There's Your Karma, Ripe As Peaches

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