this individual's views will shift to a more western brand of conservatism.

Normally, I wouldn't imagine this phenomenon operating in reverse but we're talking about Mike Tyson. Could it happen any other way?

Iron Mike has gone from being the baddest man on the planet to the posterboy for the human shame spiral. The time for his interest in the conservative ideal to be piqued was in the days after Cus D'Amato died and before Don King, Rory Holloway, and John Horne began stealing his money. But it never happened and he spent 20 years making dreadful personal and financial errors, went bankrupt, and is presently getting nickel and dimed by the federal government.

But now, reduced to the role of the dancing bear at the county fair, his eyes have opened to the party that emphasizes the role of personal decision making in fostering economic prosperity...

Given his relationship with the candidate, it's easy to be suspicious. But Mike Tyson is a man of convictions and even though he'll probably get mad at the Republicans next week and threaten to eat their hearts and their children, I'm gonna buy it.

... 

I don't know what idiots would look to Mike Tyson for political advice but kudos to him for helping to rock the vote. That said, I live and work in this country for a large portion of the year, and it's not comforting to know a man running on the Iron Mike Seal of Approval could enter the Senate this January but I suppose Steele can't make things worse than they already are. Maybe he can get Tyson to hang out in the chamber and intimidate votes out of others.

"I'm on the Zoloft to keep from killing y'all... but I won't be anymore if you don't change your vote to yes, motherfucker!" 

HT: Off Wing Opinion

Illinois and the Anti-Chief Illiniwek Cabal

Former Virginia Governor Mark Warner announced that he will not seek the Democratic presidential nomination in 2008.

Warner said he wanted to be able to put his family ahead of his political career, which means I won't be able to put this bumper sticker on my car and convince others that I'm making a run to be the first female half-Apache, half-white Jew with UK citizenship in the White House...

Thanks for robbing me, Mark! Jerk. 

 +

UPDATE: I had a serious blonde moment afternoon and neglected to mention that today's (yesterday's, rather) smart ass comments on various happenings in sport can be found on SportsbyBrooks. A couple will look familiar but there are some other good nuggets to be found, including:

• I'm putting my panties on lockdown thanks to Dennis Rodman
• Anti-Chief Illiniwek cabal seeks to sabotage Illini recruiting by encouraging them to attend a school that doesn't bag on Indians
• Keyshawn Johnson gets catty about Randy Moss
• Perfect NFL gift for the trashy girl in your life
  
• Mama McNabb finds the internets!
• Charles Rogers says the Detroit Lions treated him like his ex-girlfriend
• UT asks screeching fan to pipe down
• ESPN goes out of its way to make the masses dread Monday Night Football
• A-Rodsucks.com - up for auction at eBay
• Paul Robinson channels Charlie Brown
• Men are more likely to delay going to the ER for injury if sports are on TV

Keith Richards and Ryder Cup WAGs

Niko, Guest Poster

Hello, mates! My cousin is still down and out (she should be back on Monday), so you're stuck with me again.

The first thing I'm supposed to touch on is an article by the bloke at The Wade Blogs -- he sent something to my cousin for her "consideration" (she said that means I have to write on it), so here we go.

The Wade Blogs takes a look at the Ryder Cup pairings and evaluates their WAGS (wives & girlfriends for you non-Brits). Let me tell you, mates, some of these birds are a right vomitous mess. Laurae Westwood, Melissa Lehman, Glendryth Wooseman (who looks like Mrs. Doubtfire), Lisa Cink, Amy DiMarco, Tabitha Furyk -- Hideous.

I can maybe see shagging them if my life was in danger or if I had a burlap sack to cover up their mannish faces or if I was being blackmailed but bloody fucking Christ. When you're a professional golfer making millions of paper, you're allowed to have trophies and/or standards -- just look at Phil Mickelson. If he was an everyday bloke, he'd be clamoring for the likes of the above-mentioned Glendryth Wooseman instead of a woman completely out of his league like his wife, Amy.

I'll bet when Phil chats up God, the only thing he asks for is more championships and more money. If he lost it all tomorrow, something tells me Amy Mickelson's knickers would be coming up mighty fast. But rather than follow Phil for example, some of these blokes look like they waved the white flag and settled for women whose best skill is probably making pies.

Many of the WAGs fall in the middle of the pack and are not worth comment; there are also some that are rated a little too high -- e.g., Morgan Leigh-Norman who scores an "eagle" even though she looks like Greg Norman with female parts. But the article does include mentions of Elin Nordegren Woods, Amy Mickelson, and Diane Antonopoulos (all fully clothed, sadly), as well as a Sonya Toms shot from an SI Swimsuit issue. Bravo. I advise that when you visit this site today, don't go past Amy Mickelson... the further down you scroll, the more tragic it becomes.

Here are some of the unfortunate looking ones:

+

Keith Richards has quit drugs because he thinks the quality has gone down.

“All they do is try and take the high out of everything. I don’t like the way they’re working on the brain area instead of just through the blood system. That’s why I don’t take any of them any more.”

That's a bloke who knows his drugs, so maybe he's right. But Keef may want to consider the fact that one could make speedballs by using drops of his blood as a base ingredient. When the plaque that lines one's arteries is made of cocaine and heroin, I don't think a line will have the same effect as it did when you started drugging in 1946.

+ Today is Elephant Appreciation Day!

Send a card to the bird in your life and see if she comes looking for a fight.

Cheers!
Niko

Andre Agassi Drinking Game = Coma

So after taking in a bit of the Browns-Bears preseason game last night, we returned to watch what was supposed to be the final match of Andre Agassi's illustrious career.

Agassi and Marcos Baghdatis - a cheerful goofball that was the runner-up at this year's Australian Open and a semifinalist at Wimbledon - quickly settled into a rhythm of hard-hitting baseline exchanges. Though the play was sublime, knowing that we could reasonably leave, engage in random shenanigans, and return 2-3 hours later when the drama was at its peak made for a restless crowd. As such, some were eager to head back out while a few of us wanted to stay.

So in an effort to appease all present, we created a drinking game based on Andre Agassi's situation and John McEnroe's random comments. By the time the second set began, it was immediately obvious that this could be trouble...

One Shot of Beer:

• Anyone mentions any variation on the word "retire"
• John McEnroe mentions Agassi's age (36)
• Take 2 extra shots if McEnroe notes that Agassi is "playing/moving like a (fill in younger age here) year old!"
• John McEnroe mentions Agassi's bad back and/or litany of ailments and treatments
• Take 2 extra shots if this happens in the same context as a discussion about his age
• Camera pans to a pained, worried Steffi Graf
• If she is actually smiling when this happens, pound your beer
• Agassi hits a return of serve for a winner
• A random spectator voices his/her love for Agassi (or other supportive comments)
• Any mention of Agassi's mullet days
• Everyone must shout, "IMAGE IS EVERYTHING!" when this occurs
• Opponent hits a drop shot and Agassi makes an annoyed groan sound on his run to the ball
• Agassi blows a break point

Two Shots of Liquor:

• Agassi loses his serve
• Tiebreaker!
• McEnroe implores either player to challenge the official line call with the "Hawk Eye" system
• An extra shot if player loses challenge because the ball fuzz happened to clip the line in the graphic
• McEnroe crushes on the Hawk Eye system, using it just to show how close the ball was to the line
• An extra shot if McEnroe feigns surprise when he is wrong about the call
  

Pound A Beer

• USA runs Maria Sharapova's "I Feel Pretty" Nike commercial
• This is good for 6-8 beers for a 4 hour match
• McEnroe mancrushes on Agassi's career
• This is subjective but once someone starts drinking, all must
• Any reference to the final US Open runs of Jimmy Connors or Pete Sampras
• The words "fairy tale run" or "storybook ending" - if used in the same context as a Connors or Sampras mention, disregard
• Injury timeout
• Agassi bows and blows kisses to the crowd

If you didn't get a chance to watch the match last night, try to catch a repeat on USA, as the highlights on SportsCenter don't do proper justice. It transitioned from good match to classic over the course of four hours and was capped by a magical fifth set rivaling any that have been played in recent years.

As for the game's success, we were all in a really bad way by match's end but if I'm completely straightened out by the time we fly to Atlanta in a few hours, that should mark the full recovery time at right around 12 hours. But if I can get through the morning without Boss noticing that I'm all jacked up, I consider this a win. I'll recover on the plane.

In any case, there are 5 rounds left to play but how long Agassi lasts is anyone's guess. It's being reported that he'll likely run over his next opponent, Benjamin Becker (no relation to Boris), to set up a Labor Day match against Andy Roddick in the Round of 16... with Jimmy Connors now acting as Roddick's coach, it should be another great one.

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In related news, check out the Wade Blogs for the Top 10 Andre Agassi Commercials 

Disgraced Athlete Challenge!

Justin Gatlin, the reigning 100-meter Olympic and world champion, received an 8-year ban from track yesterday, avoiding a lifetime penalty in exchange for his cooperation with doping authorities.

There are exceptions but most Olympic athletes, sprinters in particular, have a short window of time in which to dominate at a world class level, so I doubt we'll ever see Gatlin run again. It's being reported that the sentence could be reduced to 4 years if he helps out enough in doping investigations, but in the life of a sprinter, that's still an eternity.

I've been a Gatlin fan since he burst onto the international scene in 2002 and when the news first broke that he was doping, I was in total disbelief. Like any schmuck who refuses to find fault in those I champion, I was all too eager to accept the claims that he'd been set up and that he never knowingly took or allowed anyone to give him testosterone. When people mentioned his previous suspension, I was quick to remind them that it was all a big misunderstanding, as amphetamines were in his ADD medication. Hell, the IAAF even agreed that the infraction was an accident and Gatlin became an ambassador for the anti-doping crusade.

But after reality set back in, I wised up. Fool me once, shame on you, ya know? I began resenting Gatlin for ruining the hero fantasy. How dare he have the audacity to wrong me, the fan?! It's not right! It's not fair! I'm a former sprinter and Olympic year or not, I'm following the races and keeping tabs on the competitors. Not many people can claim that level of devotion to a sport where a ball is not involved and I think it grants me the right to be entertained! I demand to be entertained!

If Justin Gatlin, Marion Jones, and the rest of these cheating gits can't stay off PED's, then the least they can do is pay me back for all my fanship (which includes buying the crap they endorse) by finding another way to make me happy... There are only two ways to do that and since I don't think Mr. Gatlin will be knocking on my front door anytime soon to give me oral pleasure, it's time for him to show up on tv and make me laugh. How will he do that?

Disgraced Athlete Challenge!

It's a spin on my previous show idea, Survivor: America's Worst Sporst Announcers. But since I'm cutting out a large amount of the death and destruction, I think this one has actual promise.

DAC will feature 10 individuals who were forced out of sports and/or the limelight due to their association with drugs - any drug will do but those with PED backgrounds will be featured players. Whether they were actually caught or not is irrelevant, as the key prerequisite here is that banned substances sent them or their families down a shame spiral.

As far as contestants go, we'll round up the usual suspects -- Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa, Marion Jones, Tim Montgomery, Justin Gatlin, Jeremy Giambi, Floyd Landis, Rafael Palmeiro, Ricky Williams, Jose Canseco, Chris "The Birdman" Andersen. The show will be hosted by Carl Lewis, who failed drug tests and escaped punishment. Lewis will open every show up with a song.

The contestants will compete in varying team and head-to-head athletic and gladiatorial challenges and anything is game! We'll have typical challenges involving things like sprints and baseball and go-cart driving. But there will also be other events like hanging by their hands on a metal bar that sits over a pit in pouring rain or walking across a beam while angry fans throw balls and other approved objects at them. First to fall is off the show.

At the end of each episode, a player (assuming none die during competition) will be voted off by the audience and forced to give a legitimate apology, expressing remorse for nearly everything, maybe even being born if their crimes against the sporting humanity was strong enough. It'll go something like this...

"Sorry for wasting your time, fans. Sorry for electrifying you with trickery, fans. Sorry for leading you down the primrose path. I'm a fraudulent cheating fuck and I'm shocked that my dumb ass got caught even though I knowingly doped up. I really thought I could get away with everything so long as I said 'shocked' and 'never knowingly' but it turns out I was wrong and now I need to pay the price. Did you lose faith in athletes? Did I destroy the ideal? Would you like to poke me in the arse with a cattle prod? That makes total sense and I understand. Here's my address. Feel free to drop by. I won't get indignant on you. Thank you for your time and consideration. I certainly don't deserve it. Good bye, all. I'm now going to fuck off and die." ~ Disgraced Athlete X

At the completion of the apology, the DA's name will be completely erased from all records of their sport and banished to an island where he or she will be unable to influence the lives of others, whether it be through appearances on Oprah about finding their spirits and learning life lessons, writing memoirs, or any other activity where offended sports fans could catch wind of their continued existence. If they are caught out in public, fans have a right to assault them.

Hopefully, ESPN will get on board and replace Around the Horn with my gripping series. There would certainly be a boost in ratings, especially if Tony Reali, who has spent the last 3 years as a ringmaster at the monkey circus, participates as well. When he's voted off the show, "Good bye, all. I lucked into my gig at ESPN and now I'm leaving to fuck off and die" will take the place of the DAC apology.

The Joy of Cesc, Samuel L., & Britney Spears

1. The Mighty Arsenal has one foot in the Champions League group stages after trouncing Dinamo Zagreb 3-0 in the third qualification round first leg last night. Shorn of nine players and baring only five of the 11 who started the Champions League Final 12 weeks ago, we were lacking in numbers, experience, and preparation, so it was no surprise that our lads struggled to find rhythm in the first half.

Nearly an hour passed before Arsenal exploded into life with two goals separated by less than 80 seconds. In the 63rd minute, Alexandr Hleb slid the ball forward to Robin Van Persie who touched it on to Cesc Fabregas on the right; the 19-year-old Spaniard (in his 100th game in an Arsenal shirt) ripped home a cross to put the Gunners up by one. Two minutes later, Hleb's lofted pass sent Van Persie racing clear. The Dutchman held off his marker and steered a left foot shot past Turina's groping left hand and into the far corner of the net. 2-0. Zagreb tried to respond immediately under the impression that it would actually matter but their efforts were in vain. In the 79th minute, Fabregas grabbed his second and Arsenal's third goal with a superb strike that saw him ride two tackles and crash home another cross-shot into the far corner. 3-0.

Other matters of note - Spanish pretty boy Reyes is gone... Get ready for Ribery!

2. Check out this amazing service that sends your friends messages from Samuel L. Jackson; he threatens them and demands that they go see Snakes on a Plane on August 18th (and that they take you with them). I'm slowly but surely sending it out to my entire cell phone contacts list and have been surprised to find many people believing they were chosen in some strange Publisher's Clearinghouse for phone calls by celebs and nearly wet themselves in excitement as a result. "You won't believe who just called me! Wait for it. SAMUEL L!!!" "What was the originating number on that call?" "Well huh... it was your number. Weird." "i wonder why that is..." The only disappointing aspect to this service is that Samuel L. doesn't use the word "motherfucker," the first time he's failed to do so since starring as Mr. Glass in Unbreakable. That, if anything, should make it clear to recipients that the con is on.

3. From IDontLikeYouInThatWay: All you ever need to know about Britney Spears is in this video (from 'Chaotic'). She's an idiot. I really don't know how else to say it. Kevin Federline sounds like he's trying to explain governing dynamics to a parrot. A parrot who's in a coma. A parrot who's in a coma and has been thrown into the street and run over. You could put Christmas lights on your car and drive Britney Spears to Medieval Times and she'd think she went back in time.

I think that about sums it up.

Wankers Run Nike's Marketing & Design Departments

I was mortified yesterday when a friend sent me a disturbing image of Wayne Rooney, drenched in blood-red paint in the image of St. George's cross/Christ/Crusader and screaming a war cry. It's more than fair to say that if our team is going to make a run in the World Cup, it will be due to his presence but Savior of English football or not, this is this is offensive on so many levels. As one would expect, it has provoked fierce condemnation:

After the Rooney ad, I was pretty sure Nike couldn't top itself... then I saw the unveiling for the new Oregon Ducks uniforms. Thanks Nike, for making my eyes bleed. These things are fucking wretched. But where should the mockery begin?! Perhaps we should start with the diamond plate trim that's better served on a truck with a gun rack and a Dale, Jr. sticker in the back than a football uniform. [Side note - get a load of the tattoo on #86. Rather than stick to the cliched barbed wire, this git went for the entire barnyard fence. You talk about intimidation!]

Maybe Oregon can suit up some of its players in this get up and form a team for the next remake of Rollerball, or better yet, have them pose as extras in the next installment of Mad Max.

So I Guess Rafael Nadal Isn't Gay Afterall!

Rafael Nadal was on choke artist duty Saturday but unfortunately for opponent and French hope Paul-Henri Mathieu, it wasn't fatigue or a lack of mental toughness that affected the defending French Open champion.

It was a piece of banana. 

"I took a little bit of a banana. It slipped through the mouth sideways. I don't know what happened but it suddenly stayed stuck halfway through," a bemused Nadal said pointing to his neck.

Serving for the third set at 5-4 and 15-all, the Spaniard ran off the court and motioned to the umpire for the trainer. The move drew loud whistles and jeers from the largely French crowd, as they believed he ran off the court in a dodgy attempt to slow his opponent's momentum. But appearances were the least of Nadal's concerns, as he was not about to let a piece of fruit scupper his quest to chalk up a 56th consecutive victory on clay.

"It's not that I couldn't breathe but I did feel a very strange sensation."

Welcome to the world of deep throating, Raffy. It's a crazy feeling when you can still breathe but know that something just ain't right. Soon enough, you're in a panic and all your fine work has gone to pot. I've been there, mate, and no matter what the French are saying about you right now, I commend you for taking swift action.

I'll be honest, when you stroked and slid your way to a fascinating victory over Mariano Puerta last year, I assumed you knew what you were doing when it came to topics like this. Can you blame me? You and your flowing Vidal Sassoon locks looked like you were on your way to a clambake; by the time you hoisted the Coupe des Mousquetaires, I could practically smell the penis on your breath. So please forgive my surprise at your troubles but rest assured, this banana problem is nothing a little practice can't fix:

A banana can be eaten quickly when biting off 2 or 3 inches at a time but I have a strong feeling that you're not a nibbler. In fact, you're a man on the go who goes big or goes home, but being that type of bloke doesn't mean you have to put yourself in danger! 

The average length of your oral cavity is between 3 and 3.5 inches while the average length of a ripe banana is beween 6 and 6.5 inches. For those following along at home, that's twice the size.

In a situation like this, your biggest obstacle to taking all of the banana at once is the nearly 90 degree bend behind your tongue that leads down into your throat. As a result, you'll need to consider the angle that you're holding the banana to make sure it agrees with the natural downward angle of your throat. No shoving in sideways when taking big bites - that just won't do. Once the banana is in, relax your jaw and throat muscles as much as possible. If it's a struggle, try yawning.. it helps things along. After that, all you need do is swallow. The banana will slide right down, enabling you to get back on the court within the 90 seconds allotted for changeovers.

In all seriousness, Nadal was up 5-4 and needed to win the game to take a 2-1 set lead; taking a break in the middle of what is arguably the most crucial game of the match was a dick move. I don't doubt that the Mallorcan had a piece of banana lodged in his throat -- it's too ridiculous a thing for a person to make up. But Nadal freely admits to taking the medical timeout for no other reason than his failing concentration and fear that he'd lost momentum. He wasn't choking nor was he struggling to breathe. He was simply inconvenienced. And when his opponent started picking up steam, Nadal pussed out and called the trainer for a momentum-stopping 3 minute medical timeout. 

Though his actions were within the rules, they were bush league and I (unrealistically) hope his flamey pirate ass gets smoked by Lleyton Hewitt in the quarterfinals tomorrow.

Chris Rix Takes Irony to the Next Level

You all remember Chris Rix, right? You should. Even though it's been two years since he left Florida State and the stranglehold on mediocrity that he helped establish, it certainly felt like he was a Nole for 8 or 9.

After Rix graduated and subsequently went undrafted, I still believed that when college football opened in the fall, I'd see his big blockhead under center. But wouldn't ya know it - the day arrived and there were no stories by Brent Musberger and his gang of incompetents on Rix's life struggles; no comments about him being one of the most polarizing players in the history of college football; no more "Rix Happens" t-shirts in the crowd. It was surreal. He was gone. The guy was obnoxiously mediocre for so long that I never thought a time would exist when he wasn't in my life. I tell you, it was a sobering moment.

So, as you can imagine, it was a time of great celebration when I stumbled across this: The Chris Rix Champion Training Academy. Oh yes, it's real!

At Champion, Rix will teach the budding Heisman hopeful in your life how to "Aim for Greatness" with personalized weight and cardio training, as well as a disciplined nutrition and diet program.

Though Rix never qualified for braintrust duty, he is (and I imagine, remains) a superior physical specimen. So it's reasonable to assume that he has something to offer in the way of helping young athletes get the most out of their bodies. But rather than stop where his expertise ends, Rix has the audacity to offer tips on, of all things, being a "Championship QB."

Take a moment to laugh. I know I did.

I have to give Rix props for his creative signature... making the "C" into a football shape complete with laces and dotting his "i" with a cross is top shelf. Nice work, Chris. You can school me anytime! w00t!

Rules one through three and five through seven make total sense. Bravo Chris. But let's take a look at rules 4 and 8 - 10.

• Rule 4: "AIM" FOR GREATNESS... Help your receiver with an accurate and catchable pass.
• Rule 8: USE YOUR EYES TO LOOKOFF... Make sure not to stare-down or lock-on your target until it is time to make the throw.
• Rule 9: I.H.O.  IS HE OPEN?!... Don’t risk throwing an interception, turnovers will hurt you and your team.

Antrel Rolle: "He can be rattled. He has a tendency to lose his focus and just throw the ball anywhere -- not looking for a target, but just throwing the ball."

Then there's Rule 10: SERVE YOU TEAMMATES (sic)... Show you (sic) teammates a selfless/unselfish player who puts them first. Amazingly, the website omits rules 11, 12, and 12a: "Don't sleep through your exams and get suspended for the Sugar Bowl;" "Even when in a hurry, don't use unauthorized tags to park in a handicap spot when regular spaces are available;" "Avoid using the 'outpatients only' spot at your university's geriatric clinic."

Chris Rix has about as much right teaching kids about THESE fundamentals as I do going to an elementary school to give a lecture on how to avoid becoming mad with drink. If Rix wants to run a camp, fine. He is/was an exceptionally talented quarterback who clearly didn't become the player he was supposed to be; I'm sure he has a lot of knowledge to impart to the youngins. But when you spend a career disregarding four of your own rules for being a champion quarterback, you forfeit the right to impart said "wisdom" on children who think you're putting them on the fast track to the next level.

Rix is a guy who, in his senior year, couldn't hit the ocean if he stood on a beach, but if he can convince idiot parents to fork over their hard-earned dollars under the illusion that he can make their kids winners, more power to him.

As the saying goes, "there's a sucker born every minute" and I'm sure Chris Rix will happily take money from more than his fair share.

David Blaine To Visit Baloo, Shere Khan, & King Louie

[Be forewarned. I'm starting out with a huge tangent. If you want to skip it, proceed to asterisk] Sophomore year, a girl was moved into our room (we were in a triple) after struggles with her previous roommate. We figured she got kicked out for being a proselytizing atheist but since my roommate and I were Catholic and Jewish, respectively, that conclusion didn't add up. In any case, we found Andrea to be a nice enough girl. Sure, she sexed up a 48-year-old father of 3 on AIM until 3 am each night [she showed us a picture of him once and he looked like Lips Manless from Dick Tracy with a buzzcut] and had an abnormal obsession with David Blaine [wore DB t-shirts at least twice a week] but she wasn't all bad. At least, her boyfriend didn't think so. His name was Abel and if there was ever the human embodiment of Pigpen from the Peanuts strip, it was him. He smelled like cat litter, cigarrettes, and funky balls and ass, a nauseating aroma made worse by his wool wardrobe and living conditions. Side note -- if you weren't on a full ride athletic scholarship like myself or privy to various grants and funding like my roomie, tuition cost the average student about $40,000 per year. This wasn't a huge problem since most kids came from money but the ones that didn't had loans and part-time jobs. But while Abel didn't come from a well-monied background, he had neither a scholarship nor a job to make up for it. How he was getting by is anyone's guess but unlike 99% of undergrads, he chose to live off campus in a $400/month one room shithole with three cats. His wardrobe consisted of 2 pair wool pants, a few t-shirts, and a wool Union Army uniform jacket (he was in a group that re-enacted Civil War battles on the weekends). And since he couldn't afford detergent, the wool absorbed between 6-8 days of funk before he rinsed it out in OUR sink with hand soap. My roommate and I couldn't understand why Andrea didn't do his laundry for him or buy him more clothes but never had the guts to ask... our only request was that they not have sex in our room, as his stink would linger for longer than the typical 2 hours. Sometime around spring midterms, things came to a head. Not only did they violate the sex rule, Abel left his clothes behind for Andrea to hand wash. Trouble was, she forgot and they rotted in our closed-up room ALL afternoon. After dinner, we had an intervention. "Look, we can't live like this. If Abel wants to come back, he has to agree to start bathing and washing and wearing other fabrics than wool." My roomie chimed in, "Yeah and this is fuckin up my asthma!" "Yeah, it's fuckin up her asthma!! If he can't afford it, we'll help him out. Something's gotta give here! He smells worse than B.O. and it sticks to everything it touches like it's alive!" Andrea thought it over and then dropped these bombs on us:

"Wouldn't it be amazing if David Blaine could like, I dunno, fix it?!" Our faces could best be described as "Wa-waaaaaaaaah?!" "Yeah! He could come here. Do magic and fix Abel and you wouldn't have to keep buying the potpourri bottles and Febreeze, Warner!" Stunned silence. She continued: "Here's what gets me. Everybody says 'Jesus Christ,' 'Oh God,' 'God dammit,' shit like that. But God doesn't exist so why not replace that with David Blaine! 'Ohh David Blaine!' 'Blaine dammit!' 'David fucking Blaine!' At least he's real and powerful!"

My roommate and I looked at each other and got the hell out of there. This was before the South Park episode about Blaintology, so we couldn't even mock her... we could only run away.

* David Blaine can eat a dick. Though my feelings are irrationally rooted in my hatred for the above-mentioned deranged girl, I'll admit that early on, I liked him. He's hot and the levitating and street magic were pretty cool... or as cool as magic can be. But then the arrogant bastard stopped doing tricks and got on with lame endurance stunts. I'm not saying the guy has to be impregnating chicks without having sex like David Copperfield but at least wow me with an illusion or two. Trick me, David! Mislead me! Lead me down the primrose path! Don't just sit in a tank for a week (what was the point of that??!) and then promise that you'll hold your breath for 9 minutes or die and NOT FOLLOW UP!! I refuse that! What's even worse about this madness is in the time that it's taken Blaine's dick to transition from raisin to shriveled up movie theater hotdog, he's come up with his next Lack of Trickery Stunt:

"I'm planning to live harmoniously among wild beasts. And I'd like to do it alone in the jungle."

Get the fuck outta here, David Blaine! You're not Mowgli and Baloo won't be out there caring for your ass. Besides, I think Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey (AND her gorillas in the mist) would agree that this shit is old hat.

I've got a magic trick for you - why don't you send yourself to Hell, contact ABC from the 5th circle, and arrange for them to televise your return. Stu Scott can write a free verse poem about your brilliant emergence from the fire and if you don't come back, we'll assume the trickery failed.

Passover, Hitler, & People That Have to Go

Well kids, it's 420. The last day of Passover has finally arrived and come sunrise, Ill be feeding my Buddha a couple sausage mcmuffins, a side of latkes, and a lemon-lime Gatorade. And guess what else today is)! That's right - Adolf Hitler's birthday. And in 2008, Pesach actually begins on his birthday. Coincidence? Probably. But I'll furrow my brow in suspicion just for kicks. But ya know something, t's really too bad 420 day didn't exist back in the 1930s. Der Führer could have taken some hits of the ganjah to celebrate his birthday. Over time, he'd develop a habit and slowly but surely mellow out. Would he have still hated the Jews? Probably. Would he still have been crazy? Definitely. But in exchange for one bag of Cheetos and a plastic cup of oversugared grape Kool-Aid, Adolf Hitler wouldn't have dragged his sorry ass off the couch to do anything about us. Weed could have saved millions, a few of my relatives included.

In any case, let's move on for today's nominees for people/groups that need to be shuffled loose the mortal coil with no regrets:

• Curt Schilling - this post's other German dickbag. While on WEEI radio, Ketchup said the reason the Red Sox and Devil Rays have had numerous bench-clearing incidents is because 22 year old Scott Kazmir hits "multiple batters every time he threw against us. I don't know if any of it was intentional, but he kept hitting players." Nevermind the fact that the Sox and the Rays were having squabbles before Kazmir was even in the bigs. Luckily for us, the Logic Master continues, ''We made it clear to them, for the most part, that we were only throwing at guys on their team because their young pitchers couldn't throw inside. Obviously, he's getting better and he's learning. But you don't learn to pitch in the big leagues inside, you learn how to do that in the minor leagues. And you can't do that here because you get people hurt." Oh really? In 7 starts against the Red Sox, Kazmir has hit 5 batters. However, in those games, Red Sox pitchers have hit a total of 10 Devil Rays. That headhunting policy is sheer brilliance.  
• Montgomery City Council - The City Coucil has a message for late civil rights icon Rosa Parks and other blacks who were mistreated in Montgomery during the Civil Rights Era: "We're sorry." The majority-white council voted unanimously Tuesday to make a formal apology after the Alabama Legislature approved a bill that sets up a process to pardon Parks and hundreds of others arrested for violating segregation-era laws. Nice work, you bleeding rotters! She's been dead since last October and you couldn't manage an apology before then? They had 50 years to get this done and even if you argue that it never would have happened in the 60s, 70s, 80s, OR the 90s, they couldn't get the stones in the new millenium? Remember when asshats would say dumb shit like "Oh you can't act like that! It's the year 2000!" "Well, I'm doin this and this cuz it's the year 2000." Same message to you, Montgomery City Council!! By the year 2000, you shoulda been on the case. Christ, you could have apologized to give her a good 90th birthday present! But no, not you. Seven months after the woman kicks it, "Oops... we didn't mean it !" Shameful.
• Philips (electronics company) - The company has invented a way based on existing digital television technology to stop people from fast forwarding and/or changing channels to avoid commercials... which makes it the worst invention in the history of mankind. What's amazing is that Philips acknowledges how much suck is involved here, so their patent suggests that "the system could offer viewers the chance to pay a fee interactively to go back to skipping adverts." Make me pay to skip a commercial??? FUCK YOU, PHILIPS! If anyone wants to form a hitsquad with me and make a trip to the Netherlands to enforce justice on Philips, just let me know.

That's enough anger for this afternoon. Cheers and Happy 420 day to all!

Carmen Electra Busted After Riding Sybian

Due to XM Radio's partnership with Major League Baseball, I choose to waste $12.95 per month on a subscription with them rather than Sirius Satellite Radio. As I see it, the only reason to get Sirius is to catch Howard Stern's daily antics. After a month or so of listening to him when he was free, his schtick, though initially amusing, got boring and I switched back to Bob & Tom. Needless to say, I can't speak on the joys of Sirius but those that can may have heard Carmen Electra sit her way to a near orgasm on Howard's Sybian last week. Sybian is, essentially, the dream toy of the lazy masturbator. No more spending time getting the right angle on vibrators or lubing up dildos or hoping your hand doesn't cramp after a long day at work, girls! With the Sybian, you slip down over the knob (or your desired attachment) and into the saddle, turn up the power, and have a multiple  "Oh" face ride. In any case, Howard has been trying to convince his female guests to take his toy for a spin and Carmen Electra obliged last week. Though she didn't ride it to orgasm, she had a very good time and now, it could cost her some dollars.

Of her experience, Carmen gasped to Stern:  "It feels great.  I have to get one for the house.  It's awesome!"  Speaking of which, if a girl like her says something like this:  "This is the best thing I have ever felt in my life. I felt like I was going to take off."  If this is the best thing SHE's ever had, I may be placing an order.

Electra's over-heated little antics did not impress bosses at Max Factor (that's makeup, boys). The company placed morality and conduct clauses, of sorts, in her contract and have no placed her contract under review.  Ya know.. it's almost as if Factor didn't realize they'd signed Carmen Electra, a former porn star whose vagina was retreaded at 100,000 miles. If I hire someone due to their notoriety as a wild, crazy sex symbol, I think it's only fair for them to keep up the act.  The only thing Electra did wrong was to not ride the Sybian on Leno while wearing their makeup and a Max Factor t-shirt. That is probably the true crime... as it stands, the only people who heard Electra's antics are subscribers and aliens picking up the Sirius signal on their battle cruisers.

Huzzah for St. Patrick!

As Jerry Springer would often say in his Final Thought, take care of yourselves.. and each other.

Cheers!

Poncho & Lefty - An Uncensored Review

Before I start this review proper, have a little background -- I was contacted by a chick from M80, a "grassroots marketing firm" (I don't know what that means) that is promoting the uncensored dvd of Comedy Central's Roast of Pamela Anderson. Apparently, they spotted a link to my recap of the original airing on Gorilla Mask and asked if I'd write a review of the uncensored version in exchange for a free copy of the dvd. You know how I am about free, so here's my unbiased review... [most of it will sound a little familiar].

I'm not a Pamela Anderson fan. Don't get me wrong - I think she's gorgeous and I certainly understand how one gets rubbed off in her honor every 4.2 seconds but until I saw Comedy Central's airing of the Pam Anderson Roast, I couldn't figure how any of that made good roast fodder. Though I can never get enough of NYC comics shitting on people, after 15 minutes of sex tape jokes, I was sure they'd run out of material. I was right but somehow, they made it work for the most of the show, and when they didn't, Courtney Love stepped in to remind us that she's still a crazy crack whore. My only complaint was that a lot of the jokes were edited out - I don't mean obvious words like fuck, pussy, and cunt, but whole jokes like Sarah Silverman saying, "You know your co-star Elon Gold? His best friend is Jeffrey Ross. Yeah, their noses went to Hebrew school together." What... Was that too much? In addition, performances from roasters Lady Bunny and Eddie Griffin were completely missing. Comedy Central came back from a commercial break, said "here's who you missed," and called it a day. It's not that I'm all that interested in seeing Pamela Manderson and Undercover Brother have a say but when someone bothers to credit them and goes further to hype them as performers, I expect to see their work... You know me with those pesky principles and all. So it's only fitting that the most glaring omission from the uncensored DVD was a complete lack of these two roasters. You're treated to a curtain graphic and then 90 seconds of roasters who, I can only assume, had original jokes and didn't need to be seen. First was Elon Gold who said that he pitched a show idea to the Stacked producers that involved a misunderstanding that ended with him cumming on Pam's tits. Next comes Lady Bunny, a jokeless 30 seconds capped off by Courtney Love flashing her bidness. Last but not least was Eddie Griffin - he talked about PETA and made the obligatory black man loves fried chicken joke. Yawn. So okay, maybe it's fitting that these guys got left out, but I hope the suspicious, conspiracy types amongst you are wondering if maybe the Comedy Central folks simply don't think it's okay for a black guy and a transvestite to bust on the fantasy of every man in America.

In any case, I was disappointed to find that if you've ever caught the Roast on Comedy Central's Secret Stash after 1 am, all this dvd is offering is a few extra jokes and some bonus menu items. You get red carpet interviews with Charo (she did the cuchi stuff while her son watched), Dennis Rodman, Anna Nicole Smith, and the roasters; pre-Roast rehearsal and good times backstage; and previews of other Comedy Central films... in total, the bonus features last about 15 minutes.

Old Moments & new quotes:

• Pam Anderson refers to her tits as Poncho and Lefty. Simply excellent. 
• Tommy Lee sang with his "band" and sounded like a throwaway rock group from 1998, but when the camera panned to Pam Anderson, she looked like she was 3 seconds from throwing her moist panties on stage... but this assumes she was wearing panties.
• Nick diPaolo
• "Pam's the perfect physical specimen, with that silky skin, blonde hair, those pouty pink lips...and that's just her snatch"
• Courtney Love
• "Pam's a girl you wanna fuck and tell all your friends about. I'm the girl you wanna fuck and won't tell your friends about it... but then you go see the doctor."
• "How do you take that [Tommy Lee's cock] with that Barbie Pussy?" And she makes a great point!  I remember watching the Tommy Lee-Pam Anderson sex video before the original airing and being afraid that it would emerge from my laptop screen in some virtual 3D moment and slap me around. 
• To Eddie Griffin: "You African-Americans only know about me because I've been to jail."
• To Tommy Lee: "Hi Tommy Lee you goddamn professional!.... I'm not supposed to mention we fucked, right?"
• Bea Arthur discusses the mechanics of "pitcher and catcher" and reach arounds while reading from Anderson's latest "novel." She also drops the f-bomb, which was somehow more traumatic than when Betty White did it in Lake Placid. Bea Arthur, pitcher & catcher, reach arounds... how's that image treatin ya?
• "I remember the first time i saw Tommy's penis. I was speechless until my throat healed." - Pamela Anderson, near the Roast's conclusion.

No topic, audience member, or fellow roaster was off-limits (they even got Anna Nicole Smith in the audience with "someone find a 90-year-old dick for her to suck on"), which is how it should be, but within a minute of its beginnings, the Pam Anderson Roast became the trashiest, most viciously crass roast I've ever seen and I loved (nearly) every minute of it. Comedy Central has aired its uncensored version about 42,000 times, and for that reason, I don't know if I can recommend this dvd to you. Sure, you'll get to hear someone say cunt a few more times and there are the 15 minutes of bonus features, but unless you're the kinda guy (or girl, I suppose) that needs 90 minutes of Pam (and not even naked Pam) on command, this may not be worth the $19.99. But if you are that type of individual, buy this dvd. It's just right for you.

Lando Calrissian: From Traitor to Hero to Crack Dealer

Courtesy of the Poughkeepsie Journal:

A City of Poughkeepsie man faces a stint in jail for dealing crack in the city last year.

Landocalrissan Butler, 25, of Winnikee Avenue, entered a guilty plea Tuesday in Dutchess County Court to attempted criminal possession of a controlled substance, a felony. Butler told Judge Thomas J. Dolan he had five small bags of crack in his pocket Dec. 22 when police arrested him on Morgan Avenue. He said he intended to sell the drugs.

In exchange for his plea, Butler was promised a sentence of six months in jail and five years on probation. He will also be required to forfeit a cell phone and $432 police said he obtained through illegal drug sales.

Butler remains jailed pending his sentencing, scheduled for April 4.

The most notable thing about this article is Mr. Butler's age. Star Wars devotees like Matt Geiger will be quick to note that our suave smuggler crackhead was born between 1980 and 1981, which means that he was named after Calrissian betrayed Han Solo in Empire Strikes Back and before he redeemed himself by blowing up the Death Star in Return of the Jedi ... Now, it's one thing to name your boy Billy Dee but it's quite another to tag him with then name of one of the most despised characters of a cinematic era and likely do so under the influence of Colt 45. That's an evil woman! I met a guy once, a black guy, whose last name was Legree... and his first name? Simon. A black guy named Simon Legree. For the uneducated among us, Simon Legree is the ruthlessly evil slave master in Uncle Tom's Cabin. He's a vicious, barbaric, and loathsome man, who fosters violence and hatred among his slaves. Simon Legree embodies all the evils of slavery and yet some mother decided his name was fitting enough to bestow upon her son. Pure madness.

In any case, I don't know why Landocalrissian had so much crack on his person, but I'm guessing that this was simply a fundraising effort to buy back the Millenium Falcon from Han Solo. Good luck Mr. Butler - I hope you get it back!

Natalie Portman Raps with The Lonely Island

Bad Form, HBO!

Poncho & Lefty: The Uncensored DVD

Four (Brief) Monday Complaints

• Not only was Trent Green suiting up for the AFC but so was Steve McNair! At first I thought maybe he flew down and put on a uniform just to reminisce about old times but no! He was an actual participant! It goes without saying that not only is McNair old balls, he's fecking awful. Please tell me that if you go to the Pro Bowl after every talented quarterback in your conference bows out due to injury, you are not credited for it! I can see it already -- 20 years from now I'll be on my arse with a bag of Cheetos (or a futuristic Cheeto-quivalent) watching ESPN Classic and a special will come on about past NFL MVPs or the emergence of the black quarterback or one of the few other categories in which McNair fits. 10 minutes into the program, a guy with a Jim Lampley-type voice will say, "McNair closed his career with a Pro Bowl selection in 2006," thus tricking the 1800 people (minus myself) actually watching the show into believing McNair was of any use past the 2003 season. It's total madness... madness, I say! I don't know who's in charge with crediting people with Pro Bowl appearances but this is something that must be stopped or prevented.
• Michael Vick threw a 65-yard bomb up for grabs and in the middle of something like 7 defenders, Larry Fitzgerald made a ridiculous catch. Not only did Michael Vick proceed to preen and prance as if his dumb ass was actually effective, while saying, "Money money money!!!," we were then treated to the musings of the rere patrol.

  Joe Theismann: "Thats exactly the kind of throw Vick has learned to make." But Maguire has a flash of brilliance, laughs, and says, "Are you kidding? He was falling down and just threw it way up in the air! He's learned to make that throw?" Good on ya Maguire for that random flash of smart. So soon after, Vick throws a missile into triple coverage and, as you can guess, it was nearly picked off. Maguire continues the genius and says, "Hey Joe, was that another pass he's learned to make?" Theismann says, "It was a great throw... just poor decision." In a third bout of retardation, Theismann had said that Vick "Does just one thing. All his critics say he only does one thing but he DOES only do one thing... and that one thing is WIN!

• I simply can't find a way around my irrational hatred of Michelle Kwan. I don't apologize for it.. there's just something about her that's always bothered me. So I feel no shame in hoping that even with all her world championships, she still considers herself the Buffalo Bills of the Winter Olympics. [This is, of course, contingent on Michelle knowing who the Bills are and why she should feel bad...] Go Sasha Cohen!!
• I don't really care about the Winter Olympics and I'm disappointed by that. I'm always amped for the Olympics - winter or summer. What's been the difference this year? Is it a lack of hype? Less people for whom to cheer? Whatever it is, thumbs down. I watched an A&E bio on Hitler rather than watch the luge.
  
  :(
  

The Original Comments

Cane Me. I Read Jay Mohr Again.

• Peter Frampton gave Denny Neagle head
• Brent Petway: Michigan Wolverines baller and worst rapper known to man
• Who's "the rich white guy" in the Pennsylvania gubernatorial campaign?
• Princeton tries to disassociate itself from Bill Cowher
• The USA Rock Paper Scissors League
• and more safe for work goodness.

The two Earls (Boykins) play with a kid named Carmelo. Carmelo? Like the candy bar? I can see family day at the Pepsi Center now, "Hi, I'm Carmelo. This is my little brother, Nutrageous."

Some NBA parents seem to like French pronouns. Take, for example, LeBron James. Translated from French, this would be "The Bron," which would make his name Bron, which is what everyone calls him anyway. I have a question, though: If LeBron's mom had a baby girl, would the world have welcomed a LaBron?

Bonzi Wells may or may not have been named after a tree. Does he have a brother named "Birch"? Is he related to Charles Oakley? These are mysteries we may never know the answers to.

I Gotta Lotta Problems with You People!

• To Joe Morgan, Joe Buck, Tim McCarver, Paul Maguire, Dan Fouts, Brent Musburger, Joe Theismann, Steve Lyons, Holly Rowe, John Madden, Larry Merchant, Bill Walton, and Chris Berman: Whoa, Nellie! The 13 of you are the worst sports announcers on the planet and you're putting a real dent in my enjoyment of televised sports.
  
• To the Contestants on "Deal or No Deal": You're idiots and if I stroke out while watching, I'm suing you for intentional infliction of emotional distress and taking your winnings. Here's the thing - this game relies on luck and your ability to understand probability. Picking cases because your idiot husband thinks "8 is great" and "11 is heaven" is no way to win money. I'm rooting against every single one of you.
  
• To Michael Irvin: You tricked me into liking you.. lured me in with your ability to drive tools like Steve Young to distraction with a unique coupling of inane, nonsensical shouting and rhythmic grunts and groans. I liked you, I defended you, and you played me for a fool. You are nothing but Pookie from New Jack City with a better suit, faster legs, and a nicer car (my evidence). [Actually, Pookie didn't have a car but he could've used your Mercedes SL55 when Ice-T was running him down after that busted crack deal in the park.] Shame on you for trying to convince the masses that Anonymous Cracky came to your house for a little turkey and an intervention and inadvertently got you in a jam. You're a lying wanker, Michael Irvin. Here's some advice for the future: find a dustbuster and vac out the gram of coke that's scattered all over your fur coats before you get pulled over while wearing one. This way, you won't have to tell the police that Anonymous Cracky sprinkled it on you in your sleep.
  
• To Anna Benson: You're not that hot, your husband is marginally talented, and you're a fame-seeking slutbag. The gig is up - we've figured you out. Good luck in Kansas City. Get tips from Larry Johnson on how to deal with the locals.
• To the Fools that voted Mack Brown Coach of the Year: You should have your votes taken away. He beat Ohio State. That's it. And can you really give him props for that when Jim Tressel went out of his way to yank defeat out of the jaws of victory? I don't think so. Blowing out the rest of the teams on that weak sauce schedule was no accomplishment either. With Vince Young under center, Texas could have been coached by a sack of beans and whipped Oklahoma en route to an undefeated season.
  
• To the Heisman voters that left Reggie Bush off the ballot: You're probably the same tossers that voted for Mack Brown. Sod off.
  
• To Those That Drive the Hype Machines of Michael & Marcus Vick: They're incredible athletes, not incredible quarterbacks. Some of you rationalized voting older brother to the Pro Bowl even though his QB rating is only better than Aaron Brooks' and Kyle Orton's in the NFC. Nice work, voters. Why don't you drive back Michael Irvin's house; it's time for the intervention.
  
• Steven A. Smith: I love that your show is bollocks and you're less popular than Cold Pizza. I saw you on Jimmy Kimmel last month; hitting on Kathy Griffin and then bragging about playing basketball for the Fashion Institute of Technology wasn't just wrong, it was criminal. Shame on you, Screamin'.
  
• To Johnny Damon's Dad: "Mark it down: It's going to be another Babe Ruth," Jimmy Damon told The News from his Florida home. "They sent Johnny off just like they sent off Babe Ruth. It's going to be another big, big mistake. They made the biggest mistake of their lives." It's awesome when you trace a person's penchant for extreme stupidity directly to a parent.
  
• To Randal from the Apprentice: "Randal, do you think I should hire Rebecca, too?" "No, Mr Trump, there should be only one winner. It's the Apprentice, not the Apprentii." I was with you, Randal! Right until the end, it was you and me! Don't get me wrong, a big part of me understands where you were coming from but when given the opportunity to show some class, you turned into a throbbing penis. Bad form.
  
• To The WNBA: I watch professional sports to see athletes mystify me with their abilities and talents, as they do things with their bodies that most people can only dream. I don't watch most women's sports and say, "Hell, even I can do that." I can't hit a 110 mph softball pitch or return a 120 mph serve. But the WNBA? Please. Your organization is the last refuge for women who want to be professional athletes but aren't agile, flexible, or fast enough to hack it anywhere else. Sure, you have Diana Taurasi but she's an anamoly. Here are the rest of your players: the great shooter with an ugly stroke that wouldn't know agility if it goosed her; the tall, semi-mobile forward that uses her elbows to free up space for her 4-foot banked shots; and the girl that's slow as molasses but has a great body for collecting ticky tack fouls and turning the ball over. I'd rather watch Leif Magnusson bench press a tree at the Strong Man competition. Please, WNBA, no more tv deals. Free up airtime for sports that showcase talent greater than what one finds at the local YMCA.
  
• To Boss: I gave you that stripper's pole as a joke. Regifting it to your wife was uncool.
• To Norv Turner: Seppuku.

Nick Lachey & Sports? Blame Jessica Simpson

Stay Classy, Florida Keys

Yao Ming Fans Want it That Way

Steven Seagal's Lightning Bolt Energy Drink

Are you drifting through your life of ass-kicking in a state of existential confusion, wandering aimlessly through the alleys and narrows of the underworld without that edge; without that charge that makes flipping out so much more enjoyable? I know I do.

While out last night dispensing justice on gangsters, ninjas, and various ne'er-do-wells, I started losing my edge. No longer was I able to take out my adversaries when punching them through plate glass windows. Hell, I could hardly break through the glass without bleeding my own blood. It was madness. I thought all was lost until I went to a 24-hour joint and spotted a familiar face on the side of a can. It was a face that had guided me through many adventures on aircraft carriers, jumbo jets, and random entanglements in nightspots with rapper sidekicks.

It was none other than the fat master of divine harmony - Steven Seagal. And it was he that was the mastermind of Steven Seagal's Lightning Bolt Energy Drink. Then I wondered, "what can Steven Seagal give me that a fierce blend of Gatorade, Mountain Dew, and Red Bull can't?" My initial thought was that I would spontaneously grow a fat gut and DMX would appear at my side so we could get out to the streets and right a wrong. But then I took a look at the can .. Each component of Lightning Bolt was carefully chosen by Steven Seagal to incorporate the greatest treasures of Asian medicine into an all natural energy boost.

It's also the first energy drink made of 100% juice and it contains Tibetan Goji Berries and Asian Cordyceps. I didn't know what any of that was but it sure sounded impressive. At the very least, it could enlighten me Dalai Lama style. After downing a can, I was back to the streets for intense mortal kombat and other extreme situations involving max energy. By the time I reached my bed at sunrise, divine harmony in the universe had been achieved once again.

Whether you prefer the sweet goodness of Cherry Charge, the All-American fulfillment of Root Beer Rush, or the kung-fu punch of the Asian Experience, Steven Seagal provides a precisely blended, 100% all-natural elixer for lasting maximum performance when you are flipping out on evil or are simply in need of a quick hit of untold natural power. Get charged!

David Copperfield Finds Penis Unnecessary

Gargamel Gets Fed Up; Uses WMD on Smurf Village

Jamaican Man Turned his Hair into a Hat

Zantac Fantasy Baseball League, A Finale

The New York Isotopes

The Rituals of Dr. Broom

"It was never mine or the team's intention to humiliate or ostracize any member of our team brotherhood. The long-standing ritual is designed to be a team bonding experience which all members of the team underwent, it is not designed to be a hazing ritual driving new team members away."

"We fully [accept] that the emotional and psychological stress it induces may not be the best way to forge relationships with new team members."

Killer Dolphins On the Prowl

Gillette & the All Seeing Onion

"Sure, we could go to four blades next, like the competition. That seems like the logical thing to do. After all, three worked out pretty well, and four is the next number after three. So let's play it safe. Let's make a thicker aloe strip and call it the Mach3SuperTurbo. Why innovate when we can follow? Oh, I know why: Because we're a business, that's why! You think it's crazy? It is crazy. But I don't give a shit. From now on, we're the ones who have the edge in the multi-blade game. Are they the best a man can get? Fuck, no. Gillette is the best a man can get. What part of this don't you understand? If two blades is good, and three blades is better, obviously five blades would make us the best fucking razor that ever existed. Comprende? We didn't claw our way to the top of the razor game by clinging to the two-blade industry standard. We got here by taking chances. Well, five blades is the biggest chance of all.

"Gillette Fusion is more than just a next generation shaving brand, it's the future of shaving," said James M. Kilts, Chairman, President and CEO, The Gillette Company. "Gillette Fusion extends our rich history of innovation. It's a breakthrough platform that will continue to drive our category leadership."

Elijah's Bush & Pumping Iron

Random Weekend Observations

More Cowbell! Walken for President 2008

"Our great country is in a terrible downward spiral. We're outsourcing jobs, bankrupting social security, and losing lives at war. We need to focus on what's important-- paying attention to our children, our citizens, our future. We need to think about improving our failing educational system, making better use of our resources, and helping to promote a stable, safe, and tolerant global society. It's time to be smart about our politics. It's time to get America back on track." - Christopher Walken

Campaign Finance Reform:
"I believe that campaign finance is a very tough issue, with good points on both sides; but I feel, as a wealthy American, that I should have no more say than even the least fortunate American citizen. Free speech in politics is about the voices of all those who support you, not who supports you with the biggest voice."

Military Funding:
"I am a huge supporter of the military. I have always thought of them as our guardians, and when our guardians are making less than the poverty line, and children are suffering because their parents decided to join the military, well, I get very upset. I feel that instead of sending billions to the Pentagon's pet projects, it should go to the troops."

Stem Cell Research:
"I'd met Chris Reeve several times before he died, and after having met him it is tough to be against [stem cell research]. I am for human knowledge and expansion of human life. If stem cells are one way to do that, I cannot support legislation to restrict this potentially life-saving research."

Poncho & Lefty: The Pamela Anderson Roast

• Tommy Lee sang with his "band," sounded like a throwaway rock group from 1998, and when the camera panned to Pam Anderson, she looked like she was 3 seconds from throwing her moist panties on stage.
• Pam Anderson refers to her tits as Poncho and Lefty. That's simply excellent.
  
• "How is it that Courtney Love looks worse than Kurt Cobain?" - Jeffrey Ross
• Courtney Love not realizing that this is a roast -- she was constantly offended, kept telling people to f-off, and flashed her junk way too many times. She also insisted that she's been clean for a year -- apparently not: Drugs on the House!.
  
• Bea Arthur was a roaster and actually said "reach around." At first it was hilarious and then I fell out of my chair while being tormented by mental images of Bea actually doing a reach around... Now it's your turn.
  
• "I remember the first time i saw Tommy's penis. I was speechless until my throat healed." - Pamela Anderson, near the conclusion of the Roast. Matt and I watched the Tommy Lee-Pam Anderson sex video for the first time a couple days ago. Tommy Lee's equine penis is nothing short of frightening. In a few of the scenes, I was afraid that it would emerge from my laptop screen and hit me in the face.
• "Courtney Love is like the girl next door. That is if you live next to a methadone clinic." - Greg Giraldo
  
• "Tommy Lee, Kid Rock, Brett Michaels. Can't you fuck anyone with talent. C'mon Pam, you're fucking your way to the middle. You got plastic tits and a tin ear." - Jeffrey Ross
• "You starring in a show about books and reading is like Tom Cruise starring in a movie about vaginas." - Greg Giraldo
• "It played the cave in Batman Begins." - Jimmy Kimmel on Pam's bidness
• "Watching you in that sex tape was a whole new experience. Up until then, I've never watched anyone get gonorrhea." - Greg Giraldo
  

EA Sports is the Devil

• QB vision should be called Get Sacked Vision. Maybe I need more thumb dexterity or perhaps the synapses in my brain don't fire quickly enough, but if I can't throw to the receiver in my lighted cone of vision, I'm boned. The time that it takes to flip the view to a newly open receiver and throw the ball makes every quarterback I play with look like Drew Bledsoe.
  
• Boo on NFL Superstar mode. I gave up when I realized I couldn't make myself the theoretical mom and create a superstar son.
  
• The song remains the same: mini-camp drills, practice, layout, franchise mode, Madden Cards. What the hell am I gonna do with a Falcons cheerleader Madden card now that I've completed the Pocket Passer game situation? How do I use that, EA?!?!? Dicks.
  
• Why are the background video highlights for the Raiders full of Rich Gannon?
  
• Fill in here. I've only had the game a few hours. I've yet to discover all the things about which I can bitch and moan.

Thundercats, HO!! (And Madden, Too)

Jay Mohr is an Idiot

Lately, however, I've had a difficult time claiming the Yankees as my favorite team... Since the Mets were wise enough to hire a Yankee as their manager, I've even been rooting for them.

2B Tony Womack -- should have been -- 2B David Eckstein
3B Alex Rodriguez -- should have been -- 3B Eric Hinske
SP Randy Johnson -- should have been -- SP Pedro Martinez

John Lackey, Coco Crisp, Chris Capuano, Jason Bay, Ryan Drese, David DeJesus and Dontrelle Willis. Your invitations are waiting, we have the money and you can thank me when you are all trying on your rings.

Catholics: No Adopting For You!

Avoid the Magic Bullet System

Michael Jackson Not Guilty; Nancy Grace Kills Self

Dane Cook Impersonating Tom Cruise

--------


Original Comments

Three Things

78th Annual Scripps National Spelling Bee

Deep Throat Sucks

So here's what we KNEW about Deep Throat: He was a still-living man that smoked and dug Scotch. I like to think he was Johnnie Walker Blue Label or a Chivas man but on a government salary, one can only hope. We also knew that he held an extremely sensitive position in the executive branch and was, according to Bob Woodward, "an incurable gossip." We've been living with those "clues" for the past 30 years but if you've had your head out of your arse for even 15 minutes the past day or so, you've learned that Deep Throat's identity has been confirmed. And no, it's not Mr. X. I held out a strange hope that it would somehow be a man of this fictional caliber but I've been smacked around yet again by the mistress of disappointment. But moving on..

W. Mark Felt, former #2 at the FBI, is Deep Throat... but... is something wrong with this picture? I know he's 112 years old but look at this old dude! This is the cause of one of the greatest political mysteries of the last 100 years? Come on! I wanted Deep Throat to be some guy that, even in old age, is full of mystery and intrigue and if we can't have that, then I'll accept Diane Sawyer. Christ, maybe even confirmation that it is, in fact, Linda Lovelace would be acceptable. That'd be a helluva twist! Give me Alexander Haig's sketchy, secretive ass, David Gergen, or even Henry Kissinger.. though it's not remotely conceivable that Mr. Kissinger would ever be caught dead lurking about a garage, it would have made for a nice story. What about Cancerman?!? The X-Files taught me to demand better from conspiracy results. I'm sorry but this W. Mark Felt fellow looks like he's excited just to be wearing his Depends. So he arranged some break-ins for the Nixon administration and got in trouble. Big deal! Give me somebody with some real conspiracy meddling, not a dude that did wheeling and dealing for President Paranoia. I want a connection to the Kennedy assassination, Mount Weather, and the Vatican. I want more. And since I'm not getting it, I give this new revelation two thumbs down.

Boo. Hiss. And more. Somebody wake me up when they find the shooter on the grassy knoll.

National Masturbation Day

National Masturbation Day's roots extend as far back as 1995, when a San Francisco sex shop called Good Vibrations held an AIDS/HIV fundraiser that encouraged sponsors to donate money for every minute they spent masturbating on May 7.

Air Force Academy Cadet Loses Control

From the Male Fantasy Files..

"There are magazine covers in Mexico describing us as these lesbians because of that. A lot of people were saying we were lovers."

Where's the Erotica?

"Enough is enough. I am bitterly disappointed as I'm sure all Yankee fans are by the lack of performance by our team...It is unbelievable to me that the highest-paid team in baseball would start the season in such a deep funk. They are not playing like true Yankees."

C is for Cookie... Sometimes

"We are not putting him on a diet, and we would never take the position of no sugar," said Dr Rosemarie T Truglio, the show's vice president of research and education. "We're teaching him moderation." BBC News

Mixing and Editing

Looking to Relax?

Proba provides a close-up view from 600 kilometres away in space of the massive artificial Palm Island Jumeirah, currently taking shape in the Gulf of Arabia just off Dubai.



Designed as a prestige residential and relaxation area, the reef-like complex is built in the shape of a palm tree: it has a 17-frond crown around which is arranged a crescent, the back of which serves as a breakwater. The crown is connected to the mainland by a 300-metre bridge. Owners are due to begin occupying their properties by the end of 2005.

The Jumeirah has been built from 80 million cubic metres of land dredged from the United Arab Emirates' Jebel Ali port, whose approaches are being deepened to 17 metres. The Palm, Jumeirah is the first of three Palm Island projects now taking shape. Swiftly following it are the Palm Jebel Ali and the newest and largest Palm Deira. Together the three Palms are set to extend the country's coastline by around 200 kilometres. This 7 December 2004 image was taken by Proba's High-Resolution Camera (HRC), which acquires black and white 25-km square images to a resolution of five metres.

The Amazing Race...

I don't watch most reality shows, at least, not the ones that show up on ABC or CBS. It's not that I'm opposed to the networks.. it's just that their shows reek. However an incident on The Amazing Race recently caught my eye... not enough to watch the show, mind you, but enough to base my complaints on the subjective opinions of others :)

Apparently, Team Domestic Abuse, carries on like a couple of 14 year old girls coming to blows over which is better - Malibu Barbie or Skipper. Highlights include Jonathan, an LA spa owner, holding the back of his hand to his wife's face and screaming, "Will you shut up and let me talk!" Ehhh. And there was that other time when Jonathan told Victoria, a 1996 Playboy Playmate, that his "whining is her incompetence." I don't know what that means but apparently neither does Victoria because this over-tanned Dapper Dan pushed her down in a moment of schizophrenic rage. According to their blog , which was working earlier tonight but seems to have been shut down, it's all bad editing... and even if the editing turns out to portray the beauty of their love in its true light, well, Jon just missed a few of his meds.

I did manage to swipe this picture off their site though...

It seems Victoria isn't as pleased with her situation as Jon would have us believe. But that's okay! She can find a better man because hey,

there's always love for ya out there.