Friday, February 27, 2009

NFL and Hawaii slap-fighting over the Pro Bowl

Above: Jake Delhomme and Peyton Manning meet at the Pro Bowl in Hawaii to compare postseason interceptions.

As you may well be aware of, the NFL wants to spice the Pro Bowl up by having it held the week before the Super Bowl, in the same town as the Super Bowl, so everybody that is gathered in said town for the Super Bowl can completely ignore it in person.

Well, I guess they felt bad about slighting Hawaii, because they have talked about rotating it year-by-year on the mainland and with the traditional spot in Honolulu.

And Hawaii said fuck that.


Not that it's a big deal, since nobody cares, and I mean, fuck Hawaii, but some of the quotes in the article suggest that Hawaii is trying to big time the NFL and tell them how much they are fucking up to sacred tradition of the AFC Coach Bill Cowher Bowl. And it's kind of funny to me.

She added that moving the Pro Bowl a week before the Super Bowl would eliminate the "best players" from attending the all-star game.

"She" (the mayor of Honolulu) is an idiot. Does she think that the Super Bowl teams just play another game the week after and call it the Pro Bowl? I think three Steelers made it and I can't see anymore than three Cardinals on the team, either. It's usually all Redskins. Actually, I think the entire Ravens team made it this year. They could have held the game in the parking lot of Ray Lewis's church.

The NFL claims not to have heard from the state, which is quite strange, as I have just heard from the state by reading this article. Like, I know the state's position. Play it here every year or fuck off. I'm surprised that a league whose head has grown as oversized as the NFL's has is trying to be nice here and compromise with Hawaii, but I'm sure that in the end they are just going to let Hawaii do as it pleases and happily have the game ignored on the mainland.

Actually, I'm not going to say no one cares about this daytime soap opera. Andy Reid and his coaching staff are hanging on every word.

The Afterlife

I've always heard stuff like, you know, when Kurt Busch's entire family is killed by polar bears and he wins the Enzyte 500 and says "I know that my entire bear-murdered family was up there watching over me and making this happen", and it has made me wonder.

Do they watch everything? And is it just your family members allowed to watch?

For example, one night during my sophomore year of college I had partaken in the drank and woke up the following morning to realize that I had pissed all over myself. It sucked. Covered in piss is no way to wake up in the mornings. But, to make it worse...was my grandma watching? Was she like, "God damn idiot grandson just pissed all over himself" and saying stuff like "I don't even know who that is" when James Morrison asks her? I'd feel horrible if I let my grandma down while she was watching me piss all over myself.

And, say you are with some random chick, and you pull out and put it on her face. Is Abraham Lincoln watching? I just think that would be weird, however, at the same time I'd really like to perform for Lincoln. I wouldn't want to let him down. It leaves quite a dilemma if one day when I die of a PBR overdose in 4 years, I am faced with the choice of watching people bang it out and stuff like that. Because while that may be cool at first, it would get annoying because I wouldn't really be able to do anything for myself. Plus, I might pick the wrong place and see some weird person shove toothbrushes up their ass or something like that. You know those weird people are out there. Then I'd have to watch their roommate brush their teeth with it. SICK! You citizens of Earth are sick.

It also leaves for some legal grey areas. What if someone who died of skin rabies at 27 is caught watching a 16-year old on Earth showering? Is that still a crime? What if you accidentally see it? As far as I can tell, no precendents have been set. Not saying I'm going to be the first, you sick fucks. I'm just going to watch cougars. It will be my own personal zoo for private viewing.

So please don't piss on yourselves, because Rutherford B. Hayes could be watching.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009


WHAT?!?!?! There have been rumblings that the Celtics were looking to acquire Marbury in the past few months, but I took them as just that. Rumblings not likely to happen. And they did not.

But now, as Marbury has been bought out of his contract by the Knicks and is currently a free agent, it appears as though he is going to work out a minimum deal to go to the Celtics.

Yes. The 46-12 defending USA and Canada Champion Celtics. Those guys. The guys that don't currently have figurative cancer.

Marbury, on the other hand, is the absolutely human embodyment of team cancer. Cancer of the basketballs. If your basketball team is a middle aged woman and Marbury is the tits, you would have to schedule daily mammograms just to even be able to sleep at night.

There is no reason for the Celtics to do this. They don't need Marbury. I don't care how skilled or talented he can be. HIV is a very, very talented and skilled virus. It is resistant to just about every form of treatment and has formed many virulent strains. Yet, I don't want it anywhere near my penis.

This would be like the Steelers siging Terrell Owens. Or the Boston Bruins signing Sean Avery. Or the UCLA Bruins signing Ted Kaczynski.

Please....somebody tell me why the Celtics would consider this.

Thanks, Nancy.

I might start recognizing greatness

At this point, I have maintained a no blogroll policy because I don't want to have to make a decision as to whether or not someone deserves a spot on my ever-so-sacred list and I don't want to get into the business of swapping links with people, which is like a blog version of snowballing. And snowballing is not the type of balling that Jim Jones was singing about.

However, as so many of the blogs I read have achieved greatness, I may not be able to justify keeping them down anymore. I don't want to be known as the blog that has an anti-greatness policy. And big blogs are not going to be included...while I read KSK, I'm not going to fill my linklog up with a bunch of ESPNs or Deadspin before it sucked and places of that nature.

So we'll see. Everyone should keep striving for greatness.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

You will not control this team like a penis, sir

I kind of have a hard-on for mocking Pierre McGuire (above, on the right), and I am certainly not alone in my proclivity to do so. From Lori at Hockey, Balls, and Shoes (she's an obvious proponent of the Oxford Comma) comes this article by Rob Rossi of the Tribune-Review. Why is my linking always such a clustersex? Whatevs.

The article details the decision that the Penguins are going to have to make on their head coaching front at the end of the season, as Dan Bylsma is just an interim coach at this point, which I believe means that Mario Lemieux enjoys placing cigars inside his vagina. So, all in all, not an inflammatory premise at all. Something I can imagine the majority of Penguins fans would be interested in reading. The opposite of some gay third-grader touching maverick who raids houses in his fantasies to steal back Sammy Sosa's MVP award and put it right in Moises Alou's deserving, piss-standed hands.

Here are some of the potential options mentioned:


Currently: Nashville associate coach

Rossi: Speculated as GM Ray Shero's "guy" since Shero was hired away in May 2006 from Nashville, where he served as GM David Poile's assistant.

I wouldn't have a problem with that. Shero has shown that he knows what the f he's doing.


Currently: TSN (Canada) analyst

Rossi: Coached young and talented Tampa Bay Lightning to Stanley Cup in 2004, but was fired last summer. His experience, intensity and direct approach could benefit Penguins' young nucleus.

I'm a fan of Tortorella. Wouldn't be a problem, either.

EDIT: The Rangers just fired their coach and hired Tortorella. So it looks like he's off the list.


Currently: Penguins interim coach

Rossi: Has already impressed key team leaders. A playoff appearance would give him a legit claim. An appearance in the second round probably gets him the job.

If he does a good job down the stretch, then why not? Plus, he looks like Bill Cowher.


Currently: San Jose assistant coach

Rossi: Two successful seasons (2006-08) at AHL Wilkes-Barre/Scranton only enhanced his standing with Shero; was an assistant with AHL Milwaukee when Shero ran that affiliate for Nashville.

Know nothing about him, but hey, San Jose's doing something right. If Shero likes him than I come to the same conclusion that I came to for Peterson.


Currently: TSN (Canada), NBC hockey analyst

Rossi: Craves another shot at coaching (67-game stint with Hartford, 1993-94). He is one of Shero's closest friends dating to their time with Ottawa in the mid-1990s. He also served as a pro scout on team co-owner Mario Lemieux-led Penguins squads from 1990-92.

WHAT!?!? Nooooooooooooo! No. NONONONONO. I don't care if he's bff's with Shero, or if he and Shero engage in weekly homosexual activities, or if he coached Hartford in 1993, or if he was a scout when Lemieux played, or if Wayne Gretzky is on his gchat list, or whatever. Lori is correct in that not only does he hold the microphone like a penis, he actually looks like a penis. For real. If this blog was NSFW, Photoshop would be getting a workout right now. Why is his name not Pierre Peterson? It would be fitting.

Pierre, you will not control this team like a penis. You will continue to sit in a little box between the team benches and ask Niklas Lidstrom if he's sweating and mention that Sidney Crosby just called Johnathan Cheecho a "fucking indian". But you cannot coach this team.

It can't happen. I hate Pierre McGuire. He is the douchiest of all non-Don Cherry bags in the NHL right now. There is almost no way I can be an active proponent of his success.

Don't do it, Shero.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Rick Reilly is not helping our economy

From Awful Announcing comes the above picture of Rick Reilly parading about with some young children in Detroit. Or Africa. Damn it, Blogger, can't you get strikethrough type? Also coming from that link is his new contract with the Worldwide Leader....5 years, $10 million.


Rick Reilly used to be decent. USED to be decent. Back in like, the 1990's, where he wrote a decent weekly single page bloggy type article at the back of each Sports Illustrated issue. I guess he'd write an article on something every now and then as well. However, in the past couple years before he took this massive contract from ESPN, Reilly had clearly been descending into suckdom. He was driving his own personal suck-colored Ferrari on the Suck Highway right into Suckcouver at over 150 sucks per hour. He's not good at writing anymore. Because he sucks.

And then he came out and made his disdain for bloggers known, with some fresh criticism to boot:

“I don’t really go on the blogs, because they don’t really like anybody,” he said. “Jesus could do a column and they’d be like, ‘What the hell is with the hair?’ It’ll always be something. Charles Barkley told me a long time ago always half the people are going to hate you and half the people are going to love you. If you suddenly change who you are, the other half will hate you. I don’t really care what people holding down couch springs do or say.”

OH SNAP! I'm not going to get into breaking that down too deeply, as the link has already taken care of it. But that's fresh. If criticism of blogs were urinals, Reilly would be the biggest Evergreen-scented urinal freshener that you could possibly piss on. He would smell like the fucking mountains. Funny that most bloggers actually, like, work in the day (because even people who can register a Blogger account have to eat) while Reilly sits on the couch springs to write inane articles for $2 mil a year. Actually, Reilly's couch is probably made of rare clouds.

Regardless, it is what it is. No one cares about bloggers and no one cares about Rick Reilly. There are more important things in the world, such as anything else. But, this opens Reilly up for criticism when he writes an article such as this one here that I wouldn't even write on the internet's worst blog. Seriously, if Reilly had a blog called "Baseball with Rick" or something and wrote this column as a blog post, it would get no comments. It's a joke. Normally I wouldn't care, but this motherfucker prides himself on being some kind of specially trained journalist, like he went through the fucking Navy Seals of writing about soccer.

It's been tougher than a $4.99 steak. Got chased by Dobermans eight times. Had to hire five different sticky-fingered third-graders. Broke into the wrong house twice.

But it's finally done. I've been able to retrieve every single MVP award that was wrongfully won by every single suspected 'roid ranger over the past 20 years. You can see them all shining on the table next to me. Got the stains off them and everything. Now I'm ready to give them to their rightful owners.

Ha! You broke into a bunch of houses to steal back MVP awards! And hired sticky-fingered third graders to do it! Tougher than a $5 steak. Others that didn't make the cut include hotter than a $5 pistol and gayer than a long, sexually confusing night at the center of a Shreveport bukkake circle. The premise of this article is about as promising as Dany Heatley's NASCAR career.

And why not? If Bud Selig can talk about giving Barry Bonds' phony-as-tofurkey home run record back to Hank Aaron, why can't we right all the wrongs of the Syringe Binge?

This just pisses me off. Phony-as-tofurkey is a $2 million analogy. I guess fake as a stripper's tits and synthetic as Castrol Syntec premium engine oil were taken? Fine, Rick. You win. Let's get into the random guessing.

Step up here, Mike Piazza. The late Ken Caminiti of the San Diego Padres stole your 1996 NL MVP, then admitted he was into more juice than Jack LaLanne. Yes, it's 13 years late, but the nameplate is new! And here's yours from 2001, Luis Gonzalez, after you finished behind The Barry Bonds Pharmacy. We won't even mention the home run title you would've won that year.

Sure, we'll just assume Piazza's clean.

But Gonzalez? Are you kidding me? We are assuming Luis Gonzalez's ridiculous 56 home run season in the midst of the steroid era was natural? Here's his player page. Hit over 30 HRs in only one other season, when he hit 31 the season before in 2000. But we're assuming he's good to go. That's a hell of a precedent to set for this article, Reilly.

Now, for the man of the night. I have a U-Haul of hardware here for Jose Alberto Pujols Alcántara of the St. Louis Cardinals. You already have two MVPs, Albert, and you're about to get three more, since Barry Bonds ripped you off worse than Bernie Madoff to win the award from 2002 to 2004.

$2 million analogy. Also, this subject matter has never been touched upon. Tainted MLB MVPs? Are you kidding me? This guy is just a visionary! No one can replicate Reilly. He's like the MF Doom of sportswriting.

You hit .335 and averaged 41 bombs those years and yet you finished second behind the clearly creaming Bonds in '02 and '03, and third behind Bonds and Adrian Beltre in '04.

Then why not give it to Beltre?

We're throwing out Beltre since, while he denies ever using PEDs, he fell off the face of the planet once baseball put in stricter steroid suspensions in 2005. If he wasn't cheating, I'm the Queen Mother.

Oh, really? Did you forget the Luis Gonzalez passage from above? Better get fitted for your dress.

If Luis Gonzalez wasn't cheating in 2001, I'm Eiffel Tower-ing some chick with Jim Abbott.

Speaking of letting people down, Alex Rodriguez admitted last week he cheated like a Three-Card Monte dealer from 2001 to 2003 as a Texas Ranger.

After this, he broke down like Otis Redding's plane.

He was the AL MVP in '03, stealing it from then-Toronto Blue Jay Carlos Delgado, who finished second.

Again, we'll assume Delgado was clean, just like we would have for A-Rod had his name not been released in a pretty shady manner. Let me guess what's coming next...we're going to take an MVP award from a guy we guess was cheating and give to a guy we guess was not?

Just to recap: He cheated. He admitted it. He won the MVP. And yet the people who gave Rodriguez the award— the Baseball Writers' Association of America—decided last week that he could keep it. "It's [A-Rod's] award to do what he wants with," BBWAA secretary-treasurer Jack O'Connell told a reporter. "Listen, the wool was pulled over all our eyes. We had an election and those were the guys that won. The awards are theirs."

Thank God O'Connell isn't a judge. Yes, you admit you robbed the bank, but what the hell, why don't you go ahead and keep the cash? Buy yourself something nice.

No, fuckscraper. Thank God you are not a judge. "Yeah, we now know you robbed that bank, and we are going to retroactively imprison you for it using evidence that was not allowed at the time of your original trial even though this is illegal as hell and also nowhere near relevant to a baseball MVP discussion. NOW I'M GOING TO BANG MY GAVEL". Also, Reilly...the why don't you just go ahead and keep the cash, Mr. Bankrobber line? Gold. Pure gold. You are the Spandau Ballet of sportswriting, Rick.

"The awards are theirs"? What is the BBWAA motto: Tread on Us? Shame on O'Connell and every writer who agrees with him. These people let this whole Rage Age go down right in front of their notepads—left it up to Canseco to break the story—and now they're rewarding them? Coddlers.

Yes, douche. You have information on A-Rod that you should have on 103 different players, but their names haven't been released. So now you want to go back and retroactively strip people of awards and just give them to others who you assume are clean? Unless their name is Adrian Beltre, because you are the Queen Mother? You should be in charge of something important.

So step right up, Moises Alou, here's your MVP for 1998, when you finished behind Sammy Sosa and the Dubious Dinger, Mark McGwire. Here's yours for 2000, Frank Thomas. You were fleeced out of it by admitted 'roider Jason Giambi.

Prove to me that Sosa and McGwire used 'roids. Or that Moises Alou didn't. Or that Frank Thomas didn't. Or that Debbie Gibson isn't the most rockin' '80s singer around. I'm waiting.

There you go, gentlemen. Please accept our belated congratulations. And don't make us regret this later on.

Remember, we know sticky-fingered third-graders.

And that's it. Comedic brilliance. Revisiting one of your earlier lines. Sticky-fingered third-graders. That's absolutely hilarious. That's the million-dollar man, Rick DiBiase, with an article I wouldn't put on this blog if he paid me to do so. What a joke. Just like everything else Reilly has written in the past ten years.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


With my connections in extremely high places, I was able to obtain the exclusive shot above from last night's PSU-Illinois 38-33 barnburner. What a game. Just when you the teams break 20 and you think the game can't get any more exciting, they break 30! Then Penn State goes on a late run and approaches 40!!!!! James Naismith would be freaking out right now. Penn State's Talor Battle, apparently the Amare Stoudamire of 1917, led all scorers with 11. NO ONE ELSE SCORED MORE THAN 7. SEVEN!!!! Motherfucking se7en points. Unbelieveable.

As a Penn State fan and someone who's never really been a huge basketball fan in general, I really don't pay that close of attention to the men's basketball season. The women's basketball season is much different in that I pay absolutely no attention to it. Women's basketball players could play a game on 30-foot rims completely naked and I still probably wouldn't watch it. But this year, Penn State has gone back to the days of the Crispins and actually given me a reason to follow. Although they are barely over .500 in Big Ten play, they are 19-8 overall and have beaten three ranked teams on the season (Illinois was number 16 in the country coming in). That's awesome for PSU, long whatever the opposite of a hotbed is of college basketball (a coldbed? A bed made completely out of pillows?). And back when the Crispins led PSU to the tourney, I picked them to upset UNC. So did superfan Erick Wassel. We were the kings of the hall that day, until they lost to Michigan State in the next round. Didn't matter. I had a semi.

So, as I still don't follow the big picture that well, I'm thinking that with a win or two in the Big Ten tourney they might have a legit shot of making the NCAA tournament in March, allowing me to blow up my own bracket by actually picking them to pull a Pitt (make it to the Sweet 16 and get eliminated immediately thereafter). Speaking of Pitt, this year's Pitt squad might be the best yet to eventually be eliminated in the Sweet 16. Big year thusfar for college basketball in Western PA. I think Robert Morris even received a few top 25 votes as they are tearing up the NEC at 13-1 and 19-8 overall. Their lone loss in this calendar year was a respectable showing at Pitt. Sweet.

But back to some quotes from the Penn State recap.

"They found a way to win it," (Illinois coach Bruce) Weber said. "It wasn't an offensive display you would expect this time of year."

Really? It was 38-33. Are you talking about 1934? This isn't an offensive display I would expect at any time of the year. I've seen more scoring in a pickup game to 11. This is what I would call "an embarassment to high level organized basketball". You are a D-1 team. Ranked as the number 16 D-1 team in the motherfucking country. And you scored 33 points. Penn State, you are also supposed to show some semblance of ability to put the basketball into the hoop repeatedly. Yet you did not. People actually walked out of this game to watch a soccer match because they were so desperate for scoring.

It was the Illini's lowest scoring total since Jan. 6, 1947, when Minnesota won 33-31 at Huff Gym.

Wow. See, I've been making 'jokes'. With 'exaggeration'. But this, my friends, is an actual fact. This is history making a good joke. Actual data being lolzy. Getting a 'zing' in. 1947!?!?! This was so long ago that Jay-Z wasn't even born yet. While I'm glad I missed this game, it would have been nice to watch history in the entirely-too-slow making.

The Illini missed 17 of their first 20 shots, yet still managed to take a 29-20 lead with 10 minutes 21 seconds left on Demetri McCamey's three-pointer.

What a scoring explosion. They went on an 11-4 run at one point. AND IT TOOK THEM 11 MINUTES. Even worse, with 10 minutes left in the game, Penn State had 20 points. They were on pace to score 26. Total. I don't think history goes back far enough to show the last time a D-1 team from a BCS conference scored 26 points. Illinois shot 30% on the night and Penn State shot 28.3%. This is terrible. And to prove to you that I have a proper perspective...I have watched more than one high school girls basketball game in my lifetime, a sport in which the basketball appears to be made of stainless steel and the rims appear to be oppositely-charged industrial-sized magnets. The game of basketball may file for a restraining order against the Big Ten.

"On defense we hold them to [13] baskets, but they get 11 free throws and we have none," Weber said.

Ok, I'm a Penn State fan and I didn't watch the game and he might have a point but...maybe you held them to 13 baskets by fouling the hell out of them. Just a thought.

But...damn. No free throws in an entire game. And still only 11 for PSU. If there really wasn't that much fouling, then this has to go down as the worst shooting performance in the history of organized sports that have shooting in them. That includes archery and high school rifle teams. No free throws? Did they not drive at all? This is the number 16 team in the world. You guys can't dribble? The fact that they scored 36 in a game earlier in this season kind of shows that coach Weber may be doing something wrong.

"That's our fault, though," Weber said. "We didn't go strong to the basket."

I honestly didn't read that yet when I wrote the above. I'm such a basketball savant. Pass me the rock, motherfucker. If it's your fault, you probably shouldn't have taken that subtle shot at the refs above, though. Either that or he's trying to take the shot and avoid a fine, which is how it comes across to me. Probably a smart way to do it, actually. Whatevs.

The team's combined 71 points was the lowest in a Division I game since Monmouth beat Princeton 41-21 on Dec. 14, 2005.

Places I'm glad I wasn't at on December 14, 2005: That game.

"I kept looking at score and I didn't know what half we were in," Penn State coach Ed DeChellis said. "When I looked at the scoreboard I thought, jeez, we've set this back a few years."

Yes. You have. To be exact, you set it back to 19-motherf-ing-47. DE-FENSE!!! DE-FENSE!!!

But I don't care, man. A win is a win and with Penn State basketball going against a top 25 team you take them whenever and however you can get them. You're going down, Pitt and Robert Morris...Penn State's making a run at best team in Pennsylvania, one 38-point effort at a time.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Chris Brown and Rihanna and herpes and AIDS

If you make a quick visit to the Googles, you can find all kinds of rumors about why a clean-cut Wrigley's gum-chewing pop-star like Chris Brown would beat the absolute fuck out of Rihanna, rumors saying she threw his keys out of the car and he couldn't find them to she gave him herpes and even to her giving him the motherfucking HIV. The HIV! I think I even saw an article that suggested that Chris Brown actually got the HIV from fucking the exhumed corpse of Rock Hudson. I can't put too much credence in that one.

But this issue must be settled here at YLOTILAB, as I am known for having one of the most comprehensive and cutting edge entertainment blogs this side of Perez Hilton. When Nicole Richie fucks her next door neighbor's uncle, I know about before she can even set up an appointment for the abortion. Because I AM THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY, BITCHES. I am so deep in these starlet's vaginas you'd think I was a gynecologist to the stars. I'm joking. I hate famous people and their gay dogs.

But this is different. Because this is awesome.

Scouring the webs, you can find a few places detailing the herpes link and even AIDS (this person and her "frin" had been talking about it) and one of Jay-Z claiming that he is a "walking dead man". Now hold the fuck on here...what the hell is Jay-Z going to do to him? Shoot him 6 times in a song featuring Beyonce? I hope he battle raps against Chris Brown and then Chris Brown freestyle battle-R&Bs him back just like old-school Akon. I get a figurative erection just thinking about it.

Regardless, I want to make this into some kind of meme. And I'm trying, but so far there are no takers. No one thinks Chris Brown punched Rihanna in the babymaker because she gave him lupus. But fuck that, I'm not quitting just yet. Hopefully the media picks up one of these tips:

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because she gave him malaria.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because she gave him skin cancer.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because no matter how many times he asked her what the hell the word "disturbia" meant she wouldn't tell him.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because she gave him leprosy.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna purely for streed cred.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because no one under the umbrella-ella-ella was making him a sandwich.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because she wouldn't share any of her McNuggets.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna to show Scooter Smiff how to deal with his bitches.

- Chris Brown beat Rihanna because she sold all of his rollover minutes at a yard sale.

I'm sure there's got to be some more possible reasons here. Anybody?

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


Thank God it's the offseason! No football to worry about anymore. Gotta update my Myspace.

That felt better than getting a BJ while drinking Patron straight from the bottle. Ahh, fuck it. It's the offseason. I'm gonna make myself a shot.

Yessssss that was awesome. I make great drinks. I should have been a bartender.

(Depeche Mode music begins to play)

*All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is heeeeeeerrrrreeee, in my armmmmsssss...*

Yo, it's Vince.

Vince, I hear you missed the counseling appointment we set up for you today. You aren't going to get out of this depression if you don't make an effort.

But coach, I'm not sad anymore.

Vince, you see we've....wait, what? Did you just say you aren't sad anymore?

Yeah coach. I'm happy now.

What? That's great! What happened?

The season's over, coach.

*sighs*...Vince, there's going to be a next season. We need to get you back to normal so that you can get out on the field next year.


And I'll tell myself, I'm over you
'Cause I'm the king of fishbowl drinking

Vince, it's "wishful thinking". King of wishful thinking.

Nah coach, I'm drinking one of those fishbowls full of liquor. I tied it to my fucking chain and shit.

God damn it, Vince...just don't kill yourself, ok?


*hangs up*

Coach is a fuckin' douche. This fishbowl is fuckin' tight! I'm just gonna get hammered all offseason and not have to worry about all those redneck pricks booing me and shit during the games. Fuck Kerry Collins, man, I'm Vince Young. I just win. I just fuckin' win.

Limas Sweed: Hey, Vince.

Limas! What's up, man?

*goes into dream sequence*

*calls out like announcer*

Vince Young drops back, here he is, QB at Texas, everyone loves him, he can do no wrong, he looks left, no ones open....looks one available...goes back left, scrambles, evades the sack! Vince Young evades the sack! He throws to Sweed...

*still in announcer voice*

Sweed's got it! Sweed makes the catch! Texas wins! The crowd is going wild! They are chanting VINCE VINCE VINCE! Look at those coeds! They are out on the field! THEY ARE SUCKING VINCE'S DICK!!! LOOK AT THOSE HOES SUCK!!!!!!!!

VINCE! Snap out of it, man! I just came to get some advice.

Whatchu need, man?

You heard, didn't you? They hate me in Pittsburgh, man. I'm dropping passes and can't seem to make the plays that I'm used to making. I'm getting booed, man. It hurts. What can I do to make them like me? I know you just win, Vince. They always talk about you on ESPN, man.

Oh yeah, dawg? That's sweet. Limas, just say "fuck it".

Fuck it?

Yeah dude, fuck it. Just fuck it. Like, you know, you shouldn't even care about the fans, man. I remember when I was a rookie...or maybe a second year player or something....but there was this game and....wait, was it a game or a practice? I think it was....oh, fuck it. I don't even care. Whatever. don't remember? You just don't care?

Nah, dude. Fuck it, man. I don't care. You want a fishbowl?

Uhhh, no thanks, Vince. I'll pass.

Nah, man. Take the fishbowl. I'll just hit this Patron.

...fuck it.

There you go, buddy. That's the spirit.

Thursday, February 12, 2009







Wednesday, February 11, 2009

If this was Rihanna, then I understand where Chris Brown was coming from

I was randomly browsing Facebook today. I know. FUCKING CRAZY! I'm a wild man. But apparently not wild enough for a certain chick in this world who wrote out a list of her fantasies on Men's Health. Credit time: I found this list through Wrap Around Curl's post on this website. Sweeeeet. I love how the internets make me call people by their fake names. Just like on XBox Live where I had to tell a dude "come revive me, Protect My Balls!". "YOU TELL 'EM VERN!". Jeez. Anyway, on to this whore.

1. Shower before bed.
Seeing you emerge from a steamy bathroom with droplets of water clinging to your biceps makes me want to dry you off with my tongue. That includes all those soft, warm, sensitive places—but only when they're Zestfully clean.

Whatever, that's harmless enough, I guess. And I can't blame her, as I do have some sweet rippling biceps.

2. Talk dirtier.
Much dirtier. Trot out a variety of nasty words one night, and if I grunt and moan in agreement, kick it up a notch. When I respond with total silence, dial it back down.

I refuse to do this. I'm not good at it. I'm not going to sit there and say "I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU SO HARD IN YOUR ASS-SUCKING MOUTH YOU COCK-SEAMSTRESS!". I don't even know what a cock-seamstress is. This is just weird. I don't like it. I remember one time some chick (I remember who it was, but I'm not going to name her here) said "don't stop f-ing me"...well, she didn't just say the letter f. And while I didn't say anything, I thought..."good timing. I was juuuuust about to stop f-ing you like, right there. Until you told me not to". In hindsight I should have said that. And it would have sparked a lolgasm.


3. Mow the lawn in jeans and no shirt so I can play desperate housewife from the window.
Then come inside smelling of fresh-cut grass, sweat, and pheromones, and make love to me on the dining-room table.

Uhhh...first of all, I live in an apartment. If I'm mowing the lawn, that means I just got fired from my job recently. Secondly, I usually have grass clippings on me when I do. I'm not doing anything to you until I've showered. Fresh-cut grass does smell like pheromones. That's why you don't see any women fucking piles of grass.

4. Ask me to perform yoga poses naked.
I've been preparing for it every week while bent over and staring through my legs at the mirror on the yoga-studio wall. This is not a performance I'll volunteer for. I need a little encouragement, goading even, but I will give in. And you'll especially like the views when I'm in camel pose and standing bow.

If I did ask this, it would be a joke. And it wouldn't be very funny. And then if you did it, I'd probably leave. Because you are f-ing weird. My old roommate probably would have been one to do this. And she was weird. Frighteningly weird. Am I your gynecologist?

5. Slide your hand up my skirt when you're following me upstairs.

I do this to complete strangers.

6. Confess your latest sexual fantasy.
But say that you did this with/to me in a dream. That'll allow me to maintain the illusion that it isn't something you used to do with an ex-hookup, or an idea you picked up from porn. I might not agree to reenact it, but hearing about it will make me feel like your naughty little confidante, which is very hot. Bonus: It'll give me the courage to tell you mine.

Jeez, what wouldn't I learn from porn? It's 2009. Everything has been done and then recorded a hundred times over. How creative am I supposed to get here? "Hey, you wanna try something new? I'm going to stand on the ground. Now do a handstand on my bed and let me fuck you in the eye". Plus, I don't care if you have crazy fantasies. I'd actually rather have them tame, like "yeah, my fantasy is giving you a BJ". I'd be so down.

7. Read up on sex.
There are books on boinking that are worth the embarrassment of buying them. Like Ian Kerner's She Comes First, for example. It's a guide to giving oral sex so well that your partner will insist on cooking you blueberry pancakes the next morning. Yes, you're an amazing lover already, but Kerner has a Ph.D. for a reason.

How about I don't and I'll just cook my own pancakes. Plus, I know of no college that offers a Ph. D. course in cunnilingus.

8. Ambush me in the shower and direct a strong stream of warm water precisely at my clitoris. Adjust your aim even as I giggle and squirm around the tub. I've done this by myself, plenty of times, but having you do it to me is way sexier and a hundred times more fun.

This one was the impetus for this whole post. What the hell is this? How many showers have hand-held spray nozzle things? I'm guessing more don't than do, unless we're banging it out at a high school in the handicap shower. Thus, I'm going to assume that we don't have one. I mean, I don't have one. Does she seriously want me to piss in her vagina? This woman actually wants me to turn her around, get her attention, and then when she's amply distracted start pissing directly in her vagina. I have a feeling she isn't going to like it as much as she claims.

9. Make your move the second we walk in the door.
Or while we're still in the hallway. I don't know what, if anything, happened between Benicio Del Toro and Scarlett Johansson in that elevator, but if Del Toro acted as if having sex with her right then and there was the only reason he was put on this planet, I could understand if she obliged. When a guy lusts after me so urgently that he can't even wait the 90 seconds it takes to get to the bed, it makes me feel like a movie star.

Yeah, it doesn't work like that with normal people. They get mad at me for not being able to control myself. I'm going to walk up to this chick and just expose myself and say "I can't wait any longer" and see if she gives me an HJ.

10. Ask to take black-and-white photos of me naked.
I want you to, but I'm not so cocky as to suggest that my body could be a work of art. That's why I need you to do it for me. Bring it up after we've had sex. Tell me that the curve of my hips needs to be immortalized. Then, one rainy Saturday night, produce a bottle of wine and a camera.

Oh yeah. And after this, we can get down and dirty to a B.B. King record and maybe listen to Orson Welles on the radio. Wait...damn it! I can't find my black and white camera. Why black and white? I don't get it. The write-up does nothing to explain why it has to be black and white. Would infrared be ok? I could jack off to that.

11. Treat sex like a buffet.
Take breaks during intercourse to go back for appetizers. Too often, making out, manual stimulation, and breast caressing get cast aside when the more serious stuff starts. But without generous amounts of all three from start to finish, the female orgasm is infinitely harder to achieve.

Uhhh, I guess I eat differently at buffets than this chick. I don't even know what an appetizer is when I'm at the China Buffet. She wouldn't like me very much.

12. Sit back on your heels from the missionary position and caress my legs slowly, from ankle to thigh. When you take the time to stroke my body thoughtfully during sex, it lets me know that you're savoring the experience as something meaningful to you.

That's all well and good, but I'm not going to pay you afterwards. Also, this seems difficult to pull off gracefully.

13. Buy more of those snug, gray boxers with the buttons on the crotch. I want to work them open with my teeth.

I don't have 20 minutes to kill while you bite around like a retard trying to open my button with your teeth. Jeez, they are f-ing boxer shorts. Just pull them down and try not to get hit in the face.

14. Kiss me in front of your friends or coworkers and slip me the tiniest bit of tongue. They'll think we have a smokin' sex life. Other women will wish they had a guy like you. That will make me feel very lucky, and very horny.

Yeah, because everybody loves this kind of behavior. They'll think that you are so lucky that they won't invite you out again. Get a fucking room, lady. Hey, why don't you jack me off under the table? Everybody will be so jealous.

15. Get me drunk on champagne, prop me up on the hood of your car, and eat me like an apple.

I wash my car once a month. It's probably not going to be very clean. And I'm not so sure you won't damage my paint job. Plus, when people eat apples, they stop and throw it away before eating the whole thing.

16. Reward me for folding your T-shirts and cleaning the drain by making one long night of sex all about me. Light a candle. Rub massage oil on my body, back and front, shoulders to toes. Next, bring me close to orgasm using just your hands. Then your tongue. Then pull me on top so I can orchestrate the finale myself.

Just for folding my T-shirts? Jeez, lady, just throw them on the ground then if you are going to be so demanding about it. I just cut the fucking grass and got covered in sweat and pheromones and now you are the one who needs rewarded because you did a little laundry?

17. Watch me shave my legs.
Offer to help me shave other places.

Absolutely not. I'm not going to shave your vagina for you, you sick freak. What if I cut you? What if I'm not very good at it because I've never actually shaved a vagina before? Do I ask you to help me shave my face? No. Because I'm not a paraplegic.

18. Maneuver me into 69 at least once a month. Sometimes with me on top, sometimes you. Sometimes on our sides. And, at least once in our lives—when you've been lifting and I'm at my lightest weight—standing up with my thighs on top of your shoulders.

What are you, a 4 foot tall Asian woman? I'm not going to be able to hold you up and concentrate for that long, and I'm going to be too worried about balance to even enjoy it. What a demanding slut.

Seriously, I want to meet this lady and then just try some of this stuff and see if she goes for it. I'm guessing she's going to hit me. But then if I tackle her and grab her breasts, she'll know how much I care.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

25 random places I'd like to put my penis

Surely, if you are a part of the elite social network that is Facebook, you have come across or been tagged as part of someone's "25 Random Things About Me" note. And they write out 25 random things, and you are like lol?, and they ask you to do the same. Welllllll f that.

I'd rather list 25 random places that I'd like to put my penis. I figured tagging people for this one would have been considered bad form.

25 Random Places I'd Like to Put my Penis

1. In your vagina.

2. In your mouth.

3. Between your tits.

4. In your friend's vagina.

5. In a 5 gallon bucket of Italian Dressing.

6. Behind your ear like a pencil.

7. In your appletini.

8. Not a condom.

9. In a stagnant Everglades swamp.

10. In a puddle of skim milk.

11. On your desktop background.

12. In a Christmas card addressed to your grandparents.

13. In a Subway fresh fit sub on herb and cheese bread (sorry, probably not available in $5 footlong). Not toasted.

14. In your dreams.

15. In her vagina.

16. In a can of 91 octane gasoline.

17. In a plastic container of cream cheese.

18. On your internet homepage.

19. In a glory hole cut into a bathroom stall.

20. In a Grilled Stuft Burrito at Taco Bell.

21. In a vat of KFC chicken grease.

22. In high school anatomy textbooks.

23. In your birthday cake.

24. Inside of a Fed-Ex Express mailing package, with instructions to be shipped via overnight air direct to your vagina.

25. In Rebecca Lobo.

Spicing up the Pro Bowl

Hot. That's Drew Brees in what looks like last year's (2008's) Pro Bowl, ready to fling the rock against the AFC...uh....Pros. All-Stars? How about fuck that. These ugly ass uniforms and no-name teams are just not going to cut it anymore.

We need to name the teams.

You can't say GO NFC! in a bar without looking like a complete dumbass, and that needs to change. I attempted to get an "Here we go, AFC, here we go, AFC's goin' to the Pro Bowl!" going on Sunday but to no avail. But if I had yelled "GO AFRICANIZED HONEYBEES!!!", things might have been different. So these teams need names.

The Dicksucking Albatrosses is out, as Braylon Edwards has already legally trademarked that name. However, the cats is not. How about the NFC Cats?

Let's get a random guy to model this jersey.

Tell me that is not a top seller. SERIOUSLY. Email me and tell me. Call me and tell me that this would not be a top seller. DO IT. If not, I'm going to drown your entire family.

This would be so much easier with Photoshop. Damn you, computer that just has MS Paint on it.

Let's see what the AFC LIONBEARS would be modeling.

Sweet logo, AFC! LIONBEARS IN THE HOUSE! I would rock the fuck out of that commemorative T-Shirt. Let's see how our random modeler looks decked out in Lionbear apparel.

Lookin' good, Terrelle Pryor!

This could lead to some awesome jerseys. The Venomous Snakes! The Bucking Horses! The Widemouth Bass! I'm almost 497% positive that I'd buy one.