Laying on the Ice like a Broad

AB lays on the ice like a broad. That is all.

AMERICA v. THE TERRORISTS

Hi, I'm Trey Wingo and it's time to breakdown this big upcoming matchup between America and the Terrorists. Joining me in the studio are the professor, John Clayton, and the career backup, Sean Salisbury. How are you, fellas?


Pretty good, Trey.

*cut off by Salisbury*

Damn good, Wingo. I'm ready to break this shit down.


Ok, well let's start with you, Sean.


Trey, all week long we've been hearing from America that "we just cannot let the terrorists win." And I agree with them, this is a must win matchup for America. They've been taking hits in the media for the past couple years, you know, that they just aren't getting it done even though on paper, they should win this matchup in a landslide. Their coaching has been taking huge hits as well, and although I don't necessarily agree with all the criticism, the fact is that if they would have just gone out there and performed as well as they are capable of performing, that this would all be moot.



Sean, you don't agree with the criticisms on their coaching? Are you serious? This is a team that is just stacked talentwise. There is no doubt about it, they are the most talented team in the league. And their game planning has just been atrocious. You can't possibly be defending this coaching or...



Listen, Cryptkeeper. I'd like to see you go out there and coach this team. They are a huge team. There are alot of egos on this team, and a huge fanbase that they have to appease.


Sean, let's keep it civil.


*mockingly* "Sean, let's keep it civil, Sean, let's not say mean names." What are we, in grade school? Lighten up.


Sean, you've visibly hurt the Professor.




Well, he needs to stop being a crybaby. Look, America has done a good job given the circumstances, and still finds themselves in a position to win this matchup. I'm tired of hearing complaints from armchair quarterbacks who have never actually played in a game in their lives.


Sean, you haven't played in a game in your life either. You were a backup to Gary Hogeboom. And we aren't even talking about football here.


Clayton, you look like a fucking radish. I don't want to hear this. The terrorists are going to get stomped. Their coaching is terrible, no one knows who is in power over there, position coaches are getting killed by the week, and they just aren't drafting as well as they used to. No one wants to play for this team anymore.


Sean, *wipes tear*, the terrorists can win this game, and I think that they will. Their attack on offense is unpredictable. The American offense, on the other hand, is regimented, old-fashioned, and just plain vanilla. They have been outwitted this entire time.


Well, you hairless fucking gerbil, just because the terrorists know what's coming doesn't mean they can stop it. You can't draw up a defense against scud missiles.



Sean, I think we are out of time here. I'd like to thank the Professor and the Backup for, as usual, another great debate.




My pleasure, Trey.


*sobs uncontrollably*

Is the Ghost a Hyundai?

Now, I'm sure many people are like me and play Halo because they want to shoot people in real life, however, they can't do it because they can't afford a good enough lawyer to get away with it. Also, the fucking Brady Bill makes me wait 5 days to get my needler after I purchase it. And that's freaking gay.

Anyways, I was recently playing the game when I was hit in my head with a question. Is the Ghost a Hyundai? I mean, most signs point to yes. The excellent gas mileage (the Ghost gets about 37 miles to the gallon through the city before accounting for the plasma turbo boosts), the sketchy handling at high speeds, and the fact that they are really not even desirable enough to come with an anti-theft system makes me think that the Ghost is actually a Hyundai Ghost, and a lower-model version at that, kind of like a hovering Elantra. As has been brought up, though, the chintzy body that will completely fall apart at the slightest of contact suggests a Saturn Ion model. Then again, the fact that the Ghost will run forever if you don't hit anything suggests Honda. So it's really hard to tell. But until I am proven otherwise, I'm rolling with the assumption that I'm splattering n00bs in a shiny new Hyundai Ghost.

Review of Cassidy's "Where My Niggas At"

Ok, Ok, fine. I've been faced with a veritable deluge of requests to review and analyze the intracacies and of this wonderful song by Cassidy, and I guess it's about time to do so. This song is off of his CD "BARS: The Barry Adrian Reese Story", where he makes a play on the metal things that keep prisoners locked in jizzy (that's jail, not sperms), and can also be found on DJ Gunpowder Jones' mixtape "Blacker Than Pubes, Vol. II". Represent.

The song starts off with a ghoulish intro to the beat, along with Cassidy talking about shooting some black people or something and getting some money, and stuff like that. About 20 seconds in, the drums and bass kick in to give a powerful feel to the track, and the chorus comes in immediately. Right off the bat, we see that Cassidy can't seem to find his niggas and wonders openly about where they might currently be. But then we quickly realize that we may have been fooled.

"Where My niggaz at, Huh
Cock that Yo
Squeeze them triggas back,
Huh, Pop that yo,
If I gotta, I'm a Pop a nigga
Lay a nigga down,
I ain't playin, I'll spray a nigga,
Lay a nigga down! [x2]"

Cassidy isn't looking for his niggas because he wants to go on a shopping excursion, or wants to take a trip to the zoo or something. He's looking for his niggas that are down with shooting other niggas who deserve it. And he's not playing, as he makes abundantly clear. It's at this time we realize that we are not listening to a Barry Manilow record. And then it's time for verse one, where Cassidy elaborates on his plans to engage in gunplay.


"Niggaz ain't ready to die, They ready to tell,
That's why my squad ready to ride and ready for jail
They'll give you every in the shell in the K,
A couple rounds from the pipe'll make it sound like Independence Day!
And I could talk that gun shit, Cause I done shit,
My nick name should be Diarrhea, How I run shit,
And I done seen niggaz guns spit over dumb shit,
I got a young bitch named Nina that You could Tongue Kiss!
When It come to this gun shit I'm the man son,
Niggaz gon show me respect cause I demand some,
I play with bullets bout as big as my damn thumb,
And I'll spit the A R Hand Gun till my hand numb,
I ain't a hypocrite who spit shit He never did,
I'm a speak the truth whether positive or negative,
Don't get me wrong, I put songs that was conscious out,
But I'll still Grab the Thompson and Blow Ya Conscience out!"

As you can see, Cassidy likes to elaborate on just how gangster he is through a heavy usage of analogies and metaphors. He also notes how he made conscious songs, however, after he's done giving you the key to his hotel room, he might just shoot you in the fucking head. He really gets his point across that he feels like shooting somebody.

After the chorus, verses two and three are more of the same. Verse two notes,

"But I ain't the same Cass from the past,
I be tryna chill but I'll still blast at ya ass"

Cassidy does not want to shoot niggas, contrary to popular belief. He really just wants to chill out and play Wii bowling. However, if his hand is forced, he will blast caps, and most likely, these caps will be directed at your ass. So watch yourself.

" I got cash in the stash, and Money In the bank ya'll,
Hatin on me makin me rich, I wanna thank ya'll!"

A little known fact is that Cassidy receives 13 cents for every instance of hating directed towards him. So while he most likely doesn't appreciate the actual hate, the effective blow of the hatred is softened by the money he receives as a result.

"I'm the general, I'll let my military get you,
With the military pistols, that's military issued!"

Comparing himself to a leader of military forces, Cassidy notes that the guns that his "soldiers" will use (most likely, his unit is made up of the niggas he was calling for in the chorus) are military issued, and therefore likely to be fully automatic and extremely accurate and powerful. Combined with the heavy beat, this really puts fear into the heart of the listener, for should he encounter Cassidy and his special forces, there exists a very real possibility that a shooting will occur.

The chorus breaks up these messages and reinforces the central message of a man calling for his niggas. Ones who will cock their gats, and pull triggers back. Verse three comes on strong shortly thereafter.

" I got alota gats,
And I just fought a homocide and I ain't make 1 statement, You Know I'm Not a rat"

Cassidy did just fight a homocide. And he didn't snitch on anybody. So you know that player is for real for real.

"So what You gotta gat,
When it start poppin off,
You'll probly shoot your fuckin self tryna pop it off"

Ha! Cassidy thinks so little of your ability with guns that he believes you will actually shoot yourself in the ensuing shootout! Blatant disregard of the ability and merit of Cassidy's targets is another central theme to this song. He thinks very little of your ability to shoot him before he shoots you. Likely in your ass.

"But dawg you ain't hard as you say you is,
You needa tell your fans how soft and gay you is"

An underlying message in the song is that Cassidy thinks that you should man up and be strong enough to come out of the closet as a homosexual. In this day and age, the gays need not feel oppressed and he feels that they would likely be accepted by society if they make their orientations known.

"But I don't wanna hafta injure nobody,
Grip the pipe, Or stick the knife into somebody,
And I don't walk around now pretendin I'm Gotti,
But I'll still clap the mac 10 at somebody, Uh"

And then Cassidy gets right back to letting it be known that he'd still rather play Wii bowling, but will shoot you if he is prompted to. So, if you know what's best for you, you'll just let him bowl strikes with his Mii.



And after a quick chorus, the song ends just as it started...with a plea to his niggas to do what they do. All in all, a solid effort getting the message across to the listener. I strongly recommend this song to anyone who would like to shoot somebody, or anyone who believes that they just might be one of Cassidy's niggas. If you believe that you may be targeted by the man, you may just want to let this one go. The constant taunting will really leave a bad taste in your ears.

If I was into dudes...

...then I would totally bang Lisa Leslie. The "mop" hairstyle really turns me on, I won't lie. And the teeth...those teeth look like they could chew through Andre the Giant's pubic hairs. And from what I hear, that is no small accomplishment. Unfortunately, I'm just not into dudes.

But there's nothing wrong with that, if you are. Some people just happen to be into dudes. Who am I to judge? And if you are into dudes, then I bet you have a pretty healthy man-crush on Lisa Leslie. Those eyes just light up a room. Or a maintenance garage. I bet Lisa Leslie can fix your truck if it breaks down, and that's kind of a turn-on. But not for me, since I'm not into dudes.

But if I was? Oh man, Lisa Leslie would totally get it. For hours. Hour after hour after thrust after pull out after ejaculation. Look at that necklace? I bet she's no stranger to wearing one made out of pearls. But it's not going to come from me, since I'm not into dudes.

But oh, if I was...

Young Hova, ya heard?

It's Young! Ya heard? Young Hova! Let me put my cane down. I ain't playin' with y'all.

But how ya doin'? You're here with the grown and sexy today, baby. In the morning. Hell, I couldn't sleep and I woke up at 5 am, but it's cool cause a playa went to sleep last night at about 8. I was tired man, you know, sittin' in front of the ballin' plasma screen watchin' some History Channel. Nodded off and dreamed about some fuckin' gangsta dreams man, you know, back when I was slingin' that rock down in the Marcy projects in the '70's. Dog, 30's the new 20, and I would know, since I was 30 ten years ago. Young! Young representin' today for y'all.

Beyonce just got her learner's permit, and I might let her whip the Maybach today, ya know, so long as I'm sitting shotgun in accordance with New York state law. She's growing up so fast. Developing that taste of the grown and sexy, like myself, Young Hova. Young! Young Hova! Hold up a sec.

*gunshots*

Fuckin' young kids all up on my lawn. Got a playa goin' grey, man, I swear. These kids gon' put Young in an early grave, gon' drive a baller to drinkin'. Cognac, of course. I'll have to get my maid to get it for me, of course, since my lower back keeps flarin' up. Young! It's a young man's world, baby. And that's me. Hova! Ouch! Damn it, my fuckin' back, man! I'm too young for this. I need some Aspercreme.

*freestyling to himself*

Stackin' cream, jackin' fiends
Got a nigga puttin' on this Aspercreme
Back in '84 I was wearin' Wrangler jeans
You should see how fast I peel these fuckin' tangerines

You hear that? Straight from the dome, baby. I don't even write this stuff down. I don't need to. Young! Young Hova! I can make a hit in like, 10 minutes, baby. Cause I got that young mind. Oh, sudoku! Look at this newspaper. I haven't done these puzzles yet. I'll have to hit these up later tonight, maybe with some warm milk. Hov! Aight dawg, I'm gonna go for a walk, maybe sit at the park and feed the birds or somethin', cause Young Hova got a soft spot for nature. Could you hand me my cane? Young!

Opening Day with Joe Morgan!

Very few people actually know this, but my grandmother Delores actually went to high school with Joe Morgan back in Bonham, TX. Now, Delores is certainly no stranger to the Texas Blacksnake, and she has actually remained good friends with Morgan since their high school days. Joe actually bailed me out of prison a few years ago after I got locked up on a public decency charge for whipping my cock out at an anti-abortion rally. Regardless, Joe was excited to see that I learned how to type, and offered to give his insight on daily happenings in the baseball world in my little corner of the internet. So, take it away, Joe.


Thanks, Vern! As you all undoubtedly know, yesterday was the greatest day of the year, and a national holiday in the Morgan household! Opening day! Bats on balls, cracks of the bat, pops of the glove, pokes of the syringe through your first baseman's forearm. Baseball's back! A sign throughout most of the country that spring is here, summer is close, and baseball is now. A time where I would love to have stock in Tide, what with all the dirty uniforms out there, as opening day is known as one of the grittiest times of the year, with everybody so fresh. It's not quite as strong as playoff grit, which actually takes a concentration higher than household bleach to cut through, but it's close. The grit level wasn't quite as high as last year's, since Juan Pierre was mysteriously demoted in favor of a man who is actually able to hold the bat above his shoulders for more than 3 seconds at a time, but it was still a great day for casual fans and purists alike. Let's recap!

In Cuba, the highly anticipated debut of Johan Santana was all that was expected, as the Mets easily held off the Marlins. Santana, proof of the time-tested theory that pitching wins games, allowed only three hits through 7 as the Mets, who proved that offense wins games, were able to put up a 7-spot and outscore the Marlins, who scored 2 runs, which is less than 7 runs. I expect big things out of the Mets this year, just like I did last year before they collapsed due to a lack of heart. I don't know about you, but it looked yesterday like these Mets may have received a heart transplant. Was Dr. Robert Jarvik hanging around the clubhouse yesterday lol?

In New York, the final home opener was postponed, but I still like the Yankees chances if the rain holds off, as they have to be considered the favorites right now.

Other games I liked included the D-Backs at Cincinnati, where Dusty Baker's debut got off to a rocky start, running into the buzzsaw that is Brandon Webb's, uh...whatever arm he throws baseballs with. I still think things are looking good for Dusty's squad, as they play the game the right way, and they still have to be considered the favorites right now.

Milwaukee went into Chicago and spoiled the Cub's opener, as it looks like the Cubs (on pace to finish 0-162) will be saying "wait until next year" again. Although, to be fair, there still is some time left in the season to turn it around. They will have to work very hard, though, and possibly dive for a few more bloopers and ground balls. Get those uniforms dirty, guys!

Kansas City went into Detroit and beat the high priced Tigers, causing GABRmetricians everywhere to reanalyze their gaybermetrics, as that fat fuck Cabrera is not going to win them games by sitting around taking walks, eating pie, and clogging up the bases like a terminal full of fat southerners at Hartsfield-Jackson. Kansas City proved that playing baseball the way Ty Cobb played it, the way it was meant to be played, is still the way to win games. If the Tigers have to spike a few second basemen, then hey, they better do it. Detroit cannot be considered one of the favorites right now.

Tampa Bay surprised Baltimore in a game that nobody cared about, but, according to my records here, was indeed actually played.

A big second inning lead Cleveland over the White Sox at Jacobs Field, as the Indians bats have shown no dormancy from the bear-like slumber that they have been taking over the past couple months during which there weren't any games being played of baseball on the diamonds. Chicago did not look bad, though, and Ozzie Guillen's guys have to be considered to be the favorites right now. I've learned to never count out a crazy manager who swears and calls reporters fags.

In LA, the Giants tried to play the right way, but could not small-ball any runs off of Brad Penny. You have to like the way that Joe Torre is willing his guys to play through unknown telekinetic forces that only Joe Torre is capable of emitting.

Seattle, behind Beltre's bat and a strong showing from the 'pen, was able to hold off Texas up at Safeco. Since this was in the Pacific Northwest, no one realizes yet that it even happened, and they probably don't care, either.

Minnesota surprised the LA Angels that play in California north of San Diego and south of Sacramento of Anaheim, winning 3-2 behind the strong ball throwing of Livan Hernandez, who is indeed still alive. Once again, pitching wins championships. However, offense and stolen bases win regular season games, so we'll see what actually happens to the Twins as the season progresses. I wouldn't rule out a few tie ballgames. Place your bets now, folks. Torii Hunter left the game in the 2nd inning after having a seizure.

The Rockies played the Cardinals, but then it rained.

The Pirates went into Atlanta looking for a soul to steal, and indeed did, as they raced out to a big lead in a game in which runs were easy to come by and, as they are inversely proportional, pitching was not easy to uh, come by. Lol at my grammar. This game featured 29 total hits over 12 innings, complete with two HRs by Xavier Nady, including the game winning in the 12th. The Braves, not giving up, rallied behind Bobby Cox's telekinesis, but could not duplicate their crazy 5-run 9th, and fell one run short in the bottom of the 12th. This game made my dick hard.

Finally, in San Diego, Jake Peavy knocked in two runs and held the Astro's scoreless on 4-hits to seal the deal for the Fathers. At this point, I have ejaculated into my pants and must change them.

So there you go! Opening day is now a memory, but we have 161 more games coming up to help us forget it. I don't know about you guys, but I'll be sitting here intently watching a couple games here and there so that I can give some expert insight on this here blog. Until then, I'm Joe Morgan, reminding you to avoid the tag!

Looking for an easy job?

Do you like planes? And skirts? Or, if you are a man, do you like gayness? If so, take a look at Spirit Airlines.

On Spirit Airlines, you aren't raped brutally up-front. Instead, you are fucked to death by 1,000 tiny Indian penises. Part of this nickel and diming policy includes charges for in-flight snacks, which Spirit is gracious enough to provide for you at a 400% markup. But, I guess, you'd think a decent number of people would pay the $3 for a coke to soothe that parched throat that they developed during the hour and a half takeoff delay. But no, they are a cashless cabin.


"Did you say cashless cabin?" Yes, Pac-Man, cashless. Look, the plane was just delayed for two hours by rain, we don't need anymore rain inside. So you'll have to fly AirTran. Mike Vick's spot is probably open.

Anyway, if you figure that no one is going to debit some apple juice on a plane, then you, my friend, are God damn right. Unless I can type my pin number into the flight attendant's tits, but as of now this practice has not yet been enabled. So, after showing a bunch of sleeping morons how to put on oxygen masks, they kind of just sit there. Doing nothing. Flying about the country, which might seem awesome, until you remember that some of Spirit's main destinations are places like Myrtle Beach.

Speaking of oxygen masks, how come flight attendants don't survive the crashes? You don't hear any stories about Airbuses going down in the Atlantic, killing all on board except the flight attendants, who knew how to put on their life jackets correctly. Given this information, I'm just going to sit there and turn on my MP3 player, which contains over 200 songs that I can't even hear because the last flight fucked up my ears.

SIDNEY CROSBY MIC'D UP!!!!!

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

"Hey hey!"

"Hey!"


Thanks, NBC.