Friday, July 30, 2010

I Wish that all Children of the World could Bask in the Glow of the Hipster Working at Intelligentsia Coffee Right Now

I treat myself on Friday afternoons to a frou-frou coffee drink from the best coffee peddlers in town, Intelligentsia. I almost denied myself today, which would have been one of the biggest mistakes of my entire life. I would never have been able to spin for my children and their children the tale of one of the most magnificent hipsters thine eyes hath ever beheld. I believe in this case that the best way to proceed is from the waist up:

1. Red flannel lumberjack shirt
2. Red flannel lumberjack shirt sleeves rolled tightly all the way to high bicep
3. Black forearm spiral tat
4. Vest
5. Vest is brown corduroy on the front
6. Vest is paisley on the back
7. Striped suspenders
8. Suspenders worn outside of vest
9. Tom Selleck chest hair
10. Pec tats
11. Tight silver necklace
12. Necklace contains numerous charms which includes but is not limited to:
a. an old-timey key
b. quartz crystal
c. dream-catcher
d. picture of Jesus
e. picture of 18th century French noblewoman (Marie Antoinette possibly?)
13. Nose ring
14. "Bull Ring" style nose ring through septum
15. Those goddamned stupid assed fucking black barrel ear-plug thingys that create increasingly larger holes in your ear lobe as you increase the size of the barrel
16. Studded bar piercing through top of ear
17. Normalish hair cut in the front, which becomes a choppy faux-hawk in the back, which ultimately blends into......
18. A fucking rat tail

A straight fucking flush to the Ace. Lets see you beat that, and unless you're holding 5 aces, you ain't beating it. When you are that fucking rad do you even realize how much energy and strength it requires just to keep yourself upright? Do you? You're riding your bike to work? Guess what, fuck you. He's riding a unicycle to work. You're reading Dylan Thomas in the dark corner of a pub and drinking a Duvel? Well go fuck yourself. My man just finished reading a collection of Moliere while dressed as Charlie Chaplin and drinking a "Sidecar" out of a pewter mug next to a statue honoring Cesar Chavez west of Humboldt Park. Oh, you're driving a metallic green Ford Pinto with a Jimmy Carter for President sticker on the bumper? Well you're a douche-bag because our protagonist doesn't even have a fucking license. You can all take your skinny black jeans and your Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and ride your Dutch De Fietsfabriek bicycles right the fuck back to Wicker Park, because this hombre doesn't give one shit.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Hey Barack, Thanks for Ending that War in Iraq Like You Hinted Around that You Would

Cats are still all over that joint, getting their dicks blown off. Country isn't one goddamned inch closer to governing itself, and do they even want to? Democracy doesn't work for everyone, get over it. And while we're at it, solid work escalating the clusterfuck in Afghanistan that is similarly going nowhere fast.

I'm really the aggrieved party here. I was going to write in Lawrence Taylor for president and mail it in back in 2008. Instead, based primarily on my confidence that he'd end the oil theft in the desert, I got my ass out of bed early and waited in a fucking obscene line to vote for the black Tony Robbins. What a waste of my morning. Rest assured I won't repeat that mistake in 2012. My time would be better spent shooting crank into my toenails with toothless hillbillies in a Red Roof Inn underneath a highway overpass in Huntington, West Virginia.

I can sum up American Governance by quoting one scene from an episode of The Simpsons: Krusty the Clown is voted into the House of Representatives by the citizens of Springfield because he swore that he would have planes rerouted so they no longer were a noise pollution issue. When he fails to do this, the Simpson family tracks him down in Washington. They find Krusty sitting in a bar on Capitol Hill completely pissed on a bottle of Bourbon. Lisa yells at him, "Krusty, you didn't keep your campaign promise!". Krusty responds with, "Did I promise to become a whore for big oil?". Poignant.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Judging by the Number of Times You've Revved the Engine on Your Crotch-Rocket at this Red Light, I'm Going to Assume you Have a Huge Penis

Vroom, VROOOMMM you bad mutherfucker! The chick in the Ford next to you just slid right out of her seat. I'm harder than a diamond in an ice storm, and I'm not even gay. That jacket is fucking PIMP! How many dragons emerging from the sun can fit on one royal blue leather jacket anyway??? And who needs a helmet when you've got half a bottle of L.A. Looks in your hair? You wouldn't be revving the engine on that neon orange beaver trapper at a stop light and staring at people unless your dick, is, HUGE. What are talking here, 3? 3.5? 4 inches? When you are packing serious heat like that your only recourse is to put $200 down on a new crotch rocket and finance the other $8,800 over 7 years. Its a win-win for everyone: They own your financial independence well into your 40's, meanwhile you're awesome. Its a no-brainer. Those other dip shits are in college preparing for the reality of their careers, like a bunch of suckers. You've got the foresight to sacrifice financial freedom later for rad now.

You Can Take Your Mahalo and Shove it Up Your Fit, Tan, Smiling Hawaiian Ass

"Mahalo". Go fuck yourself. While you're over here in your island paradise doing outdoorsy shit, relaxing on the beach with boat drinks and being generally pleasant and attractive, the rest of us are pissing away our lives in intemperate climates, spending half our day in a cage staring at computers, and generally getting our tits kicked in by The Man. So pardon fucking me if I don't Mahalo back at you, homie. Instead of spending all of your ample time pursuing the enjoyment of being, maybe you should get your ass indoors and start doing something you fucking hate all day for some asshole you can't stand, so you can support the payments on all the shit you never needed in the first place. Seriously guys, drop the coconut and get with the miserable, stressed-out plan already.

Maui's Weather Sucks

Seriously, how many 85 degree, sunny, moderately breezy days can you have in a row before you just shave your head, sport a black trench coat, walk into the Lahaina post office and start blowing mutherfuckers' heads off? Try sitting through a couple of Chicago winters and see how fucking Aloha you are then, assholes.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Entire Palin Family are Trash as White as the Driven Snow

These fucktards truly have the "whole package". The patriarch is the First Dude, races shit with his drinkin' buddies, is dumber than a bag of hammers, and likely enjoys professional wrestling. We've got a matriarch who really serves as the patriarch, but with female genitalia. She's similarly stupid, but is willing to have her own parents tortured by The Spanish Inquisition if it promises to land her a 5 minute interview on Oprah. There are mentally disabled children, pregnant un-wed high-schoolers, wild drunken shopping sprees once the gang hits The Big Apple, baby-daddies walking away from the family and doing porn only to return once they realize it pays better to be a dingleberry on the ass of the Palins that it does to go solo and rely on your own severely limited intellect, and I'm pretty sure there are at minimum 17 cans of Busch in the fridge at all times. Sarah Palin isn't a politician, nor is she a viable candidate for the position of leader of government for one of the largest, wealthiest and most influential nations on earth. The fact that she is in fact a viable candidate for this position is laughable at best. Unfortunately the reality of the situation is that she is. But I digress. We've now got the ex-porn baby-daddy back in the picture to woo the critically stupid unwed baby-momma Palin daughter into marrying him. Meanwhile the mom is pretending to not sanction the union so that in due time she can call a high-ratings news conference to announce that she is capable of forgiveness and compassion as she tells morons everywhere that she now sanctions the marriage that she previously feigned not sanctioning (this is foreshadowing folks, just give it time, it will happen). We can only assume the First Dude is dealing with all of this the only way he knows how: pushing the gas pedal on some form of gas-powered vehicle until it hits metal, and drinkin' aggressively. The above is real. How amazing is that? The person you next call "President" might be from this very clan. There is no point in liberals or intellectual Republicans arguing further on the point of her not being fit to lead the United States. Its a waste of time because fit or unfit, it could happen. Palin is nothing more than Brittney Spears. But instead of Queen of Pop, a team of media and public relations experts are aiming to make her Queen of America. Quoth the Ozzie, "We're going off the rails on a crazy train..." We have to admire Sarah Palin. She is pretty, has great legs and decent tits. She knows nothing about politics, governance, law, the United States, and she has absolutely nothing between her ears....nada, zero, zip, zilch. If you want proof just look at a couple of her most shining moments:

Palin said Vladimir Putin flies his jet over Alaska on the way to D.C., which qualifies her on matters of foreign policy. Okay Tits McGhee, I'm sure Putin takes the 36-hour flight 3/4 of the way around the planet, via Siberia and Alaska, rather than take the 10-12 hour flight 1/4 of the way, via the Atlantic. Makes sense, you fucking twit.

She further highlights her foreign policy qualifications by saying she can see Russia from Alaska. The capital of Alaska is Juneau. Juneau is 600 air miles southeast of Anchorage. Anchorage is still far the fuck east of Russia. You can't fucking see Russia, you complete and utter lipsticked ass clown.

When Couric dropped the most challenging question in the history of man at her: "Name one newspaper or magazine", Palin was understandably stumped. I don't know which intellectual or fast talkin' snake oil salesman could have produced (and mind you, just one generic word would have sufficed) "The Times" or "The Post" or even "The Tribune", but I certainly don't want to be in the same room with that type of scumbag.

So kudos to her for ignoring her own intellectual constraints and using her jugs, her gams, her smile and unquenchable thirst for power to get where she is. In times past these attributes could get you far, say top of the charts, top of the box office, inheritance from a spiteful dying Texas oilman, a Kennedy brother's dick in your mouth, etc. However in this current epoch of media hysteria and the public's hunger for it, Palin is the one-in-a-million with a chance to parlay her qualities into a shot at the ultimate prize. We're talking about a bitch who would, without thinking twice, swim 5k through a lake of Ebola-positive baboon blood just to have her name in lights.

Should this Jerry Springer episode park its double-wide trailer at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave with the snow mobiles on blocks in the front yard and empty bottles of hooch on the porch in 2012, we've only got ourselves to blame. My sincere wish at that point is the First Dude to start hanging out with Slick Willy. Imagine all the 5's and 6's passed out naked all over the White House front lawn.....

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

If All the European Dudes I saw in Italy are any Indication, I need to Buy Some Denim Manpris...Stat

There are more pairs of manpris in Europe than you can shake a fucking stick at. Denim only sweetens the deal. From the large-headed, greasy-haired and violent look of the men most frequently adorned in the denim variety, I'm going to speculate that fabric is most popular in eastern Europe. Do not sleep on this fashion trend. You make fun of it now and see what happens later. You tune into Extreme Makeover Home Edition one fine evening, minding your own goddamn business and boom, Ty Pennington is hanging drywall in manpris. Then its too fucking late banejo, you're nothing but a follower if you buy them now. So where does that leave you? Walking down the street in a pair of above-the-knee shorts or god forbid full-length pants, like some kind of fucking schmuck. I'll be the guy on the other side of the street in cargo manpris and a dyed faux mullet, trailing bitches in my wake.

You Bet Your Sweet Ass I'm Still Listening to Mel Gibson

I just wanted to point out that yesterday I mentioned Mel Gibson would be going postal on new topics, one of which would be illegal immigrants. And this morning they release yet another rational and calm diatribe from Mad Max where he mentions paying the illegal immigrant and also references the "Fucking Wetbacks". Shazamm!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I Seriously Fucked Up by Not Becoming a Hot Tween Vampire or Werewolf

Those fuckers are knee-deep in hot 15 year old ass right now. Monumental mistake on my part opting for college and a desk job. A much smarter route would have been working out 24/7, removing all my body hair, biting mutherfuckers on the neck and crushing jail-bait tail. Another in a long fucking series of shittily-planned, poorly timed attempts at a gnarley life for me. Edward and that other fucker are at some awesome Sweet-16 pool party in Laguna right now, forcing each other to "Sniff my fingers dude" all the while lauging their ripped pecs off at my shit. Goddamnit.

Seriously, Can We End the Fucking Search for this Kid in Oregon Already?

I'm going to save everyone a ton of fucking time, money and heartache with this foolproof plan:

1) He's dead. Sorry, but he is. Sucks for all parties involved but the kid is dead.
2) For closure a body need be found, so....
3) Go find that low-rent white trash bitch that made some half-fucking-assed attempt to hire someone who doesn't kill people for a living to kill the father (Or maybe stepfather? I've fucking lost track). I don't think we need to call in the A-Team investigators from Washington on this one. She is family with the boy. The boy went missing. Simultaneously she failed to have the dad/stepdad/gay uncle, whatever he is, whacked. We don't need Yi Lu Chen to help us with this math equation.
4) Drive her to the middle of nowhere.
5) Dig a hole.
6) Bury her in the hole up to her neck.
7) Cover her head in fresh honey.
8) About 15 feet away let her watch you release about 5,000 fire ants from a container.
9) Tell the stupid bitch that unless she wants to start snorting lines of stinging-assed fire ants, tell us where the fucking body is.
10) Go find the remains.

Done and done. Fuckin A, if I were in charge these budget deficits would be slashed, pronto-tonto.

When Mel Gibson Speaks, I Fucking Listen

Mel Gibson is pure 24 carat comedic gold. He's blaming Jews for all wars, and he doesn't even care that the business he's in is dominated by Jews. He's bringing Passion Plays back. He's threatening to plant his wife "in a rose garden". He's dropping "cunt" right in her chevy chase. Where's he going next? Illegal immigrants? Blaming Africans for the slave trade? Saying Hitler had "some really good ideas"? Blaming Indians for his gambling addiction? Producing the screen version of "The Merchant of Venice" and forcing Shylock's character to wear devil horns and carry around a pitchfork? Claiming that the victims of the Khymer Rouge "had it coming to them"? Blaming Madonna for Lady Gaga? There is no ceiling on what this wily fucking coyote is going to say or do next. All I know is that when the Mel Gibson train leaves Crazy Station, I'm all the fuck on board.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

LeBron James Boldly Attempts to Out-Douchebag Brett Favre and Tiger Woods

There hasn't been this much speculation about the fate of a black man since Dred Scott. LeBron called his own press conference/Television special about his free-agency decision to let the entire world know just how fucking important he is to civilization due to his awesome basketball skilz. No one has rained down this much pomp & circumstance and overestimated their own self worth on this level since Napoleon crowned himself the Holy Roman Emperor of Europe in 1804. LeBron is in pretty rare company. At least Tiger and Favre have won a championship. What the fuck have you won dude? Brett Favre's PR machine has to be planning a comeback press conference as we speak. He simply cannot let himself get out-douchebagged without a fight. Seriously LeBron, go to NYC, go to Jersey, come sniff Michael's ass in Chicago, go help Wade and Bosh to further bankrupt Dade County, and then go fuck right off. You don't treat pernicious diseases in third world countries and you don't do pro bono legal work to help struggling immigrants. Your dumb ass plays with a ball for the purpose of entertaining people. I hope someone cuts a treasonous fart that ruins your press conference.

That is Pretty Incredible that You are Able to Walk your Dog Through Downtown Chicago with No Leash

Wow! You can just take your dog wherever you go with no leash at all? Really, he just stays right there by your side? He doesn't go after people or try to run away? I am completely impressed. Your dog-training abilities are truly outstanding. I'm really buying into your whole "Dogs are born free and who am I to tether them?" philosophy. You just walk down crowded city streets with an animal and have absolute trust that he will remain by your side and not participate in any mischief. I am going to stand here and stare for a moment and marvel in your confidence and humane treatment of animals. Hey, a squirrel just ran by. Your dog is chasing it. Into the street. Your dog just got hit by a beer truck. Um, looks like your dog is dead. Yep. Fuck you.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

If There is a Downside to Crack, I've Yet to See It

There are a lot of distinguished crackheads in operation in my neighborhood. So I feel I speak knowledgeably on the subject. And I'm here to tell you, I can't see the negative side to crack addiction. You are never at risk of having a bad time if there is a crackhead in your vicinity. Crackheads are always animated as hell and having a good time. Whether it be smoking the actual crack; staring into the Andromeda Galaxy just after exhaling a fresh hit and awaiting an invite onto the interstellar starship cruiser which patrols Andromeda; trying to find a merchant who will convert $5.11 of pennies, nickels and dimes into a "solid" $5 bill; walking disjointedly; sleeping out under the stars; staying up all night and not being tired in the morning; going on frequent scavenger hunts for unknown items (Seriously, have you ever NOT had fun on a scavenger hunt? If you have then you are a fucking Commie red bum); just running; talkin' shit to trees; pawning stuff from the construction site that you accessed by throwing an old rug over the razor wire and hoisting shit out to your other crackhead buddy that you had to chase down and beat the fuck out of for trying to run away with the shit you already threw over the fence; explaining to the police how that bitch Cheryl tried to take your shit; not having to go to a job you hate all day long; befriending local canines; the list goes on and on.

In this modern era of media overkill, multi-tasking, ADD epidemic, stock market volatility and Lady Gaga gender confusion.....wouldn't it be nice to be able to break your existence down into only two fundamental pursuits? 1) Getting to crack; 2) Smoking that crack. No micro-managing bosses, no bills to pay, no thoughts as to what is for dinner, no harpie fucking bitch always inquiring into your business, no goddamned iPhone update lines to wait in and certainly no fucking 401K plan to monitor as it shits the proverbial bed. You just get that rock by hook or by crook, you smoke the ever-living fuck out of said rock, and then go get into rollicking adventures. Way cooler than the work-a-day grind if you ask me.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

July 4th Fireworks Displays are THE Ideal Time to Shoot a Mutherfucker

In what has become a yearly tradition on par with barbecues, flag-waving and drunkenness, multiple people were shot in Chicago during the July 4th fireworks displays. Norman Rockwell made famous this most American tradition in his famous painting "Poppin' a Cap in Some Fool on Independence Day". If you are filling some asshole full of lead for having walked through "your corner" at some time outside of a loud display of powder-driven explosions, then you sir are a fucking moron. When the skies are filled with the sounds and the sights of celebration of the birth of our great nation, who is going to notice the sound and the sight of you ending some mutherfucker's life?

The True Measure of the Advancement of a Civilization is in the Yogurt it Invents to Make Women Take a Dump

Much like the Mayans and their calendar or the Egyptians and their hieroglyphs, our American civilization is sure to be remembered most throughout history by our invention of bacteria-infused yogurt that makes chicks shit. Rather than waste precious minutes each day consuming fruits and vegetables to regulate digestion-as hundreds of thousands of years of evolution has turned into a flawless process-women can now eat one serving of a scientifically engineered dairy substance that will have them racing for the toilet a mere 2 weeks after their initial intake. What sane person would eat 5 servings of fruits and vegetables today and wait to take a normal dump two days later when they could solve their constipation problems by eating pseudo-dairy substance today and every day for the next 13 days with the promise of a glorious dump on day 15? Its a no-brainer. The Charlie Mansons, David Berkowitzs, Ted Kaczynskis and Lindsay Lohan's of the world can keep their poop-by-plants method, the rational among us are taking yogurt shits thank you very much. If Jamie Lee is on the shit-by-cultured-milk plan, then please tell me why the fuck aren't you? The people at the U.S. Apple Association must have complete and utter mouth-breathers on the payroll in Marketing. Activia has Jamie Lee hawking utter nonsense in the form of turd-inducing yogurt while the Apple Association has nada on the natural product. How fucking hard can this be? I'll give them their new ad campaign for free: Steven Baldwin as spokesman for "Eat 3 Apples Today, Take Two Dumps Tomorrow". Done and done. If you start eating two apples per day today whilst your friend starts the Activia Challenge on the same day, I guarangoddamntee you that you can take a shit right in her chevy chase long before her two weeks kick in.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Chinese Mathematician Develops Algorithm Which Computes How Much Ass Guys in Affliction Shirts Kick

Dr. Ji Yan Yhi PHD, of the University of Shanghai, published his findings this week after 2 years of exhaustive research and running advanced algorithmic calculations through his computer program. The findings were published in an obscure mathematical journal, however once astute readers realized how many ass-kickings could be averted globally the equation quickly made its way to news outlets across the globe.
Dr. Yhi thought he was prepared to release what he considered a viable equation last Spring. However, while plugging tester variables his teacher's assistants postulated into some regression analysis models to disprove them, he was shocked to find the following: There is undeniable evidence (99.9% statistical probability) that certain "accelerator variables" exist which can significantly alter the output of ass-kicking from a dude wearing the Affliction shirt. To simplify and save space, for the duration of this article ASW (Affliction Shirt Wearer) will be used to refer to the person who is about to kick your fucking ass.
The variables discovered in the past year of research which are now fixtures in Dr. Yhi's algorithm include the following:
a: where a = how much the ASW bench-presses
b: where b = number of fucking Jager-Bombs ASW has consumed that day
c: where c = number of dudes in ASW's entourage that can intervene should actual altercation ensue
c1: where c1 = number of shots consumed by c
k: where k = number of tattoos visible
x: where x = how overweight ASW is
y: where y = number of UFC fights ASW has watched on TV
z: where z = how many inches less than 6 ASW's penis is
Dr. Yhi was most surprised to discover that actual training in mixed martial arts is completely statistically insignificant.
To say that Dr. Yhi's findings will reduce the level of pub and street violence globally is to make a vast understatement. Dr. Yhi's name is already being circulated as the front-runner to win the Nobel Prize in Applied Mathematics for 2010. The algorithm is as follows:
a + b ((k - x)2) / y * z ((c1 - c)(b + x)) - x/k + zy2 = What the fuck are you lookin' at, Mutherfucker?!?!

Tornadoes Are Pussies

You are such a fucking badass dude! You dominated that cornfield with no farmers in it. Now you are about to obliterate that road no one is driving on. And yes, we all know about the trailer park you just wiped out. Seriously dude, trailers don't even have foundations. I saw some drunk frat guys push one over once. Call me when you demolish a tall concrete building. This nickel-and-dime shit in the Plains States is for fairies. I never see a tornado-related headline which reads "Tornado Fucking Dominates Camp Lejeune as Marines Fire Guns in Wrong Direction and Shit Their Pants". You are the Fredo of the natural disaster family. Other disasters have kick-ass headlines like "Earthquake Kills 300,000 Haitians" or "Tsunami-Related Deaths in Indonesia Top 200,000" or the front page of the Pompeii Chronicle which read "Who Pissed Fucking Poseidon Off?". If you went to natural disaster prison you would be Hurricane, Tsunami and Earthquake's bitch. Tsunami would make you get a set of tits tattooed on your back and Hurricane would turn you out to the Typhoons for a carton of Kools. You've got that piece of straw through an oak tree trick down, but its nothing more than a card trick when you consider that other disasters are just killing the fuck out of people and not apologizing for shit. Shit or get off the pot already.

Dudes Who Talk Non-Chalant On Their Cell Phones On Public Transit About Last Night's Hook-Up Suck

Let me get this straight: It is 7:42 a.m. on a Friday morning. 97% of the people are miserable because they are headed to work (and contrary to modern corporate theory denim does not in any way alleviate work misery). It is quiet and most people are reading something. You are on your cell phone. You are telling Your Boy about how you went out for happy hour last night, met some chick named Kelly, crushed 7 of the Bombs Du Juor at the totally chill lounge they just opened next to your building, went with Kelly and her fat friend Kate for late night sushi and crushed sake, then took Kelly back to your place and banged out. You totally just kicked her out of your place 47 minutes ago. You are telling Your Boy about all of this in a very nonchalant tone as though you can't even be bothered. Seriously dude, fuck you. Need I remind you that you JUST GOT FUCKING LAID, on a Thursday night no less. That's a school night Cheese. I watched The Office and went to bed at 9:55; you banged the fuck out. Show some goddamn enthusiasm. It isn't like you got loaded, ate 2 gyros, pissed yourself and woke up on the bathroom floor showed some trollop who's fucking boss, son! Stand up. Pace up and down the aisle of the bus. Shout out the details to Your Boy on the cell. Point your fucking finger in chick's faces. Grab your cod piece. I want to know:

-Did you go bareback?

-Did she steam your ham?

-Butt play?

-Pearl necklace?

-Did your roommates wake up pissed off?

-You totally gonna hit that shit again?

-Wad up a $20 and throw it at her as she left your room and say "Get a cab"?

-Where are you and Your Boy meeting up to pound Bombs and slay ass tonight?

Seriously brah, you nail some bitch shut on a week night don't act like you've been there before, rather tell 'em bout it, Chad Ochocinco-style. You are goddamned well awesome, act accordingly.

Swedish Scientists Prove American Men Who Love Golf and Say Soccer is Boring Also Masturbate to Anime Porn

Guys like this fucking suck, and now we have irrefutable, hard Norwegian science to back it up. I'm not here to argue whether or not soccer is boring or exciting, macho or pussy. I'm here to tell you why your fat nerdy ass sucks. The upper echelon of golf's elite is crushing it in life and only a fucktard would deny that. They roll bank, they land hot wives (as Phil Mickelson's man-tits prove beyond a reasonable doubt), they crush skenk-ass white pussy while their 9.9 wife raises their Norblasian kids back home. But athletes they most assuredly are not. They are the best of the best in a country club parlor game that happens to be played outdoors. Golf has mass appeal because literally any asshat with disposable income can play it, and play it well. No great athlete chooses golf. Great athletes play golf when they are too old to be great athletes anymore, but they don't choose it in high school. If Tiger Woods could throw a football and run a 4.32 40, he'd be denying knowledge of a shooting outside a strip club alongside Michael Vick this very night. If you are sporting a rager right now in anticipation of waking up Saturday morning, pulling a horizontal-striped polo over your disgusting fat-body gut, tucking it into some pleated khaki shorts and heading out to the links to argue with your boyz all day about who can get up-and-down in 2 AND you tell people how boring and gay soccer're a Class 1AA Douche Bag. If you want to escape your miserable domestic responsibilities for a few hours each weekend, then rock the fuck on. But don't have the marbles to call a sport where blazing fast athletes with 0.002% body fat run a controlled sprint and kick something for 90 straight minutes boring. You love watching dudes walk slowly through a meadow following a small ball that they periodically hit with a stick while a Sherpa carries their shit for them and a comatose old white guy whispers about the majesty of it all, yet call soccer boring. Sure soccer players take dives and fake injuries which is pretty pansyfied, but at least they don't throw a hissy-fucking-fit every time someone in the crowd has the audacity to snap a picture or sneeze. You should absolutely continue to impress that cute intern in marketing with stories of how long you hit your drives and the quantity of beer you drink on the course, but don't malign soccer just because you were too fat and uncoordinated to play.

Missing White Kids Are All the Rage Right Now

Missing/Kidnapped/Abducted-to-join-one-man-religious-sex-cult white children are so fucking hot right now you could fry an egg on their blond hair. If you are under the age of 14, look like Casper, have a trendy name like Madison or Blake and go missing, you are going to be pop-pop-poppin! A champagne supernova of media adulation will light the skies for weeks and a swirling vortex will appear in cyberspace. Matt Lauer will have every white trash relative you've ever seen passed out beneath your 41 year old grandma's Thanksgiving Day dinner table on the Today Show showing off their intellect. The same relative that 96 hours ago threw the Hefty bag containing your remains into a shallow grave next to the Chattahoochee River is sobbing cheap vodka tears into a podium mic begging the fictitious captors to bring you home. White women aged 25-65 are going to speculate their tits off about your fate. Ride the lightning Emma, you're a fucking star!

Now if you go missing and you are a black kid, ummmm, not so much. If anyone finds you it is likely the result of pure dumb luck. Good Morning America will fly correspondents to Oregon to raise the alert on behalf of any honky, but their frequent flier miles exclude inner-city D.C. You'll be lucky if you get a black-and-white Xerox posted on the front door of the Check Exchange.

And worse yet, if little Emilio Conchita Maribella Rodriguez is stolen from his South Bronx apartment by El Chupacabra....lets just say don't make any plans for the "Where Are They Now" episode of Dateline in 10 years. If you think Meredith Vieira is showing up in your barrio to munch churros from a bicycle cart and interview your abuela, well, lo siento amigo. You'd better hope one of those wrestlers in a shiny unitard and mask shows up and gives your kidnappers a proper pile-driver.