Wednesday, December 22, 2010
1. Revenues generated by men's college basketball versus women's
2. Attendance at men's games versus women's
3. TV ratings of men's games versus women's
4. The number of different teams that have won a national championship in the past 25 years in men's college basketball versus the number of different teams which have won national championships in women's college basketball in the past 25 years
Very few people give a shit about women's college basketball. Sorry Ms. Femi-Nazi, but you can't look at the sky and argue it is magenta. This isn't a chauvinist thing, this isn't gender inequality, this isn't a male-dominated society trying to keep women in their place. This is facts. This is reality. There are a very small handful of teams in women's college basketball who are good. There a ton who absolutely fucking suck. It is like Brunei. Sure, the Sultan and a few of his homies are rick as shit, but then there is the rest of Brunei. In the past 16 years, there have been 6 different women's champions. UCONN has 7 of those titles, Tennessee has 5. 75% of the titles with two teams in this span, with over 100 teams total. In the 29 total years of the women's tournament existing, these two schools have won 15 titles, or 52%. No one else can win. Who cares that you are beating absolutely no one. If I take 4 of my friends to elementary school playgrounds and win 5,000 straight games, who gives a fuck? I will promise you that Hasbro Games is not furiously pumping out new versions of Trivial Pursuit to alter the answer to the question "Who holds the record for most consecutive games won in college basketball?" from "UCLA" to "UCONN". There is no reason to compare these records. Whatever the previous women's record was....well you eclipsed that. You didn't eclipse UCLA. Deal with it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
The Scout Chronicles: I Just Learned the Story of Jesus Today from that Religious Freak Beagle in the Dog Park
He told me all about it. I think that little fucker is tooting blow in his kennel all day. He will not shut the fuck up about Christ and the Holy Spirit and how you've got to give up dry-humping shit if you ever want St. Peter to open the fucking golden gates for you and blah, bark, blah. I mean Jesus Christ dude, give it a rest. Some of us are trying to sniff some anus around here, not listen to you drone on endlessly about your savior. Anyway, I listened long enough to catch the gist of the story: A virgin teenage girl gets knocked up by a ghost, without any sex occurring, mind you, and gives birth to the apparently fully human son of an omnipotent entity who is nowhere and everywhere all at once, floating around in a cloud paradise somewhere, presumably above us given that is where all the Latin baseball players point when they cross home plate after going yard, and all the VIPs in town want to kill the baby, even though they haven't a fucking clue who he is to begin with.......HAH! You have got to be fist-fuckin' me dude! Maybe I would have bought that story when I was like 6 months old and still pissing the rug. But the Scoutmeister shits outside now and doesn't need fairy tales anymore. I mean come the fuck on. I don't buy that story, and I still think grizzly bears on TV are in our living room. I'm just saying beagle, you're going to have to get up a lot earlier in the morning to pull that one over on ol' Scouter. I'm not really on board with this whole story my parents have been feeding me either, the one about this fat-fuck in a red suit who is apparently going to sneak into our condo through the chimney on our gas fireplace, somehow without me hearing him (and I wake up when our neighbor 4 doors down the hall cuts a fart in the middle of the night, mind you). However, at least that fucking guy is supposedly bringing me some sweet potato treats and a stuffed rhino this weekend, so I'm not laughing them out of the building when they spin that ghost story. Live and let live beagle, I'm going to go run around in circles until I'm dizzy and then bark at that old lady sitting on that bench. Hope the savior and his son bring you some cool shit on Saturday.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Could Somone Please Buy Me the Brett Favre "The Streak 297 Starts" Autographed Football for Christmas....
And then de-friend you on Facebook. Then block all of your email addresses. Then erase your phone number from my cell. Then call your parents and tell them I saw you making out with a gay dude at a bar, in the corner behind the jukebox, to an Elton John song, and your hand was in his pants. Then break into your house when you aren't there and download "Hardcore Elementary School Orgy" onto your hard drive with a shortcut on the desktop called "Sand Storm". Then call the Department of Homeland Security anonymously from a pay phone and tell them I overheard you talking to a Jihad'ish looking dude at the WalMart, about "Operation Sand Storm" and that all the plans are on your hard drive. Then give them your address. Then the week before you go to prison I throw you a "Going Away to Prison" party. At the party I slip a shitload of roofies into your drinks. When you are passed out from the roofies I pay a tattoo artist to come over and tattoo a giant set of awesome tits on your back, so that when you get to prison dudes will want to rape you more. Then while you are in prison getting bitched out to the Mexican gang by your cell-mate Big Ronnie, I get your sister and your mom addicted to heroin. Then I turn them out to start tricking, in the neighborhood of an ethnic group you don't like. At the end of their long day of tricking I give them a cheeseburger and take all the money they made, possibly a slap in the face. Then I show up to all your parole hearings and tell them you send mail to me from the joint talking about how you are going to get out of prison and trick out a white van with window-black, beaded curtains and track lighting and start hanging out at local elementary schools and "show all the kids what they've been missing". At some point during this time I killed your dog with antifreeze.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Urban, you've got a long row to hoe if you want to supplant Bayou Brett as sports' most egomaniacal, narcissistic douche bag. But brother, you're well on your way. Last December you lost the SEC Title game to fellow It's All About Me asshole extraordinaire Nick Saban. You were undefeated going in, and had you won you would have been in the national title game and everyone would be talkin' Urban all the time, and not the dude Nicole Kidman is fucking. But you lost, and no one was talking about you. Like Hitler you couldn't fucking stand it, so you invaded Poland. Actually you just held a self-press conference to announce you died of a heart attack or got AIDs or were in love with Tim Tebow, or whatever, you said you couldn't handle it and were walking away. You got more than you could have ever hoped for when ESPN fell all over itself like only ESPN can do, and started fellating you around the clock. Once everyone was talkin' Urban again, you had a miraculous comeback 48 hours after you walked away. The fawning went into hyperdrive. You used your Jesus-rising-from-the-dead story to steal a recruit from Ohio State by texting him that God told you he should come to Florida. Fast forward one December later and we've got deja vu. Urban the family man is walking away again to be with his family. Last year he needed less than two days to be with his family. How long this year? It was interesting that last year's retirement coincided with losing the SEC Title game to Saban and not getting what you wanted. Just as interesting is how this year's retirement coincides with a bad year for Florida leading to playing in the Toilet Bowl where no one is going to talk about you because the other coach is 83 year old Joe Paterno. I'm pretty sure you won't be with your family for very long this year either. Type-A egotistical assholes don't care much for their families because although they are a part of you, unfortunately they aren't actually you. You might unretire from Florida again. You might take the Miami job. You may even go fill the coaching vacancy in Denver so you and your life partner Tim Tebow can take long hikes in the Front Range and fill each other's "vacancies". Whatever it is, you are a douche bag. Keep your nose to the quit and unquit grindstone and one day soon you might get to fly in the same rarefied assclown air as your mentor Brett Favre.
P.S. Your daughter is hot.
If I have one more fucking bus fly by my stop without stopping this week because it is too full, I am going to get on one the following day strapped to the tits and sporting a trench coat like Neo in the Matrix and go fucking postal. The only good news is that it is colder than a well-digger's ass right now, so you get a side of frostbite to go with your stewing fury as you wait for the next late and as a result overloaded bus to roar past and tell you to eat shit. Here is a novel fucking idea: During evening and morning rush hours, run more buses to accommodate the significantly higher commuter volume. Done and fucking done. The train situation is no better. My favorite part of the winter commute is that when you get on the bus with your wool hat, wool scarf, insulated wool pea coat, sherpa-lined gloves and Wookie sized winter boots, the bus driver typically keeps the bus at a balmy 97 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing like walking into work with swamp ass when its -4 outside. And the absolute worst part of it all? I am going to bend right over and shake it like a little whore and let CTA cram it right up my ass. What else am I going to do, walk? Fuck that.
Monday, December 6, 2010
-Gather Osama bin Fuckstick and any of his other buddies we've got rotting in Morocco, Guantanamo, central Florida, whatever shithole we've got them languishing in, and fly their asses to NYC under cover of darkness.
-Build a giant WWF-style cage around all of Central Park with only one entrance/exit
-Gather up all police, fireman, transit authority, port authority, any first-responders in the NYC metro area
-Tell all of these people there is a party for them tomorrow at Madison Square Garden, be there 8 a.m. sharp
-When they show up the following morning, turn on the beer taps and bring out the hard liquor and serve them all the freebies they want
-Also give them copious amounts of cocaine. Anyone refraining from the cocaine, just put speed in their drinks
-While this is going on, take bin Fucko and associates to Central Park and lead them through the only entry/exit.
-Give all of them one Nerf brand weapon of their choosing. Nerf bazooka, Nerf rifle, Nerf baseball bat, etc
-Start showing images of 9/11 on the Jumbotron at MSG. Images of the towers, the towers collapsing, the fallen, the families of the fallen, the terrorists partying afterward
-While the images are being shown, play really aggressive metal with some sad songs mixed in. Every Rose Has Its Thorn at some point, for sure
-Let the entire liquor-addled, coked-up crowd from MSG out, and take them on buses straight to Central Park
-Hand every one of them an old-timey weapon as they exit the buses: brass knuckles, rubber truncheons, socks filled with rocks, etc.
-Announce to this crowd that within the cage currently surrounding Central Park is Osama bin Laden and numerous of his tee-totalling douche bag buddies
-Open the only entry/exit to Central Park and let them in
End of chat.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
I was retelling a story last weekend that a friend told me about in college. His dad was an underwater welder and has seen catfish next to bridge supports in the Ohio River in deep pools of water that are large enough to swallow a human whole. They stay on the bottom their entire lives eating river scum and become gigantic due to never being caught. Pretty fucking terrifying, right? Well my brother informs me this is an urban legend. Apparently there are no catfish the size of blue whales at the bottom of the Ohio or Mississippi River. Who knows, maybe there are no underwater welders either. There should be, because it sounds pretty fucking cool. Using fire underneath water and all. I've told this story no less than 25 times in my life, fully believing this to be true. Honestly I wanted to stop the goddamned car and tell my brother he could walk his know-it-all fucking ass the rest of the way. My pride was pretty injured. No one likes being told they were duped, except for really stupid people. They seem to get a kick out of that shit. Watch the David Blaine street magic video sometime where he goes into the Cowboys locker room. He pulls one playground magic trick on Emmet Smith, who responds like a Neanderthal that was just shown fire for the first time. He had a ball with it. I'm no rocket-scientist, but I'm confident I could best Emmet in a knowledge bowl. Even if two of the categories were "Football" and "Emmet Smith's Life", I'm pretty sure I'd win. So my brother can fuck off with the too sly to be duped by the man-eating catfish story attitude.
Anyway, conceptually I think I understand how a donkey show works. A bunch of highly intoxicated and coked-up bikers, frat guys, traders and other upstanding members of a moralistic society (Luckily I was only a frat guy and a trader, but never a biker) gather in a poorly ventilated structure somewhere in the Baja peninsula, usually a quaint little suburb of Tijuana. They pay $50 or so a man and are allowed to drink Tecate from a cooler that was probably also recently used as a transport for a chopped-up drug runner named Paco whose family owed a little too much money to the local narco traficante. Once these social aberrations are all oiled up they probably play a little mariachi number, maybe fire a pistol. A shower curtain opens to a retarded donkey with, as you might guess, a donkey dick swinging between his legs. From a location you don't even want to know about stumbles in a woman fucked 6 ways to the weekend on booze, black tar heroin and ketamine. All the poppy plants in Afghanistan will not help this poor soul to forget the multiple nicotine-stained finger-blastings she received from her mom's boyfriends during her trailer park Christmases in Bakersfield, CA. She gives the donkey an HJ, maybe a short blowie, and then its go time. I do not know the logistics of a chick fucking an equine, to be honest with you. Once upon a time when I was about 15 we were hanging out somewhere and my friend Tony popped in a bestiality porn that he claimed he "Found" somewhere. Two chicks were in the process of fucking a horse. I made it through about 30 seconds of that, and then left the room and drank enough Cisco to kill the very horse I think I saw get fellated. Thankfully I no longer possess any memory of that event. Needless to say a chick crams a monstrous donkey cock into her holiest of holies, presumably the donkey gives the crowd a money-shot, and they in turn go wild. The bikers bike off to start some trouble in Belize. The traders head back to Wall Street to gamble away your kid's college fund. The frat guys drift into Tijuana to "Do some fucking bombs, bro!" The protagonist of the show goes back to wherever it is she came from to cook up the shot to end all shots and lays on the floor of her pimp's trailer as his homeboys run a train and visions of marrying Prince William of Great Britain dance through her head.
At least that is how I envisioned the spectacle. But this catfish wool that got pulled over my eyes has made me question even the sanctity of the donkey show. Say it ain't so, Joe. So can someone confirm, with irrefutable evidence, that they've been to a donkey show. Or am I an even bigger gullible asshole than I thought?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
If You Camped Out in the Parking Lot of a Store on Thanksgiving Night to be the First in Line for Black Friday, You are an Asshole
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Your first sip of Goose Island's seasonal release is like God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost all ascended from Cloudland and put their nuts directly in your mouth. Its that good....A tea-bagging from the Holy Trinity. At 13% ABV you are also in no danger of sobriety rearing its ugly head. If you don't go out and buy some stat, you're a dick.
I don't typically like Goose Island beers. They are supposed to be "The Chicago Brewery", but I think the majority of their beers are sub-par at best. Honkers Ale is lame. 312 is queerer than a 5-wheeled wagon. The new Green Line pale ale is a piss-poor representation of the pale ale genre. With local breweries such as Revolution Brewing, Half Acre and my personal fave Piece absofuckinglutely dominating, I don't understand why people waste money on GI's regular mediocre lineup. Oh wait, because people love mediocrity. Why else would Navy Pier exist and GW Bush get a second term? That being said, this beer is decadence in a glass. I just had my first of the season last night, and here are some tasting notes:
-The nose was that of a fireplace lounge at a country club, full of wealth and opulence and rich mahogany. It won't allow any of the servants to look it in the eyes.
-The first taste has the essence of a long Allman Brothers instrumental in a green field at a humidity-free 75 degrees, on mushrooms.
-The palette is dominated thereafter by very strong, powerful, quick thrusts of Metallica Garage Days leading into an extended instrumental version of Metallica's "One". The palette of the Bourbon Country Stout ends with "Darkness....imprisoning me....all that I see.....". At some point a hole is torn in the sun.
-The finish has not-so-subtle notes of a virgin's honeypot on prom night.
Or you could always just go pick up a 6er of Bud Light and drink low-alcohol, ice-cold piss. That's a popular choice.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
If you use the phrase "moist panties" in conversation with a woman, and she's into it, then all bets are off. Anything from her letting your college lacrosse team run a train on her, all the way up to her stabbing you to death during sex and drinking your blood, are in play.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Has broken foot/ankle. Wants to play this week, not to help team, but rather to continue consecutive games started streak that only he and John Madden care about. Insistence on playing will have direct negative effect on team. Recent quote: "I've played through injuries that most people wouldn't even attempt."
THREAT LEVEL: HIGH
Expect "Gunslinging", Brett Favre passes completed to people NOT wearing Vikings jerseys, limping off field as though amongst wounded at Verdun, pained "warrior" faces on sideline sans helmet, general assclown behavior.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Seriously, look at the goddamned advertisement. You're going to drink this shit? Well then, you deserve everything you get, from a pants full of shit all the way up to and including a lack of heartbeat. Everyone is fucking everyone else right up the ass to try and be the most EXTREME!!! these days. You know what is most EXTREME!!! ? Drinking this monkey jism until you fucking quit breathing. So go for it University of State School '13, Valhalla beckons. Odin awaits you in Asgard with an eternity's supply of Mountain Dew, Four Loko, jet-fuelled dirt bikes and heavy metal snowboarding halfpipes with some other extreme mutherfuckers. You can all catch major air while chugging non-coffee caffeine right into oblivion.
I have never actually tried Four Loko, and you can bet your bottom fucking dollar that I never will. However I know this much for absolute certain: It tastes like your dog's asshole. Why would you keep drinking it? Several years ago I was going to a college campus with 3 other guys to visit one of their brothers who was still in school. Our friend Brad brought this devil's brew of vodka mixed with a greenish-hued energy drink concentrate he bought from a Korean market. I can't read Korean, but I'm pretty sure it was called "ThunderFuck". I choked down one drink on the ride. I was both crunk and felt like I'd smoked a jumbo with Pooky from New Jack City. It tasted like failure and Brad was getting alarmingly drunk and loud. I decided I'd have no more. When we arrived at the college, Brad was quickly vomiting blood behind the residence hall. I knew then I wasn't drinking that bullshit again. So if you drink a can of Four Loko once I can forgive you. But if you wake up with pissed pants and your roommate is getting his stomach pumped and you drink it again, well that's called "Thinning of the herd". If it isn't the Four Loko in 2010 A.D. taking you down, it would have been the saber toothed tiger you were throwing rocks at in 20,010 B.C. Carpe diem, jackoff.
I'd love to pass judgment and say that all you need is a 6-pack of heavy beer and a couple of hits off the bowl, and you'll be pleasantly wasted yourself and can piss on the faces of the passed-out dudes with labored breathing who chugged Four Loko three hours earlier, at your leisure. However if I am being honest with myself I know that if Four Loko existed in 1997 I would have been the first asshole in the dorm down on one knee ripping a beer-bong full of this nonsense.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Same goes for convicted murderers. How we gonna teach puppies not to bite? Bite them. How you gonna teach the kids not to murder people? Murder people, that's how. Oh, you are mentally retarded and don't understand the fundamental differences between right/wrong, alive/dead? BooFuckingHoo. I guess you shouldn't have been born then, and especially not in Texas.
I'm with the fruit-loops on this one. Sometimes you have to murder a few humans to make an omelet. And I think I'll start getting off the bus one stop early and walking it on in.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Even though I'm pretty sure that guy has already been murdered during an after-sex knife fight over the last line of crystal meth, he's gonna haunt me. I may never run through that wooded area again.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Both Candidates for Illinois Senate Have Such Great Ideas on how to Fix Illinois, that I Have No Idea Who to Vote For
Alexi Giannoulias has, in my humble opinion, a great strategy for cleaning up corruption in Illinois, getting out of debt and becoming profitable again, and bringing Illinois back to respectability: Mark Kirk Fucking Sucks. There it is folks, all problems solved. Mark Kirk is a complete and utter turd, he spends like a drunken sailor at a Thai brothel, and he will without a doubt cram a giant black rubber cock into the unsuspecting asses of average Illinois citizens if you give him opportunity.
Mark Kirk has a different, but still compelling, message stating his plans to medicate and ultimately fix our great state: Alexi Giannoulias is a Fucking Asshole. I was barking up all the wrong trees such as fiscal responsibility, ending graft, increasing manufacturing, etc. I didn't realize that all we might need is to point out what a fucking scumbag Alexi Giannoulias is. Kirk's ads are quite clear. If we vote Alexi into office he is going to steal all your money in Ponzi schemes, let your chickens out of the barn, and steal off into the night with your daughters where he plans to annihilate their cherries in a most aggressive and unloving manner, only to return them the next day with his demon seed growing in their bellies.
I've stewed over this for weeks. Alexi Giannoulias is an asshole versus Mark Kirk sucks. Each plan has its merits and could ultimately save Illinois from collapse. These guys are both running a great campaign. Keep it simple and stick to the main points. In the end it will probably come down to which commercial I watch before leaving for the voting polls.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
1) They are not wearing a brand new Allen Iverson3 football jersey
2) They are not 125lbs overweight
I am not going to delve into the subject of why you would ever buy the jersey of a player in a sport they don't play. This is a black cultural thing that I am not meant to understand. Sort of like how spectators at a golf tournament who are there to watch and not play golf, wear their fucking golf spikes, is a white cultural thing that black people are not meant to understand. But I digress. You've got to sell it to me buddy. Don't cry to me about how you are starving and need some food when you're sitting flush with AI3 gear and have eaten yourself into type 2 diabetes.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Not even in my drunkest, darkest, most stoned hour in college did I ever consider consuming that toxic manna from hell. The children seen scavenging food from Mumbai gutters are ingesting better calories than the American fatties crushing chili dogs from 7-Eleven. The usual consumer of this fetid filth are people in the 75+ pounds overweight demographic with acne and sweat pants, trying to score a quick hot dog, pizza slice and beef burrito snack before their all-night chat room marathon. As their "Who Farted" t-shirts would indicate, these are typically harmless individuals no more to be feared than the common 3-toed sloth. This past Friday afternoon I encountered something completely different and I fear altogether sinister. There was a man near the age of 30, dressed well according to modern fashion tastes, clean-cut, of Arab or possibly Persian descent. He strode confidently into 7-Eleven and straight up to the group of Indian proprietors who were at that time arguing in Hindi over which products in the store they were going to incorrectly label with high prices until a customer noticed and complained and they pretended it was a simple mistake. He interrupted them and without hesitation ordered two slices of peperoni pizza which were warming in squalor inside a most foul transparent oven of some sort. This individual is capable of anything. Murder, rape, sodomy, theft, assault, buggery, the sky is the limit. A person such as this has nothing to lose and is not concerned with their own welfare. Tread cautiously.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
-Afflek is back. Believe it.
-Jeremy Renner is proving himself a very convincing crazy and bad mutherfucker.
-Blake Lively is hot. Even as a drug-addled whore with a Charlestown accent.
-Gratuitous use of a David Ortiz RBI highlight
-Over-the-top Bahston accents
-Lack of Jack Nicholson running around playing a bad parody of himself and ruining an otherwise brilliant movie
-Car chases up your ass
-Loud assed fucking machine guns
-Did I mention Blake Lively?
So if someone tells you this movie sucks, just say, "Hey, I understand your dad didn't take it well when you told him you were gay. But that has nothing to do with Ben Afflek or The Town. He'll come around eventually."
Thursday, September 23, 2010
EMERGENCY BROADCAST: Katy Perry Shows Some Cleavage on Seasame Street....Pick up the Red Phone and Call Fucking Batman!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I hate nothing more than when people respond "We will not lose our place of international prominence, this is America". I'm sure no one ever said that in Mesopotamia. Or Egypt. Or in Ancient Greece. Or any Romans. Or Spaniards. Or the French. And I know the sun never actually set on the British Empire either.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
And yes, I'm well aware this is just a huge publicity/marketing stunt to get people to buy his shitbagging books. I'm just jealous that I didn't think up this Quran burning bullshit first to try and get someone to actually read my insane ramblings.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I've got an idea: Just let it go. Trust me, I'd like to see this guy in federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison just for being the staggering asshat that he is, as much as the next guy. But if you let it go at this point, another type of justice is going to play out. It is well known that this cock-chugger owes money all over town, and, well, he's gotta, you know, feed the monkey, man. So call off the dogs. If you do, then he's out of the news. If he's out of the news, he isn't selling books and the Today Show isn't paying him money for interviews. He becomes an irrelevant douche bag that owes massive sums of money. He is a career politician that will never see another day in any office. He'll go bust and eventually someone will see him in an alley next to a 7/11 taking a $5er from a closet homosexual to allow him to suck his dick. The problem solves itself. Sure Fitzgerald never gets to say "I got 'em!", but in the end he kinda did.
Why does anyone want to clean up Illinois politics anyway? Everyone in the country knows Illinois is dirtier than a hooker's jiz rag on Nickel Night, and they all love it. Its fun, its hilarious, it provides entertainment. The Fates will sort this salad-tosser out in the end, lets spend our tax dollars on something more productive, like giant shiny beans in the park.