Showing posts with label jizz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jizz. Show all posts

Monday, March 8, 2010

Is Ben raping his way out of the QB elite?

 



So, Ben Roethlisberger loves to rape. We've all gotten this by now, in light of his second raping in as many years. And yes, I know it was sexual assault and not rape, per se. Nor do I care.


While Ben's propensity to rape is getting to be a bit much, at least it gives other people stuff to write about. And that in turn gives me something to write about. I give you "Ben Roethlisberger's stupid behavior justifies NY Giants' choice in 2004 draft", by Gary Myers.



Ben Roethlisberger may lead Eli Manning 2-1 in Super Bowl rings, but the argument is forever closed whether the Giants would have been better off with Big Ben.

That all depends on whether you are building football teams or filming anti-rape PSAs. As I'm assuming you mean football teams, I strongly disagree with you, your story and every move you've made to this point in your life.



At the very least, Roethlisberger is an immature knucklehead who puts himself in bad situations and continually humiliates the Steelers, one of the NFL's cornerstone franchises.

And at the very worst, he's a rapey rape-machine who wakes up in the morning with nothing but rape on his mind. He's also far better than Eli Manning, who wouldn't rape anything, including an opposing secondary.





In the worst-case scenario, and we're not passing judgment on an ongoing investigation, he has a big problem after being accused last week of sexual assault for the second time in less than one year.

Being worse than Eli Manning is not and likely never will be one of his problems, though. If Ben rapes Santonio Holmes tonight, gets a 5-year prison sentence and is banned from the NFL when his rapey-ass gets out at age 33 or whatever, he'll still be a far better draft choice than Eli Manning ever was. Because he's better at football and doesn't have to throw passes at his WRs helmets to prove it.





The Big Ben vs. Eli argument has been going on for six years now, ever since the Giants traded for Manning and passed on Roethlisberger in the 2004 draft. If the Giants were not able to make the trade, they would have drafted Roethlisberger.

Luckily, though, they got the trade and were able to immediately pay big money to a guy who has amassed a 76 or so career QB rating. So far, the only person he's raped has been Asante Samuel's nightmares after Samuel dropped the INT that would have sealed SB XLII.






Who is the better player? Too much time left in their careers to make that call right now. But one thing will forever be in Manning's favor: The Giants never have to worry about phone calls in the middle of the night.

No. There is not too much time left in their careers. Ben Roethlisberger is better by just about every conceivable metric that can be used to compare QBs. Here are their career numbers:

Ben Rapelisraper: 63.3% completion for 19,307 yards, 8.0 yards/att, 127 TDs to 81 INT and a 97.1 rating
Classy Classing:  57% completion for 18,644 yards, 6.7 yards/att, 125 TDs to 88 INTs and a 79.2 rating

Not even taking into account the fact that Ben's O-Lines have been garbage at best and jizz-filled sacks of fuckrape at worst, his output has certainly exceeded that of Manning. But go onnnnnn...







He is stable and grounded, he's married and despite his celebrity status as a Super Bowl champion in New York, he hasn't been involved in one incident since he arrived.

Oh, he's married! I had failed to take that into account, because I was only judging their football playing abilities. Silly me. Ok, Gary...you got me. If I have to pick either Eli Manning or Ben Roethlisraper to babysit my kid (I don't have one yet since I'm not married which may cloud my judgment in your mind but bear with me), I'll take Eli. Hell, I'll take Eli if I'm forming a flag-football team comprised of 7-year old kids that gets one NFL QB to call the signals. However, if I'm forming an NFL team and I need a QB to throw passes to other rapists who aren't married and smoke weed and stick crystal meth in their dicks and all that jazz, I'm taking Ben. I'll obviously be taking a lawyer in round 2.






Roethlisberger, meanwhile, has become a nightmare.

For those that follow the national rape circuit, yes. Yes he has. You know what they say...Super Bowl rings are nice, but you can't put them on your cock while you're raping a chick!




Six months after becoming the youngest quarterback to win a Super Bowl following his second season, Roethlisberger nearly killed himself in a brutal motorcycle wreck in Pittsburgh. He was not wearing a helmet despite warnings from then-Steelers coach Bill Cowher.

Disobeying noted motorcross expert was one of the biggest mistakes of Ben's young life. And Gary Myers would certainly have a point, had Ben died from these injuries. But he didn't. Soooooo I'll try to accept the fact that he rides in the face of Bill Cowher's warnings. Go Eli!




He flew over the handlebars and into the windshield of a car. He broke his nose and jaw and had a nine-inch cut in the back of his head. He later said paramedics told him he was seconds away from dying because of a severed vein or artery that was draining blood into his stomach. Being a daredevil is not the best way to have a long NFL career or even make it to 30 years old.

But here we are, talking about a guy who survived a motorcycle wreck and is still playing NFL football. He must be invincible! At least he didn't rape any of the paramedics.




Last summer, Roethlisberger was sued by a Lake Tahoe hotel worker who claims he raped her in 2008. He denied the claim. The woman never filed a criminal complaint, and the civil case is ongoing.

Then he went out and totally threw for a metric fuckton of yards!







That alleged incident should have been the wakeup call in Roethlisberger's life. Whatever happened in Lake Tahoe should have been the warning that perhaps a quiet dinner or a night at home was a better alternative for one of the NFL's most recognizable players.

GUH. Now you're chapping my balls, Gary. Really chapping my balls. I'll get around to this tomorrow, maybe. If I have the willpower. But for cock's sake, stop with this retarded suggestion, people. "Hey, 27-year old man, what are you doing out at night! Fucking stay home and watch 60 Minutes before some chick accuses you of rape!". No. Fuck. That. Ben either raped this chick or he didn't. Just because chicks want him to rape them doesn't mean he should be barred from going out in public. These women should be jailed. And if they are not lying and he did rape them, then it's not so much that he should stay and home as opposed to the fact that he should STOP RAPING PEOPLE.






Instead, he was hanging out with college girls at a bar in Georgia last week.

Well OM fucking G.







He has a $102 million contract and risking it should be enough motivation to slow down. He has been accused by a 20-year-old college student in Milledgeville, Ga., of sexual assault at a club late Thursday night/early Friday morning. The Steelers have not commented, but you know this conservative organization is incredibly embarrassed as its star quarterback can't stop making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

He risks it by raping, not by being out. See, there are a lot of things that you can do during a day that can risk your health. Like, driving a car. I bet Eli Manning drives a car. What if he drives it to a rape-den? What now?

Also, everybody needs to forget the "Steelers are above this!!!" nonsense. Santonio Holmes beats women. James Harrison beats women. As long as they remain awesome, they will remain gainfully employed by the organization. Because the Steelers are in the business of winning football games, not winning Lady Byng trophies.





Why would Roethlisberger, who turned 28 on March 2, be hanging out at Capital City, a popular spot for students at Georgia College and State University? He has been in the NFL for six years and he's spending his night at a college bar? Milledgeville is 85 miles southeast of Atlanta and about 30 miles from a home Roethlisberger owns on Lake Oconee in Greensboro, Ga.

Irrelevant. It's a place where 18+ year olds, like Ben Roethlisberger, can congregate if they wish. There's no "one rape minimum" or anything like that. Methinks that Gary Myers would be fucking SHOCKED if he knew some of the stuff that athletes do with women many years their juniors. Things that would make his head explode, like jizz waterboarding.







According to details in an Associated Press story, Roethlisberger started out Thursday night at Buffington's bar to watch the Pitt men's basketball game with friends. One of the bar patrons said Roethlisberger bought shots for him and others called "O-Bombs," a mix of an energy drink and rum.

This isn't even relevant to my Generic Energy Drink Corner, let alone a story about rape.





He and his buddies were then spotted at The Brick restaurant from 11:30 p.m.-1:30 a.m, and then they were at Capital City. One 21-year-old woman said she and a few friends were in the VIP area with Roethlisberger and he was disappointed all she wanted was to have her picture taken with him. She claimed Roethlisberger called her an expletive. The woman said he then was aggressively hitting on another girl.

She probably was a fucking expletive! Hey bitch, suck my dick or get that camera out of here! Yes, we get it. Ben Roethlisberger is a douche. A douche that throws much more accurate passes than Eli Manning.







Deputy Police Chief Richard Malone said Roethlisberger's group was mingling with the group that included the woman who claimed he sexually assaulted her. The police were contacted and she and Roethlisberger were interviewed. She was treated and released from the hospital.

Are you still comparing Ben to Eli or are you just play-by-playing the rape now? What the fuck happened, Gary? Get on track. We get it. Ben raped a chick. We want to know why that makes Eli the better draft pick, not which hole Ben put it in.






Not much good happens after midnight, even in small towns. Nobody is saying Roethlisberger should become a recluse, but when you win two Super Bowls, you lose privacy and you certainly are not above the law.

Absolutely. Anyone who has not won two Super Bowls (like Eli), however, should feel free to rape at will.








He threw one of the great passes in Super Bowl history to Santonio Holmes to beat the Cardinals just 13 months ago. He has been beloved in Pittsburgh. Even if gets himself out of this latest mess, the way Roethlisberger is going, the next one may not be far behind.

And until he rapes his way out of the league, I'll take Ben over Eli.

If he rapes his way into the UFL, I'll still take past Ben over past Eli many years down the road. Unless Eli does something crazy, like drastically improve his ability to play American football.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Urban Dictionary





I'm sure that most of you are familiar with Urbandictionary.com, a site which tells you exactly what those crazy phrases the kids are using mean. Which is all well and good, or at least was, until the site became a haven for people to just put anything on there. A friend of mine mentions that she was about to name something a "singapore sling" (she names these things for work), but upon looking it up on Googs to see if anybody had ever used the name, saw that it was on Urban Dictionary and meant banging a Thai hooker and finding out that it's a dude.

Comethefuckon, man.

So, whatever, Urban Dictionary. If you want to do stuff like that, I'm going to come up with my own things to add.


THE HUCKLEBERRY FINN - When you jizz into your own mouth and wash it down with grape Fanta.

THE CHROME DRAGON - Urinating all over your mousepad while purchasing wheel-cleaner online at Target.com.

THE SUEZ CANAL - Performed by inserting a classical violin into an Egyptian chick's vagina. In D major.

THE PORKCHOP DINNER - Shave all of your pubes with a Gillette razor and empty them into a used Altoids tin. Then use one of those little car fans to blow them all over some fat chick's face while she covers a U2 song on Guitar Hero.

THE WESTERN UNION - Mail yourself a model train set from a mailbox close to your house. Then stick a miniature Eiffel Tower replica up your ass until it bleeds. Allow the blood to fall into a graduated cylinder from the local high school science lab. If you can fill it up past 50 milliliters, you win. If not, set up the model train and tape your penis to the tracks (females can just sit on the tracks). Run the train on the highest available speed setting. Do this while wearing a Willis McGahee Buffalo Bills jersey.

THE MALAYSIAN FALCON - Put some Lupe Fiasco into your MP3 and wear some Koss-brand head phones. Proceed to circumcise yourself with opposite-handed scissors and see how many maple leaves you can collect and carry with the foreskin. The record in Saskatchewan is 3.6 ounces.

THE ICELAND LITERACY TEST - Park your late model Ford Taurus behind the neighborhood Barnes and Noble. Purchase a book from the Goosebumps series. Return to your car. Read the first couple of pages aloud while a hooker you picked up off of Craigslist flosses with your chest hair. Then pull her tampon out and use it as a bookmark.




So, there you go Urban Dictionary. Better add those to the list.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Hoes in Different Area Codes





LUDA! I love how the sideburns look like dripping skeetshots. Well-played. I'm guessing he got it done at a salon called "Nappy Hour".

Anyways, this isn't a hair-critique blog. It's a blog about hoes and hymens and raping waitresses and getting cockwhipped and Pierre McGuire and rap lyrics and sporting satire and anything but hair. And this entry will focus on the hoes. Specifically, how Ludacris has them in different area codes.

Well, I travel a lot for work. Maybe not "a lot", but a good 8 times a year. And I've realized...not only do I have hoes in different area codes, it's actually easier to have hoes in different area codes. It's so much more difficult to maintain hoes in your own current area code than it is to have them in other ones. Hear a player out. A ho in your area code is going to eventually want more from you and your cock or decide she wants nothing to do with you. And your cock. Yeah. But a ho in another area code knows for a fact that you and your penis are just flying in and leaving. She doesn't take it as a slight when your cock leaves. I mean, you live far away. You were just in for a few days. Doesn't speak to her at all about her worthiness as a wife or whatever you wenches think about. But local hoes...they want to be loved. They don't want to be used and left. Every single local girl I have inevitably gets fed up with just being the target of my jizzshots without fail. But the girls in different area codes? They just want to use my wang as much as I just want to use it on them. It works perfectly. Seamless. No drama at all.

So you know what, Ludacris? I'm on to you. Having hoes in different area codes doesn't make you a pimp. It just makes you a reasonable person with a penchant for flying. So in the meantime, I'm gonna go fuck some chick in Iowa.

Friday, July 24, 2009

The meeting




Ok, ok...today's the day, Roger. Big meeting. Gotta do something strong here. Assert yourself. Solidify your position. Judge, jury and motherfucking executioner. Oh, damn...gotta hide this erection, too.




Mr. Goodell...Michael Vick is here to see you.





Damn it, damn it...fine, fine. Ok. Send him up.





Hello, Mr. Goodell. I brought a dog with me to show how much I love them. I'm a changed man. I'm like an ugly dog killing caterpillar that metamorphicasized into a beautiful, dog-loving butterfly. I'm contrite as fuck right now.





Michael, not only is metamorphicasized not a word...caterpillars can't kill dogs. I don't think. I mean, I only went to W&J, but I did graduate.





It's just a saying, sir. I've never been a caterpillar, nor am I a butterfly. I'm just a man who really loves dogs.





I'm aware, just trying to make conversation.

(Fights back weird urge, face gets red)

That is a nice dog, sir.






Thank you. You really like the Wall Street Journal.






It's a good read.






I bet it is. Too bad you can't buy stock in interstate gambling rings, eh?

(awkward forced laughter)






(laughs awkwardly as well)

Ha. Yeah. Well, listen Mike, you know why we are here. I've thought about this long and hard, just like I do in all disciplinary cases brought forth to me. In fact, I thought about this one twice as long. AT LEAST 20 minutes. And...well, I've decided to....(fights weird urge again, face gets redder)






You've decided to what, sir...is something wrong?







No, no...I'm fine. I'm fine.

(takes deep breath)

Mr. Vick, I've decided to suspend...oh God...I've decided to sus...fuck....

(turns bright red, gets bitter look on face)






Mr. Commish...are you alright? How long am I suspended? Are you gonna make it?





I've decided to suspend you for...oh my God oh my God oh my Goddddd....I've decided to suspend you...for....the first 4 games of the upcoming season...

OHHHHHH! Oh man! OHHHH! Wow! Oh jeezzzz....oh my God...whoa....ahhhhh.

(exhales and slumps in chair)






Sir...did you just jizz in your pants?






Fuck yeah, I jizzed. Holy hell, that was a good one. I need to call Jane.





Yes, sir?





Jane, I'm gonna need some new pants. I just suspended Vick for 4 games.






Even after he'd been imprisoned for two years?







Hell yeah. I couldn't help myself, I jizzed all over the place.





Oh my, Sheriff Goodell...I think I'm getting a bit...FUCK ME NOW, ROGER.






You know I love it when you call me Sheriff. Come to my office.






Is this a fucking joke?






We're done, Vick. 4 games. You tell anybody about this and I'll fucking suspend you for life. Oh God...I'm fucking hard again.

(shoots off fake guns)

Pow, pow! Sheriff Goodell is back, baby! WOOO! Now get the fuck out of here, Vick!






(Opens door naked)

You can put it wherever you want, Rog!





Now you're speaking my language.

(Starts fucking secretary on desk)





This is ridiculous. Whatever.

(leaves Goodell's office)

Thanks a lot, dog. I still got four games. Imma fuck you up when we get home.