Jesus hates Curt Schilling

Just came across a link to one of the largest, most voluminous bags of douche of all-time, Curt Schilling, reliving his "bloody sock" game on his website.  Big deal. Babe Didrikson Zaharias once completed an entire triathlon with a bloody tampon and completed the final running portion DESPITE SUFFERING FROM TSS. That takes balls. Or labe. Whatever. Fact is, if Curt Schilling somehow managed to pull out a decent pitching game with a tampon stuck in his ass, not only would we have to deal with iconic images of the string hanging out while he threw a splitter, but that tampon would also be residing in the fucking hall of fame right now and legions of Boston sports fans would jack themselves off while staring at their TAMP-ON A PRAYER posters and frothing at the mouth.

Anyway, I don't have a problem with Curt doing this or invoking how Jesus carried him towards this miraculous feat. I mean, his fucking sock was bleeding! But that doesn't mean I can't make fun of him on my website, as Curt Schilling certainly lays on the mound like a God-damn broad.

I knew I was going to start, but had no idea how I was going to pitch. The ankle, after having been sutured the night before, was holding up a lot better than we’d thought. I was surprised at the amount of bleeding that occurred overnight, and I am sure the maids were a bit worried when they changed my sheets that morning.

And the stage is set. Curt Schilling knew...he'd have to pitch while bleeding. Reminds me of the time Walt Disney bravely led a 1953 construction meeting while suffering from profuse ball-sweating.

I didn’t do anything really abnormal in the day leading up to the start. I did a few more windups in my hotel room than normal, to try and push it a bit to make sure it wasn’t going to pop.

 As opposed to, what, amputating the foot? Way to keep a level head, Curt.

The thing I most vividly remember from the hours leading up to the start was hitting the top step in Yankee Stadium. When I went out to pitch Game 1, when I hit the top step to walk to the bullpen, my ankle buckled and the tendon popped out of place. That was the first time I knew I might have a problem.

I call no fucking way, Dr. Schilling. Can anyone with a medical degree from some Caribbean island set the record straight here? This is almost as crazy as the time I was folding laundry during an episode of Home Improvement and my dick fell off.

It was about the 50th time I had faced the Yankees that year, and I knew it would be the last, so I came out of my bullpen having done some things different. Whereas I usually made sure I had fastball command and my split, I worked my ass off in that pen to get a feel for my curveball and slider right off the bat since I wanted to use them for all nine innings, instead of here and there.

Good for you. Just putting this in to keep the story flowing. 

In Game 6, there was no specific moment when I knew that I would make it through the game. After pitch one, I never really thought much on it. It held up I think because I never favored it, or at least never felt like I did. In watching some highlights I do notice I limped, but I never thought I was limping.

I didn't feel like I was limping, because I was always told that heroes don't limp. If I was limping, you can call that swagger. And as you'll see later, it can all be attributed to Christ, whom I believe actually gives a fuck about a baseball game while children in Guatemala are being raped by everything other than food and water. I'll call that "limp" my JESUS SWAGGER.




I only realized the ankle was bleeding for one reason. I received multiple Marcaine injections from April on, each start, and as the season wore on I started needing to get in-game injections as well. This game I needed to have it done again, and the Marcaine made the outer half of my foot numb (which was a whole other problem).

That's funny. We all realized that the ankle was bleeding BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING COVERED IN BLOOD. And who cares? Honestly, is bleeding such a difficult affliction to overcome? Does anybody ever call off of work because they are bleeding? Did Betsy Ross give up on sewing the flag because her old-timey wench girdle was covered in blood and she was out of Marcaine? I don't think so.





In doing so it made me feel as though my shoe wasn’t on right, so I kept pressing down on the bottom of my shoe to move my foot side to side to try and “feel” as if my foot was firmly in my shoe. That’s how I noticed, in about the fifth or sixth inning, that the sole of my shoe and my sock were soaked with blood. You ever walk in the rain in your socks? That’s how it felt. Problem was that it was cold out, too, so that made the blood cold and I could feel it on half my foot.

So you are comparing this heroic, iconic task to pitching with rain in your socks? "Honestly, have any of you laypeople, or should I say gaypeople, even completed the simplest task with RAIN WATER in your SOCKS?!?!? And if so, was it cold?" This is captivating. My attention has just been captured.




In looking back on it, the main thing I take away from that game was my mental ability to overcome anything. I got past the ankle pain and into a state of mind that had me completely focused on the game.

Oh, shut the fuck up. You're so damn special, Curt. You can pitch with rainwatery blood in your socks. Wow, what's next? What else can you overcome? Running out of gas 200 feet from a gas station? Blowing some dude in an alley in spite of a bad hair-day? I'm sure Jackie Robinson and Pete Gray would be amazed at your mental toughness. Curt Schilling can mentally overcome ANYTHING.




I probably did more damage to the ankle than I would have liked. When they opened my ankle up after the season they told me that my peroneal tendon, in addition to being dislocated, was split, lengthwise, for about five inches and wedged over the ankle bone. In a way that was a good thing because it sort of locked itself down.

Dr. Curt Schilling, M. fucking D.




I made it through seven innings, and when I was done, I sat on the bench. I’ve often talked about the spiritual experience that entire two-week period was, and after I came out of this game it really hit me hard.

Here's where we start getting entirely too gay for the average human being. The spirituality of the experienced? You pitched with a bloody ankle. Give me a fucking break. There was nothing spiritual about you overcoming your ankle injury and pitching in a playoff baseball game.




I had prayed hard, never once to “win” but just to be able to compete. I couldn’t do that in Game 1 because in a spiritual and physical sense I had tried to “go it alone.” Before Game 2 I had prayed with Mike Timlin and Tim Wakefield, and I prayed ONLY for the ability to compete. I prayed for that with the belief that with the eight guys playing behind me, and my ability to pitch, I could beat them on one foot if I could just compete.

"And, luckily for me, the Yankees apparently did not pray. In fact, they actually cursed the Lord and suggested that He go and fuck Himself, as they did not need Him to beat me in a game of baseball, as I just had a tendon sutured. Then they pulled their dicks out and pissed all over the rosary while reciting a satanic chant over a Three Six Mafia beat. 'Sippin' On Some Syrup', I believe. This whole time, I was praying with Mike Timlin that I could overcome my bleeding and just throw the ball. And for this I must thank Jesus Christ. Amen".




Looking back on it five years later, it was a much more meaningful event from a faith and spiritual standpoint than from a performance standpoint. I am proud of what we did that night, but I am far more excited about what I was able to experience in my relationship with Christ that night. I knew, postgame, when I started the press conference off by thanking the Lord and the entire media contingent rolled its eyes, how they were going to report it. Whatever they did, I knew they couldn’t come close to conveying what I had experienced.

That's because they think you are a douchebag who actually believes that pitching through an injury forged a stronger relationship with Christ.  There are worse things going on in the world, Curt. You pitched through this injury because it was not like career threatening and you could handle the pain. Not because Christ came down and touched your ankle in-between sending devastating tidal waves to Indonesia and Bangladesh. I'm actually more impressed that you were able to pitch with all of the thorns on your hat.





My lasting memory of that game — more than anything that happened while I was on the mound — is of Keith Foulke. Every memory I have of that postseason has Keith in it. He pitched every stinking game and dominated, on fumes.

Even though he wasn't praying with you?

Christ works in mysterious ways.

We've got a game 7 tonight

Oh snaps, that's right! Game 7, Pens v. Kotex Red Wings. Marian Hossa may lay on the ice like a broad AGAIN. Zetterberg likes young Vietnamese boys more than the law allows. Pavel Datsyuk knows exactly what happened to JonBenét Ramsey. Mike Babcock gives interviews like a heroin addict hurting for another hit. IT'S STANLEY CUP HOCKEY ON NBC!!!

Fortunately, I get to watch it in my house and go to sleep afterwards because I have a 6:30 am flight to San Diego tomorrow. Which is gay. Fucking great timing, Bettman...that Stanley Cup Finals are barely over before the MLB all-star break. I think the season starts again in 5 weeks with an exhibition in fucking Mongolia. There are balls to be licked, Gary, and they belong to every hockey fan on the planet. So get to lickin'.

So, expect more of the non-posting from Vern that you have become accustomed to through the next week as I rock the fuck out of another awesome work convention. And try not to lay on the ice like broads, Penguins.

Ohmygod the NHL wants the Pens to win

Here's a little opinion piece from a site called "Kukla's Korner", or Abel 2 Yzerman, or whatever the hell it's called. Regardless, the article is a great way to give your eyes HIV.



It doesn’t have to be a sinister thing. There is no Deep Throat, no Jeff Gillooly, no Shoeless Joe giving in to a little fiscal temptation.

Yeah. This isn't Scott Peterson taking Lacy fishing, or brutally murdering Jon Benet Ramsey, or Rwandan genocide or anything like that.




It just boils down to this and it’s real simple: Gary Bettman does not like the Detroit Red Wing organ-I-zation and he would like Sidney Crosby to hoist the Cup.

Ok. Let's see what your evidence is.





It’s not a conspiracy, it’s just a deep burning hatred that Bettman feels for Mike Ilitch, Jimmy Devellano and Ken Holland.

Gary Bettman would piss on your Domino's pizza if he could.




And it might have something to do with the fact that he tried to adopt Crosby, dress him in footies and share Yoohoos with him most afternoons after Pens practices.

Oh my God. Your humor is about as cutting edge as the Bangladesh health care system.




That’s not true, as far as I know. I made that up.

You are kidding. You had me there! You are like the Jackie Robinson of embarrassingly bad humor.




But Bettman’s infatuation with Crosby’s success is not fiction. He vaulted him to the forefront from the beginning as the face of the NHL. He’s kept him there despite the painfully obvious fact that Crosby has the personality of a gnat and the petulance of a napless five year old.

You hear that Crosby? You need to take a fucking nap. What the fuck was the reeling NHL doing looking for superstars to promote? And what the hell is the league doing keeping the 2008 scoring champ at the forefront of their marketing machine? They should just put LeBron James in commercials.





Is Gary Bettman starting the Finals this Saturday, then continuing on Sunday for the first back-to-back since the ‘50s as an intentional means of stifling the Wings?

You have got to be kidding me. Seriously, you have got to be strapping me to a gurney and piss-waterboarding my face. Are you fucking joking? Yes, Bettman is a colossal fuckup of Manny Ramirez bitchtits-sized proportions but if you think that Bettmaster is scheduling the finals this way to intentionally spite the Red Wings then you are seriously borderline retarded. Paris Hilton has shaved off pubes smarter than this thought. He's doing it because more people watch TV on the weekends and he wants to start the series on a weekend because it will make MORE FUCKING MONEY FOR THE NHL. And layoffs are bad. And the Pens just finished their series one day before you cocktasting little dick-rollups did. Good God are you a bunch of fucking whining fake-persecution complex sealfisters.

But hey, the '50s! THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING TIME AGO! POINT!





Not that he’d ever admit and certainly no one could ever prove it.

Because it's not true. I wouldn't admit to killing Sonny Bono and you couldn't prove that, either. BECAUSE I'M NOT A FUCKING TREE.




But he very well could have considered, going Saturday, Monday...or Sunday, Tuesday...because it would have been better for the game. But the “game” has never mattered to Bettman. His little man syndrome, his bitterness and his ego are all that matters to Tiny Gary Daddy.

Are you trying to get me with the Bettman sucks angle? Because it might work. But here, he's just kowtowing to NBC and trying to get as much weekend exposure as possible. It's about money. Just like all things. And it's Bettman's fault that Niklas Lidstrom's old ass is hurt? And don't...you know, the Penguins have to also play on back-to-back days? We should start a debate show called "Point-Infinite Fucking Counterpoints".




Oh, I know...the television thing. I get it. But if he would have gone Versus on Tuesday, Thursday and NBC on Saturday, Sunday? What’s the significant difference? A back to back in Games 3 and 4 would still allow a bit more rest for both teams at the front end of the series.

Good! But Game 1 is guaranteed to be a big draw. It always is. Think about it...the series is going to be tied before game 1, guaranteeing that it is meaningful. They want that game on Saturday. What if the Pens or Wings get up 2-0 like last year? Sure, the Pens made a series out of it with some good games, but I'd be willing to be a metric fuckload of money that Game 1 had a better rating than Game 3 last year. Game 1 was all, "young upstart Pens go into Hockeytown to face the dynastic Wings" and game 3 was all like, "Pens try not to get absolutely fuckstomped again like they did in games one and two". One of those is a better tagline to promote an event...you guess which one.





Why am I even bringing it up? Because the Red Wings defeated Chicago in five games and get two full days of rest. If they’d gone six they would have had what? 9 days? Too much. I agree. But the fact remains, they’re being penalized for winning too quickly, too efficiently?

The Pens beat the Canes in four and get 3 full days of rest. What in the name of the ghost of Joe Louis is the problem here? Switch Red Wings with Penguins and you can still make the same point. That's usually a pretty good indicator that your argument carries with it all the veracity of a Rock Hudson marriage.





Now. This. Should a commissioner give consideration to a team’s injury situation? Not publicly and certainly not officially. For fu**’s sake, he didn’t do it around the All Star Game, when who was hurt?

So your point is...what? Are you arguing against yourself?





Oh, that’s right. Datsyuk and Lidstrom.

I'm lost. Bettman should have canceled the All-Star game because Lidstrom was hurt (I see a theme here)?




But giving a team less days off for winning quickly, and thereby guaranteeing they won’t be as healthy to start the Finals as they would be with two more days rest?

Why don't we just start the thing in 2012? Lidstrom will be 41 but fully healed from his injuries and Chelios might have since died of natural causes, but it would be fair. Of course, the Pens will have had one more day to rest, so this might not work out either. Either way, BETTMAN WANTS TO RAPE ALL OF THE BABIES IN DETROIT.





Bettman despises the Wings. He hates what Holland did to sign Franzen and Zetterberg. Long term deals to circumvent his pet CBA. He despises the fact that the Wings are so popular, make the league so much money, but dictate gates and memorabilia sales...that they are bigger than he is, almost as big as the league itself. Bettman hates that Jimmy D and Mike Ilitch resisted the lockout, that they sided with their players. You think that doesn’t have a lot to do with why Detroit is favored among all NHL players?

NO! Ok, first, Bettman loves that Detroit makes the NHL money. He LOVES it. That's what his job is...get money for the NHL. Promote the league, make it popular again. If using live camels as goalies would make the NHL more popular amongst fans, Bettman would be on a camel-shopping in Mongolia TOMORROW. Secondly, players don't like Detroit because they resisted the lockout. They like Detriot BECAUSE THEY ARE FUCKING AWESOME AT HOCKEY. Good hockey players want to go to Detroit because Detroit is the home of a team that is good at hockey. They win a lot of hockey games. Do you think Hossa went to Detroit because the owners did something during the lockout? Hossa doesn't even know what the word "lockout" means. He went there because he thought they had the best chance to win hockey matches.




There is no way the Final should start on Saturday, and go straight to Game 2 the next day. No one does that. It hasn’t happened in nearly fifty years. But, coincidentally, here we are. Detroit has six (potentially seven with Hossa) injuries. Lidstrom, Datsyuk, Draper, Ericsson, Lilja, Kopecky. Three of those players would be the number 1 or 2 guy at their position on any team in the NHL. That’s right. Any team. And, yes...coincidentally...there is a remarkably short turnaround, followed by a game 24 hours later.

Yes. When are all of the Red Wings going to be healthy? That's when the series should start. Bettman fucking loves the Pens, which is exactly why he didn't suspend Ovechkin for the cheapish hit he put on Sergei Gonchar in the Conference Semis. But seriously, let's get to your main point...DO YOU REALIZE HOW LONG AGO 50 YEARS WAS!

Why doesn't Bettman just play all of the games on the same day in Mario Lemieux's backyard if he loves drinking Cherokee Reds with Malkin so much?





Gary Bettman is so beholden to NBC, so deep in their pocket, that he has absolutely no ground to stand on. That’s the public answer and it’s the one league officials will probably whisper when pressed. But what they will never admit, and what drives Bettman from time to time, and what affects his decision making and has for years, is this…

You so get this. That's what the worst part is. You get this. But yet...





...the little bastard hates him some Red Wings.

You have to keep coming back to this just so you have something to get all fired up about and stroke your God damn undeserved little man complex.

I HATE THIS. I've gone on about it at length. Everybody just wants to feel disrespected and feel that the odds are stacked against them and yada yada yada. FUCK. THAT. The Penguins and Red Wings are going to get over it and play actual hockey games. They aren't going to try and out-no-respect each other. The Wings are fucking stacked, so the fans have to go to great lengths to muster up enough disrespect fuel to get them pumped up for the Finals. And that is just stupid and dare I say, gay. If that idea had a penis it would touch other penises with it. That idea frots.





It’s not a conspiracy. It’s just a little man who’s held an important job for too long.

It's almost like he got it 50 YEARS AGO! OMFG!!!!!!!

Fuck off, Red Wings. Fuck you, fuck your city, fuck your fans, fuck your kid's friends, fuck your cars, fuck everything about you that can be fucked. There. Is that enough disrespect for you?

I can't wait until Hossa lays on the ice like a broad AGAIN after this series.

DON'T MAKE BAD INVESTMENTS!!!

The lady (or effeminate man) in this picture cannot be the only person around with $89 burning a hole in their pockets. I imagine some of you are in the same position. Well, don't fall victim to the same poor investment practices that are ass raping everybody else in the market. Let's go through some things that you should not be investing in.


SCISSORS!

Don't invest in scissors! It's 2008, people, and as we progress towards a paperless society, the only people the will be left out in the cold before paper manufacturers are scissor manufacturers. The scissors sector has already begun to see minor losses, but expect that to just be the tip of the iceberg. Ha. I said just the tip.

Paper may still play a minor role in the future, but you can guaran-damn-tee yourselves that scissors won't. Seriously, if there isn't too much paper floating around, how many people do you think are going to be cutting it into various shapes? And the luxury scissors divisions? Yeah. Right. TOAST. People will be scraping by on old scissors for most of the foreseeable future and we'll be lucky if the climate is decent enough for one scissor manufacturer to beat the others and stick around to handle the dwindling scissor demand.

So, please, do not invest in the scissors market.


WIZARDRY

Please, people, stay out of wizardry. Sure, it may have been big at one point. But don't fall back on the feeling that magic and the coolness of wizard robes will always be around to stay. The economy has been hitting wizards harder than most, and thus they cannot afford to use their wands and cast a spell to right their financial ship.

Wizardry has always been a niche market, and very few wizards-in-training these days are finding both the time and the effort necessary to work a second job in order to support their wizardry. Thus, very few of these guys are able to make Full Wizard unless they come from a wealthy family of wizards that was willing to invest in them.

And, please, don't be swayed by the Wizards for Obama movement. This hollow message is just an attempt by wizards to sway people into making investments, as neither an Obama nor a McCain presidency is going to do anything positive for their craft.


Don't believe the hype, people.


THE STOCK MARKET IN GENERAL

Avoid things like "stocks", and "funds", and anything else of the sort. You'll probably lose more money investing in them than you would in both scissors and wizardry combined. The market has shown how it reacts to adversity, and the overwhelming response is curl up in a fetal position. The Dow Jones index has recently been laying all over Wall Street like a broad. And you don't invest in anything that lays anywhere like a broad. But you know that, right?

----------------------------

But don't get down on the economy, there are plenty of places you can put your money that should not only be safe, but could also be hugely profitable. Let's look at a few of these.


JEANS

Jeans are making a big time comeback here. Jeans are cool again. Have you seen the Brett Favre Wrangler commercials? Athletic jeans! Jeans aren't just for rodeos anymore. All kind of athletes are wearing jeans in sport these days...not just Favre.







So there you have it. Invest in jeans.


MANATEES

These fat fucking sea cows...as more people catch on to the benefits of mass manatee rape, we will have more manatee products available in the market.

Manatee flavored popsicles!

Manatee sandwiches!

Decorative manatees!

The interior of this car?


STRAIGHT MANATEE SEATS, PLAYER!


So, to beat Joe Hedgefunds this season, you know what to do. Take your money out of scissors, wizardry, and the stock market, and throw it all into jeans and manatees. It's failproof, yo.

Got 14 seconds to kill?

Then you might as well go to Youtube and watch the end of Kimbo Slice's career (possible hyperbole...I'm just parroting a Yahoo article of a similar name). Kimbo was all set to fight the disheveled remains of Ken Shamrock; however, Shamrock suffered a laceration while training. Not sure how, but he did. And you know you can't fight with a cut. You might get AIDS.

So, in stepped Seth "The Ecuadorian Milk Snake" Petruzelli, some purple haired freak 47 years Shamrock's junior and much hungrier than Shamrock, who eats large portions and is rarely actually hungry. Slice backed him into one of the 37 corners of the octagon, but then appeared to slip and that was that. Kimbo Slice laid on the octagon like a broad, and that was game. It was not the worst case of laying on the ice like a broad that had seen in the Bank Atlantic Center, however, as the Florida Panthers do call the building home. Apparently this had Slice in good spirits afterwards, as he was still planning on getting his swerve on in downtown Lauderdale, saying, "it's all good, it's all good. I want to thank this man for taking this fight at last notice. It was unexpected. We still gonna have the after party at Art Bar."

Art Bar? Freaking Art Bar? That gay ass little techno faux-uppity club bar? You know, getting beat in 14 seconds by some weird looking dude half your size is one thing. But I thought Kimbo was street. We've all seen the backyard fighting videos that look like they come out of Hialeah or some other less than reputable part of Miami...but Art Bar? I lost a lot of respect for Kimbo Slice after I heard that he was taking his show on the road to Art Bar. There are so many dive bars out near the Bank Atlantic Center that would have been more suitable for this. Even like, an Ale House or a Dave and Buster's would have been many times less gay than holding a post-fight event at Art Bar. God damn it, do I hate Art Bar with passion. If I ever adopt a gay kid, I'm naming him Art.

You lay on the road like a broad. And then you get killed by an Acura.

That there, folks, is the most fucked up image in the world. A map of Florida. Good old Florida. The gayest hick state in the country. The land that time just ignored. And a terrible place to lay on the road like a broad.

Seriously...what the hell? And all in the Tampa area, which is like taking Miami and Jacksonville and crossing them together in the most fucked up way imaginable. God created Tampa on the 26th day after waking up with a vicious hangover and having to be at work in 10 minutes. And all within a month of each other, as well. Which means that it's probably not over yet. Bad things tend to come in threes...what do retarded things come in? Should I feel bad that I am making fun of some dead guys? Of course, they did decide to lay in the middle of the interstate like broads, so I guess my behavior can be excused.

Regardless, don't lay in the middle of the road. Even if you don't do it like a broad.

Exactly what it means to lay on the ice like a broad

To answer the question, just go to this link and watch the embedded video.

And then all of you titfuckers can lay on the ice like broads.

Laying on the Ice like Broads

Literally. The Bulgarian women's hockey team lost an Olympic qualifying match by a score of 82-0, although they fared slightly better in their earlier 30-1 and 41-0 losses. I have nothing to add to that, just noting the perfect example of broads laying on the ice like...well, broads.

I laid in Oregon like a broad

I did. It is a difficult realization when you run a website that scolds people who lay in various places like broads, but I indeed laid all over the Oregon roads like a broad.

Every August in the Portland area, Nike sponsors a race called "Hood 2 Coast" that entails a team of 12 running 197 miles from Mt. Hood to the Pacific Ocean in Seaside, Oregon. This thing takes about 28 hours on average (although some of the elite teams can do it in 16), and there is not much opportunity to rest in the course of the run. I slept for about an hour at Mt. Saint Helens High School, and got some burgers at the Jewell School, which does one fundraiser a year (this was it) to cover the entire year's worth of expenses. Nice deal they've got going.

Anyway, I was never a runner. When I did track, I was a jumper (see here). I had run approximately 6 miles in the past year now that I have a job and stuff...although that isn't counting miles spent playing basketball or anything. Still. Not a long way. I agreed to do this last November, thinking that August 2008 would never actually get here. Well, get here it did. If only I had a way of knowing, like with a calendar or something...oh well. So I decided a week ago to begin my training. I did about 2 miles a day three days, one in a tropical gaycane, in preparation for this race. 6 miles would be enough, right? In the 'cane, I hurt my knee a bit, but figured it would go away. I don't really get injured. So on I flew to Portland to run my 6, 6, and 4 mile legs.

And then, it was go time. My teammate gave me the bracelet of running and I slapped it on my wrist, as I'm prone to do with awesome slap bracelets that are in no way gay as fuck or anything and really go well with my eyes. And then I started cruising. And not like, in a Larry Craig cruising for gay sex manner, but in a cruising like Steve motherfucking Prefontaine style. Running legit 7:30 minute miles, which still sucks, but not too much for someone who doesn't ever...well, run. But then the pain came on a back road about a mile and a half in, and I started limp running a bit. Then I had to take periodic breaks. People asked me if I needed help, and since they weren't orthopedic surgeons, I told them to keep running. Douchebags. And then, about a mile later, it happened. I felt a slight pop in the knee, and I fell to that knee. I couldn't believe it. I was laying on the road like a broad. A motorcycle police squadron came up, lights on, to embarrass the everliving hell out of me. "Should we go and get your van?". Fine, fuckers. Go. Van 722.

Oh well. I made about 3 miles. Out of 16 total. My teammates had to pick up the slack. I didn't really have to fly all the way out to Oregon for this, as I could have slept in a Kia van much cheaper if I just went to Hertz or something. Without the knee pain. Whatever. I guess if I do anything like this again, I'll actually have to train a bit for it. But that is doubtful, as running sucks and is clearly best left to the Kenyans.

Tropical Hurricane Fay is being a douchecane

Wow! What a letdown! That was the look south today on 95, directly into the lazy eye of Tropical Letdown Fay as it floated around Cuba like a broad. Fay didn't appreciate my taunt and started raining about 5 minutes later, which wouldn't be a big deal if I wasn't rolling with the top down. Actually not a bad way to start the day. It woke me up a bit.

Anyway, I was all jacked up and excited to weather my first hurricane, as the tracking and everything from the weekend had Fay running right over the Miami-Ft. Lauderdale area, bringing with it barely hurricane force winds. 70 mph, bitches! As long as you don't drive a Prius, you wouldn't get blown off the road from those gusts. However, my excitement quickly dissipated last night when the updated track showed Fay barely scraping Laudi with her weak outer bands, bringing nothing but a bit of wind and a lot of rain. Just rain? F-word, man! I'm hitting every F key from F1 through F12, because I am just that F-ing pissed. I just composed a symphony in F Major.

Feel free to sing along.

This was going to be perfect! A small, category 1 storm that PROBABLY (I get it, hurricanes are bad, stock up on flashlights and condoms, etc.) would only do negligible damage to the area, if any. I could finally experience one of these hurricanes that people are always talking about and probably live to tell the tale!

But alas, it was not to be. Tropical Abortion Fay is looking as if it will track to the west, as a buildup of strong weatherstuff will weatherforce it somewhere else or whatever the hell these people are talking about on Accuweather. Right now, it is raining relatively lightly with all things considered and relative to the typical afternoon storms in the area. Looks like it's going to continue raining hard until tomorrow morning, dropping about 5 inches of rain (which is nice, because I prefer to be bigger than the rainstorms) on the area but not keeping anybody from going to work.

So it looks like we'll get nothing of note from Douchecane Fay, and that is just unacceptable, Atlantic Ocean. You can do better than this. But in the meantime, make it rain!

You float in the pool like a broad, Alain Bernard!

Yeah, you, Frenchy. God, I sound like Sean Hannity. Regardless, the guy pictured above not only speaks French, he also floats in the pool like a broad.

You may have missed it, as I certainly did because I don't give the slightest of horsefucks about swimming, be it at the Olympics, at a local pool, or in the Caribbean between Cuba and Key West with the aid of an innertube. Swimming is like asserting your superiority over fish and manatees, and no one really needs to do anything to prove that we are better than those fat fucking seacows. Yeah, look manatees, we can come into your house and as a team of four swim faster than you between two distinct points. Go impale yourselves on some coral reefs.

Regardless, a US team that improbably included a black swimmer (OMG!) overcame both brash predictions by Bernard and their underdog status and swam faster than any group of four people had ever swam 400 meters in 100 meter increments. Not only did they break the record, but so did the French, and whoever finished third, and then fourth, and then fifth. The US team broke the record by 4 motherf-ing seconds, and I can't even think of an analogy that properly describes how ridiculous that is. Team France lost by a mere .08 seconds, which made this the second closest race in Olympic history and the closest since "Lumberjack" Larry Waller's .06 second victory over "Bottlecaps" Bill Yardsworth in 1848. Experts have accredited this to the fact that the water was shallower than usual and also to Speedo's new sweetass swimsuits that apparently allow you to swim 4 seconds faster than anyone in history by themselves alone and should probably be illegal. Athletes should have to swim in full Armani suits from now on. Nowhere in the article was it mentioned how gay it is to be an "expert" at swimming, although I'm guessing this was to be assumed. I personally think that the Chinese are still dumping chemicals into the pool water.

This begs the question...why was the pool different than every other pool in the history of poolswimming? Shouldn't all pools be the same? If this pool is that much faster than every other pool, then records aren't going to matter anymore and we probably shouldn't even waste the time to keep track of them. Take this as a call to arms...this time currently spent record-keeping could be spent much more efficiently in the art of manatee-spearing. Last I checked, there were still manatees in the water, and there is no way to reason with them other than a spear right between their fat seacow eyes. Fuck manatees.

Rick Ross guards prisons like a broad

OMG, Rick Ross was a corrections officer! He wasn't the biggest boss that we've seen thusfar! That gust of wind you just felt was Tony Danza breathing a huge sigh of relief, as he is now firmly entrenched as the boss of all bosses.

Here's the lowdown on Ricky's anything-but-sordid past working for the man, and in turn keeping down the type of man that he portrayed himself as. You know, hopping out the Magnum wearing a magnum and smacking bitches or something like that. Oh, and moving weight. And that's not a fat joke...I mean coke. Rick took his name after the guy that pretty much singlehandedly made crack what it is today, affordable coke for the hood. However, in hindsight, if Rick Ross ever moved any coke, it would only have been in the following capacity:


Move that Coke, son! This isn't big news, though. The rap community will survive, as anybody who actually thought that these big-time rappers live the lives they preached probably also believed that OJ didn't kill Lacey Peterson. He fucking did. And all of the small-time rappers who actually do shoot people for their street cred or whatever are usually arrested within hours of doing so. So big-ups, Rick Ross! I'm excited to hear these developments touched on in his next CD , Triller Part II or whatever it's going to be called. I bet it's going to be the trillest representation of trill to ever hit my ears. And that's saying something, as I definitely still have the Debbie Gibson CD that I got in 1996 from a BMG 12 CDs for 1 cent deal.

"Also, I lay on the ice like a broad."

How much does Daniel Briere make to lay on the ice like a broad? Glad you asked. $10 million. Tied with two other dudes, Thomas Vanek and Scott Gomez (Scott fucking Gomez? jeeeez), as the highest paid players in the NHL. Obviously, the guy has to consider himself an elite level player in the sport of puck-shuffling.

Nope.

"I've never considered myself a superstar," said a smiling Briere, who signed an US$52-million, eight-year free-agent deal with the Flyers last summer. "Obviously, they might get protected a little bit more. That's understandable, but when they do some of the cheap shots that they're doing I think it would be fair for everybody that they get the same treatment in that regard."

His cheap shots were in reference to the Penguin cheap shots that, well, I'm still trying to figure out which ones he was referring to. Probably just earning his endorsement money, as he has a six-figure deal with Always (with wings).

More importantly, the highest paid player in the damn sport is claiming that he should not be considered a superstar. Motherfucker, you are compensated better than any player in the damn league. This would be like Jenna Jameson claiming she was not a talented dicksucker. You ARE dicksucking, you bitch. But hey, everybody aboard the "Pens + the refs" bandwagon, complete with nonstop service to the Menstruation Station.

MURDERERS!!!

EIGHT BELLES! I can't believe they killed that horse. That fucking horse wanted to live. Like Barbaro. That horse wanted to live for another year while Appalachia's best and brightest sent it flowers and postcards and tried to bring it water like some sort of equine Terri Schiavo. That horse had heart. While the horses' ankles were broken, one thing that remained unbreakable was its spirit.

And, even though it was a chick, that horse had a bigger horsecock than any of you haters can ever hope to have. Even in the face of two broken anks worth of adversity, that horse never...I repeat, NEVER...laid on the track like a broad.

The interesting thing to see will be how the freerepublic reacts, as they are all undoubtedly horse lovers, however, this was Hillary Clinton's horse. Well, her prediction at least. Quite a dilemma, as you can see. I'm guessing it's Hillary's fault for killing the horse.

Obama's horse lost because it was not black enough. McCain fell asleep while thinking of a prediction, but dreamed about riding a snow-white unicorn.

Like a broad.

Jaromir Jagr. Laying on the ice. Put the spotlight on him.

STILL Laying on the Ice. Like a Broad, even.

I don't think you'll find too many non-Rangers or fashion magazine fans who will disagree with you when you tell them that Sean Avery lays on the ice like a broad. He does. See the picture for evidence...that is Sean Avery, laying on the ice, like a broad. There is even video evidence of Avery laying on the ice like a broad.

Here.

Also here.

Point is, he lays on the ice like a broad. And people say Crosby's a diver because he bled after they hit him in the face with a stick.

Which makes this next part hard to admit as a Penguin fan. But I must. Right now, Sean Avery is a gladiator. A warrior. An ultimate warrior.


Avery suffered a lacerated spleen in Game 3 of the Pens-Rangers series, likely on a big hit from Marian Hossa, which is kind of like getting injured by Ray Guy on a punt return. This is an injury that would sideline a lesser man for an entire season. Look at Chris Simms. And Jim Thorpe.

But Avery? He's likely only going to miss ONE GAME.

He'll be out of the next game for the Rangers. He will likely be back in time for the next Rangers game after that. Impressive. It looks like Sean Avery has finally decided to stop laying on the ice like a broad.

Laying on the Ice like a Broad

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