If a Trees Falls in the Forest and No One is there to Hear it, Does it Make a Sound?

This is a very pertinent question on 12/22/10. Why? Well, let me ask you this: If the UCONN women's basketball team breaks the all-time NCAA basketball record for consecutive games won, and no one gives a flying fuck, was the record really broken? If you ask me, I say UCLA still holds the record. If women's and men's basketball were essentially equal, maybe. But a simple comparison of the following will make it apparent that they are nowhere near equal:
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.

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.

Whatever Happened to Honesty and Integrity in the Pan-Handling Business?

If you are starving, then look fucking starving. When you are trying to sell me your starvation 150 pounds overweight and wearing brand new retro Air Jordans, pardon fucking me when my heart refuses to bleed and my wallet remains sheathed. When you walk the streets of Chicago, you see a lot of the gentleman in the lower photo asking for help to get something to eat, but very little of the gentleman on the top asking the same. There used to be integrity in pan-handling. I recall a time that when approached by a pan handler you had to really consider if that person was starving or just in dire need of some Thunderbird. I'd respond much more positively if a vagrant walked up to me, said "Pardon me (and not in that woe-is-me pussy assed way, but like you meant it) sir, but I'd like to smoke some rock today and wash it down with a couple of 22-ounce pounders of Steel Reserve. I'm currently underfunded and seeking some start-up capital. Are you interested?" Depending on my mood I'd say there is a 30% chance I'd give him $1. That is a much greater chance than the 0% you have when you are built like Fat Albert and tell me "Can you help me get somethin' to eat?". No, I can't help you Pigman. It appears you've plenty of help in stuffing your fat gullet. Now fuck off. If you want me to buy that you're starving, you've got to sell it. Be skinny. Be frail. Look wild with hunger. Try to entice a fly to land on your eyeball. Have a distended belly. Look a little more like Gentleman A on the top above. There is too much dishonestly in the world today without the noble pan-handler reducing himself to running Ponzi schemes.

Could Somone Please Buy Me the Brett Favre "The Streak 297 Starts" Autographed Football for Christmas....

.....So that I can punch you right in your fucking stupid face.

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.

Whoever is Putting These Foreign Chocolates in the Office Kitchen can Knock it the Fuck Off

If you are going to put chocolates in the kitchen for all to enjoy, fine. But have the common goddamn decency to make sure that the label is written clearly in 'Merican. Not fucking Frencher, not I-tie, and sure as shit not written in fucking mountain Nazi. When I open a chocolate that is wrapped with a picture of a red-cheeked elf goosing a 3 year old Swiss girl with golden pigtails, what am I biting into? I don't fucking know, that is the problem. Is it some kick ass real cherry in there? Is it some bush-league non-descript off white cream shit? Is it rat feces coating a spider monkey semen center? No one knows. So if you are going to print the label in your goaddamned effeminate, state sponsored socialist welfare, surrendering-ass pussy language, fine. Just don't export that shit to 'Merica, Jack. We speak fucking 'Merican here, not vagina.

Brett Favre Douche-O-Meter

Brett Favre was injured in Sunday’s action, a sprained throwing arm shoulder. Brett Favre has been telling the media this week that it hurts in the only way Brett Favre tells the media that he is hurt: By sounding very mellow-dramatic and making sure it seems that although the situation is dire and Brett Favre could die at any moment, Brett Favre could very well get up and take the American flag from a fallen comrade and lead the colored 54th Infantry into Fort Wagner ala Matthew Broderick in Glory. Or in Favre's case, throw 3 interceptions, lose one fumble, and come hobbling off the field as though Brett Favre won the game by merely showing up. Brett Favre told the media that it "Hurts to put socks on".

Threat Level: SEVERE

Expect: Ed Werder hourly tweets that "Brett Favre still day-to-day"; Brett Favre hinting that Brett Favre doesn't know if he can do this anymore; Brett Favre convincing himself that if Brett Favre had been in command of the German army at Stalingrad they could have overcome the Soviet winter and accomplished the dream of German lebensraum; Brett Favre saying that Brett Favre is going to be the lead actor in Something About Mary 2; Announcers blaming Brett Favre interceptions on Brett Favre pain.

Urban Meyer Boldly Attempts to Out-Douche Bag Brett Favre

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.