Wednesday, April 01, 2009
The deadliest night out
I should have been working on my thesis yesterday, but JerseyGirl called me up and said that I had to go out with her. I told her it was not a good time. I'm handing in my thesis this week.
"Razzy, I have a surprise celebrity for you to meet. And YOU HAVE TO COME. I would tell you to skip your wedding for this. You are going to cereally bug when you see who it is."
That was enough to pique my interest. "Who is it?"
"I'm not telling. But you are going to LOSE IT. I can't wait to see your face. You don't have a choice. You are coming out for drinks."
"Okay, fine, I'm coming. But seriously, who is it? Is it R. Kelly? I'm going to have a fucking heart attack if I have drinks with Kells. Is it Lil' Kim? Is it Lil' Wayne?!" Now I was not only sold on coming, I was determined to find out who I was meeting so I didn't act like a total asshole.
"Not telling. I'm going back to work. Just dress classy, but show a little cleave."
"It's not anyone from the New York Yankees, is it?" JerseyGirl is, unfortunately, a Yankees fan, so I worried that she might be bringing me to meet one of Satan's pinstriped minions just because I'm more into sports than most of our other girlfriends.
"I wouldn't pull strings so you could meet someone you hate! It's not a Yankee. But I'm not telling. See you at 8 sharp at the Time Warner Center tomorrow."
So I spent every spare moment yesterday pestering JerseyGirl and all our friends to whom she disclosed this mystery guest's identity about the matter. All I could ascertain was that it wasn't Chris Hansen or Geraldo. I figured that it probably wasn't Belladonna, since JerseyGirl doesn't watch porn and wouldn't know who that was, and probably wouldn't be meeting with her and a bunch of cable news producers. I also figured that it probably wasn't anyone from the cast of "Battlestar: Galactica," since she doesn't watch that, and I cried twice during the series finale neither do I. Despite wishful thinking, I also didn't think R. Kelly was the type who would personally attend such a function. And I knew Lil' Kim is currently in L.A. filming "Dancing With the Stars." So I settled on the notion that I was going to be meeting Morrissey, only because I've had a hard-on for him since I was a moody baby dyke, I'm definitely more into him than any of our other friends, and he was in town this past week.
I was thus really excited, and got to the Time Warner Center a little early. I decided I should eat something to calm my nerves, so I went to Whole Foods and got some fancy pizza. I was still so wound up that I could barely concentrate on mocking the people next to me in the cafeteria who were clearly on a first date at WHOLE FUCKING FOODS via text to JerseyGirl. Normally I have all sorts of scathing things to say about this unbelievably stupid practice, but all I could manage was a text reading "People who go on dates at Whole Foods are lame." JerseyGirl replied, "I know, ew. See you in 5."
So I went upstairs to meet her, and then we went to the bar. Nobody was there. "I'm meeting Morrissey, aren't I?"
"Razzy, SHUT UP. I'm not telling you. You'll see in a minute."
Then the special guests arrived. Morrissey was not among them, but I did see a familiar face. It was Captain Keith from the F/V Wizard on "Deadliest Catch!" And then, behind him, like a hero of Valhalla in the flesh, came the shining, Nordic godlike countenance of ***CAPTAIN SIG HANSEN OF THE F/V NORTHWESTERN***!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was speechless for a minute, before I advised him that once on MySpace he linked to my blog and declared me his .1 fan. I was disappointed to learn that this wasn't actually him, but someone who runs his MySpace page for him, but who cares? I was meeting Sig in person and that's way better than a MySpace comment any day. He actually blushed when I told him that I once wrote that I was surprised he didn't melt the frozen sea spray off the Northwestern's rigging just by standing near it. He recovered, ordered an Absolut and Coke (aka "Norwegian champagne") and proceeded to match my Johnnie Walkers drink for drink.
I chatted Keith and his wife up for a while, and they were both very nice people. I learned that both Captain Keith and Sig think their wives have much more difficult jobs. I was very pleased to see that fame hadn't gone to any of their heads, and they were really cool, down-to-earth people. Sig was thrilled when I understood that "kukslikke" means "cocksucker" in Norwegian, and was impressed by my proficiency in swearing, which is at the advanced level of any given cowboy mining the Bering Sea for "red gold." Sig thought it was hilarious that I went brunette because my Sarah Palin Halloween costume was so successful. We commiserated about how lutefisk is gross, and I almost wept with joy when Sig told me that being a small girl wouldn't prohibit me from fishing myself. "Jake Harris is scrawnier than you," he told me. I didn't mention that I doubted I was tough enough to handle the extreme conditions or the frequent almost-dying part of the job. And of course I took pictures. This is what I look like when extremely happy on account of being flanked by two incredibly hot REAL MEN.
At the end of the night, there was nobody left but myself, Sig, and his handlers, and Sig wanted to go to another bar. I thought that was a capital idea. He wanted to go to some Irish bar that he got into a fistfight in during his last visit, although he couldn't remember anything about it except that it was around the corner from where he stayed last time, and the owner's name was Mickey. He finally called his brother Edgar (!!!!) to figure it out, and got the name. Unfortunately, his handlers advised us that he had an early morning, and it was not a good idea. So I just finished smoking the unfiltered Camel I bummed from Sig, and hopped in a cab so that I could go home and freak out about having just met Sig in person. The Discovery Channel guy told me to call him today about going out tonight instead, so I've got my fingers crossed that I'll get to witness Sig brawling with some local riffraff tonight. Or at least throw back a few more cocktails with him. If not, hopefully I'll at least get to see him at "CatchCon," which appropriately enough is the afternoon before the annual Crab Feed that I attend at my high school.
And on that note, I better get off cloud fucking nine and get some work done so I can (maybe) go raise hell with Sig tonight.
P.S. JerseyGirl, YOU FUCKING RULE! MAJOR FRIEND POINTS! *MAJOR!*
Labels: celebrities, Deadliest Catch, I LOVE IT, JerseyGirl, NYC, Razzification, TV
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Captain Sig Hansen
DOB: April 28, 1966
Occupation: captain of the mighty F/V Northwestern, miner of the Bering Sea for "Red Gold," HOT FUCKING PIECE
Hometown: Seattle, Washington
Current residence: Seattle, Washington and Dutch Harbor, Alaska
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: It's no secret that I've got the hots for Captain Sig something serious. Let's just take a few minutes to relive the storied internet relationship between myself and the man who is going to singlehandedly cause the Bering Sea to rise due to his hotness melting the Arctic ice pack that is his bane during Opilio season.
-April 30, 2007: I write a post entitled "I'm a Sig Girl," detailing my tireless and unquenchable ardor for Sig, who I declare "the Adonis of Alaskan crab fisherman."Well, tonight is the premiere of "Deadliest Catch" season 4, and I think it's pretty easy to predict where I will be: firmly planted on my ass in front of the idiot box praying that Sig's scorching hotness doesn't melt the screen off. I figure that the first episodes will involve something along the lines of Sig's natural caloric output causing sweltering weather, triggering an unprecedented environmental crisis. Sig's hot temper only contributes to the hurricane-like conditions that will plague the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea. Luckily, it takes more than a little bad weather to set back a fourth-generation slice of hot Norwegian lutefisk like Sig (and he's used to it anyway, since climate change follows him everywhere he sails the Northwestern, not being able to dial down his own blistering hotness). Sig just shrugs it off with nary an "uff da," fires up a ciggie, and maintains setting strings like the true player-ass pimp he is. I'm pretty sure that's what they're getting at in this commercial:
-June 2, 2007: Sig links to the aforementioned post on his MySpace blog. I completely freak out and declare this "like rolling Christmas, my birthday, my wedding, the birth of my first child, and a Super Bowl where the Seahawks don't get flagrantly robbed by terrible officiating all into one uber-joyous occasion." Much like the geniuses at IvyGate, my awesomeness was misinterpreted as insanity by some of Sig's (far more stalkerish) MySpace fans. Sig, however, sees the truth and calls me "a hardcore Northwestern fan."
-June 4, 2007: In response to continued allegations from Sig's MySpace friends that I'm a frightening stalker, Sig DECLARES ME HIS .1 FAN! Then he exclaims "WOOT!" Can I get a "YA SURE YOU BETCHA?" (That's Norse for "What, what?!")
-June 6, 2007: I rate Sig as the hottest skipper--or any rank of seaman, for that matter--on the Bering Sea. I assert that Sig "sets an impossibly high bar for men to achieve" in terms of attractiveness and sex appeal.
-June 13, 2007: I lament the wrapping-up of "Deadliest Catch" season 3 by noting that "Sig hadn't shaved in a few days and he was thus continuing his unwitting crusade against Al Gore by ensuring that climate change continues to trend toward HOT HOT HOT." Then I throw in a classic commercial for Sea Galley just because it's fun. Man, I loved Sea Galley.
-June 17, 2007: The Deadliest fan site gives me a nod for being totally legit in the Sig Hansen adoration department.
-July 18, 2007: I note Sig Hansen's superiority in seafaring over the bastardly Danish, and bestow upon him the approval of my dead Norwegian ancestors. There's a place for you in Valhalla, Sig!
-December 10, 2007: Sig Hansen raises the 12th Man flag before a Seahawks game, thus ensuring both that the mighty Hawks lay waste to the accursed Arizona Cardinals, and that Sig was robbed in not receiving the key to the city of Seattle for his true hometown hero status.
S4 Promo
Damn, Sig, baby, I'll get my pants down if you want me to NOW. Oh, wait, did he say "pants" or "crab"? I'm pretty sure he said "Get Razzy's pants down NOW." That makes the most sense. According to me, anyway.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, seamen, uff da
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Buckle your survival suits
Only 5 episodes of the new season of “Deadliest Catch” have been posted so far on the Discovery website and already we can see that the King crab season is a very bumpy ride for the fishermen. Greenhorn issues, brushes with death, health deterioration, crab count problems, mechanical repairs at sea, and serious disagreements between skippers and crew are what we’ll be watching soon! And that’s just the beginning! Perhaps we should fasten our seatbelts…This indeed sounds like seatbelt-fastening-worthy excitement. But I need more specifics, like how often Captain Sig Hansen is going to show up and melt the screen off my television with his scalding hotness.
Episode 1
The crab fishing fleet once again sets off to brave the deadly Bering Sea and cash in on king crab. But first, Northwestern must quickly make much needed repairs. Wizard trains two greenhorns and Time Bandit welcomes Johnathan’s son Scott.
Uh oh, it sounds like Captain Sig is starting the season off on the wrong foot with some sort of mechanical fuckery on the mighty F/V Northwestern. However, I'm pleased to hear that there are more hotties from Clan Hillstrand joining the show.
Episode 2
The crews are off to stake their claims on coveted grounds, but the sea is not going to give up its bounty without a fight. The Time Bandit pulls a prank. After only 48 hours, one Wizard greenhorn is already starting to fall apart.
Those dumb greenhorns. They always cry like babies when their ship captain screams at them and bitch about everything. You're crabbing on the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea, not taking a pleasure cruise through the tropics, loser. Man up and fish.
Episode 3
A mechanical breakdown presses Northwestern’s Edgar to make a dangerous repair. Meanwhile questionable counting makes Sig lose his temper. Hard work separates the greenhorns on Wizard. On Cornelia Marie, Phil’s health is failing and impacts the crew.
My friend MillerTime is probably going to get all hot and bothered when her favorite Hansen brother gears up in a dry suit to fix the Northwestern's propellor or whatever. And you know I'm going to go into paroxysms of joy when Sig starts hollering at everyone aboard how fucking stupid he thinks they are. However, I will be very sad if Captain Phil has to hang up his captain's hat and cease wheezing good-natured banter with Captain Sig over their radios.
Episode 4
Greenhorns, skippers, and family fishing dynasties begin to crack. On Northwestern, Sig and Edgar have a “last man standing” contest to see who can fish the longest without sleep. Time Bandit’s Captn Johnathan has a brush with death.
Sig is going to win that one, obviously. Betting on Edgar over Sig is like taking pussified Paris over Hector in a bronze sword fight. Granted, I realize that since I once bet that the 2007 Miami Dolphins would beat the not-perfect Super Bowl-losing New England Patriots, I shouldn't criticize people betting on the underdog, but Sig is like the 2007 Patriots to the power of awesome. He can't lose. And Captain Johnathan has a brush with death every season. I can't wait to see if this brush with death is more compelling than last season when he pulled that deckhand out of the Bering Sea and was crying like a little girl while the guy hugged him, shouting, "You saved my fuckin' life, man!"
Episode 5
Tempers flare onboard Wizard and Northwestern. Time Bandit has a dangerous electrical short. On Cornelia Marie, Phil’s health deteriorates. Early Dawn runs headlong into high seas when its greenhorn falls asleep at the wheel.
YES, there's going to be lots of Sig losing it this season, as well as lots of dumb greenhorn problems. However, I'm worried about Captain Phil.
Who will sit in the Cornelia Marie wheelhouse if Captain Phil is forced (due to smoking-related health problems, I'm sure) to retire to Seattle and ride his custom Harleys around all day instead of mining the mighty Bering for red gold? It looks like Phil's son deckhand Jake will get a promotion sooner than he expected.
I cannot fucking wait thirteen more days for "Deadliest Catch" to kick off what will undoubtedly be its deadliest season yet, rife with violent maritime thrills, shipboard buffoonery, and smoking hot Scandinavians from the P-N-Dub. The only thing I'm disappointed about is that the F/V Farwest Leader, which boasted Ragnhild, the hottest Norwegian cook in the fleet, is no longer on the show. However, the proliferation of other hot Vikings (particularly those with the surname Hansen) can ideally fill the empty hole left by Ragnhild's departure.
If for some reason you don't watch this mind-blowingly awesome show, I strongly advise going to the Discovery Channel at 9 on April 15th. Once you go "Deadly," you never go back.
Labels: Deadliest Catch, down with OPB (other people's blogs), hot guys, I LOVE IT, TV
Saturday, March 29, 2008
It's the deadliest time of year
YESSSSSSS!!!!! "Deadliest Catch" season 4 premieres on April 15th on the Discovery Channel! Looks like KatieScarlett and I better reserve our usual barstools at the Times Square Red Lobster for our annual pre-funk. We usually go there to partake in some of the deadliest all-you-can-eat catch before returning to our respective apartments to get our minds blown and text message each other frantically about it.
"Deadliest Catch" is the greatest show about a job EVER. It has everything that could possibly make a show great: hypothermia, grisly injuries, hot fisherman, chain smoking, salty sailor talk, practical jokes, crab, rogue waves, danger, violent storms, Coast Guard helicopters, Scandinavians everywhere, and the finest fourth generation skipper ever to mine the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea for "red gold," Captain Sig Hansen of the mighty F/V Northwestern!
"Deadliest Catch" is so good that it has become a worldwide phenomenon. "Deadliest Catch" has a following in the UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Sweden, Norway, and Germany. In addition to live crucifixions and prison reenactments of the "Thriller" video, "Deadliest Catch" is a monster hit in the Philippines. It's also what the "terrorists" at Gitmo get rewarded with after an especially productive waterboarding session. Not even being detained indefinitely in violation of international law can keep an enemy combatant from succumbing to the awe of witnessing the gravitas and power of Captain Sig barking f-bomb-laden orders at his crew in forty-foot seas while pulling a hot string somewhere halfway to Siberia, or the touching family moments such as Captain Phil Harris of the F/V Cornelia Marie giving his sons Jake and Josh wheezy lessons in manliness during impromptu plier-based tooth extractions ("you're not makin' love to it...just give it a yank!").
God, I fucking love this show. Luckily, the lady who runs the website Deadliest Reports has posted a "sneak peek" of season 4, and I couldn't be more stoked. First, there's ample footage of Sig regulating with his crew and generally looking hot while perched in the wheelhouse of the Northwestern like a great king atop his throne. Second, it also appears there might be some explosions this season, and I'm a big fan of explosions. I mean, I hope nobody gets hurt, but explosions totally rule.
Sneak Peek 2 - S4
If you aren't counting down the days to April 15th, then I seriously question what's wrong with you. "Deadliest Catch" totally rules. I just hope that Sig Hansen isn't so famous now that he forgets that I'm not just any "hardcore Northwestern fan", but by his own declaration I'm his .1 fan!
Sneak Peek 2 - S4
If you aren't counting down the days to April 15th, then I seriously question what's wrong with you. "Deadliest Catch" totally rules. I just hope that Sig Hansen isn't so famous now that he forgets that I'm not just any "hardcore Northwestern fan", but by his own declaration I'm his .1 fan!
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, seamen, TV
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Deadliest Pug
Yesterday it was very rainy, so I decided to deck Chingy! out in some weather-appropriate gear that one of his dogsitters bought for him. As if Chingy! isn't enough of an asshole, every time he goes to stay with one of his dogsitters, he returns with giant bags of treats, rawhides, bones (which are invariably appropriated by Caesar), personal furniture, toys, and doggity outerwear. I decided to see how Chingy! would like his rain slicker. As one might predict, Chingy! had zero interest in wearing this outfit out in the rain, and upon my putting it on him, returned to his previous position sleeping on my bed.
Somehow, I can't see Chingy! mining the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea for "red gold" like the ballsy crab fisherman of "Deadliest Catch." Chingy! is a far cry from the hotness that is Captain Sig Hansen, and he'd make for the laziest, least mobile, most useless greenhorn ever to set foot aboard the mighty F/V Northwestern. The only thing Chingy! would probably do right is the traditional Norwegian ritual of eating raw cod hearts to invoke favor with the gods of crabbing, and that's solely because Chingy! is known to love consuming disgusting shit. The only practical purpose I can see him serving on a boat is as ballast. His ass would be summarily fired, if he didn't get washed overboard first. Hell, even the Gorton's fisherman would probably fire him for sloth and incompetence, and the Gorton's fisherman is a made-up dude on a box of processed fish sticks.
CHONGAY CHONG, rain slicker!
CHONGAY CHONG, rain slicker!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, Deadliest Catch, doggity style, fat fucks, hilarious shit, ridiculous absurdity
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sig Hansen is the 12th man
Yesterday while I sat stewing in malevolent thoughts concerning a certain despicable team from Foxborough, Assachusetts and waiting for my man Alex at Josie Wood's Pub to turn on the Seahawks-Cardinals game, I was busy texting my buddy from the P-N-Dub, HotLawyer.
HotLawyer: Prediction--hawks win by fourteen! Fuck yeah!
Razzy: I went to church yesterday and prayed 4 just that
HotLawyer: God answered
Indeed he did and how, because the Seahawks actually ended up winning by 21 points. However, at this point prior to kickoff, the game still wasn't on in the bar, so HotLawyer had to call me to tell me that something AWESOME happened at Qwest Field. In case you don't know much about Seahawks football, we fans are known as the "12th man." Yes, I know Texas A&M thought of this first, but we really perfected it in Seattle. Here's the hot piece of middle linebacker known as Lofa Tatupu running around yesterday waving the 12th man flag for the fans' delight:
At the beginning of every game, a local Seattle celebrity and/or hero is called upon to raise the 12th man flag. Often, this is a douchebag like John Kerley (host of a local shitshow called "Evening Magazine") or one of Seahawks owner Paul Allen's douchebag friends from Microsoft. Sometimes they do better and get a hot Mariner (ie: Ichiro) or some hot former Seahawk like Jim Zorn to do it. And once in a great while, they get someone who truly embodies everything that makes Seattle great. Someone who is a real man, a true hero, and a devastatingly handsome hunk of Viking sexiness.
Who could meet such high and exacting standards, you ask? There is only one man I can think of, and his name is CAPTAIN SIGURD HANSEN OF THE F/V NORTHWESTERN!
YES!!!! Who is Captain Sigurd Hansen of the F/V Northwestern, you ask? Only the most dreamy crab boat captain ever to mine the Bering Sea for "red gold" on the Discovery Channel's "Deadliest Catch." My feelings for Sig are well-known, since he himself stumbled upon a blog entry I wrote praising his bravery and rough-edged Scandinavian hotness, linked it on his MySpace, and declared me his .1 fan (!). Sig is so damn sizzling that undoubtedly all the people shivering in the chilly Seattle winter weather at Qwest Field probably felt like the heat was turned on full blast.
"Sig just raised the 12th man flag!" HotLawyer told me excitedly. "This portends well for the Seahawks, I think."
Immediately after getting off the phone with HotLawyer, I got a text message from his twin brother, Morrissey'sHair.
Morrissey'sHair: At game. Sig raised the 12th man flag!
Razzy: HotLawyer told me. Is it like 80 degrees at qwest field because sig is there?
Morrissey'sHair was probably occupied with a large frosty cup of Rainier beer, so he didn't get back to me about Sig causing unseasonably warm weather at Qwest Field, but I'm sure if he hadn't been busy chugging Vitamin R and cheering for the Hawks he would have replied in the affirmative.
Anyway, I'm glad that Captain Sig took a break from "selling out" (according to some ardent "Deadliest Catch" fans) by putting his name on Russian crab being sold at Wal-Mart to celebrate his Seahawks love. When he finished raising that flag, he probably fired up a cigarette and called Captain Phil Harris of the F/V Cornelia Marie to rub it in that he was the face of the 12th man. I can't wait for next season of "Deadliest Catch" when Sig taunts Captain Phil with wheezy laughter into his radio about assisting in the defeat of our pathetic divisional rivals from Arizona.
Obviously the Seahawks won thanks to Sig's blessing Qwest Field with his virile masculinity and his overall positive mojo. How could anything but victory come after watching Sig put his decades of crab-fishing experience into one of the finest executed 12th man flag raisings in the history of standard bearing? Watch and see for yourself:
So. DAMN. HOT!
HotLawyer: Prediction--hawks win by fourteen! Fuck yeah!
Razzy: I went to church yesterday and prayed 4 just that
HotLawyer: God answered
Indeed he did and how, because the Seahawks actually ended up winning by 21 points. However, at this point prior to kickoff, the game still wasn't on in the bar, so HotLawyer had to call me to tell me that something AWESOME happened at Qwest Field. In case you don't know much about Seahawks football, we fans are known as the "12th man." Yes, I know Texas A&M thought of this first, but we really perfected it in Seattle. Here's the hot piece of middle linebacker known as Lofa Tatupu running around yesterday waving the 12th man flag for the fans' delight:
Who could meet such high and exacting standards, you ask? There is only one man I can think of, and his name is CAPTAIN SIGURD HANSEN OF THE F/V NORTHWESTERN!
"Sig just raised the 12th man flag!" HotLawyer told me excitedly. "This portends well for the Seahawks, I think."
Immediately after getting off the phone with HotLawyer, I got a text message from his twin brother, Morrissey'sHair.
Morrissey'sHair: At game. Sig raised the 12th man flag!
Razzy: HotLawyer told me. Is it like 80 degrees at qwest field because sig is there?
Morrissey'sHair was probably occupied with a large frosty cup of Rainier beer, so he didn't get back to me about Sig causing unseasonably warm weather at Qwest Field, but I'm sure if he hadn't been busy chugging Vitamin R and cheering for the Hawks he would have replied in the affirmative.
Anyway, I'm glad that Captain Sig took a break from "selling out" (according to some ardent "Deadliest Catch" fans) by putting his name on Russian crab being sold at Wal-Mart to celebrate his Seahawks love. When he finished raising that flag, he probably fired up a cigarette and called Captain Phil Harris of the F/V Cornelia Marie to rub it in that he was the face of the 12th man. I can't wait for next season of "Deadliest Catch" when Sig taunts Captain Phil with wheezy laughter into his radio about assisting in the defeat of our pathetic divisional rivals from Arizona.
Obviously the Seahawks won thanks to Sig's blessing Qwest Field with his virile masculinity and his overall positive mojo. How could anything but victory come after watching Sig put his decades of crab-fishing experience into one of the finest executed 12th man flag raisings in the history of standard bearing? Watch and see for yourself:
So. DAMN. HOT!
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, HotLawyer, I LOVE IT, Morrissey'sHair, NFL football, Seahawks
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Grandpa Ben would be proud
My Aunt Jesus once told me that my Grandpa Ben was rolling over in his grave in consternation about the content of my website. I have always doubted that, considering not even the cabalistic intrigue of the "Unsolved Mysteries" episode he was watching in his girlfriend's Puyallup double-wide on the night his soul journeyed up to Valhalla (or wherever the guys go who happen to die in a La-Z-Boy listening to the soothing gravelly sound of Robert Stack's voice rather than by being slain in glory on the battlefield) was sufficient to revive him. I think, though, that if he were to be resurrected and shown how to use the internet (which didn't exist when he died in 1991, and his ass did NOT use Prodigy) and waited for him to read my website through his one good eye, he'd at least be proud of my reminding the world of this unimpeachable fact:
NORWEGIANS HAVE BEEN KICKING DANISH ASS SINCE THE 11TH CENTURY AND CONTINUE TO DO SO TODAY!
As usual, something's rotten in the state of Denmark, or in this case, on a boat produced in the state of Denmark. Apparently the Sea Stallion, this replica Viking ship sailing from Denmark to Scotland to study "the seamanship of early Norsemen" got stalled in the North Sea due to calm weather conditions. Presumably the seamanship of early Norsemen was superior to the seamanship of extant Norsemen, especially Danish museum curators and history professors on summer break from the University of Copenhagen. They actually quit because of calm seas. I had no idea that Horse Latitudes existed up there, but apparently on either side of the equator isn't the only place you can experience a ship-stopping lack of wind. Since they were a bunch of unseaworthy wimps, the Danes running things decided to call for a tow to Scotland rather than just crack open a seal bladder full of gammeldansk and pass the time reading some Hans Christian Andersen or something while they waited for the breeze to pick up. I mean, jeez, it probably would have only taken a few days. It's not like they were subsisting on weevils and getting scorbutic.
In addition to their intolerance for pleasant, leisurely sailing conditions and their distaste for doing any actual rowing, Captain Carsten Fvid said that supposedly a couple sissy boys on the ship were also cold. Welcome to Scand-rock, bitches! Did you think you were going on a breadfruit mission to Tahiti or something and forget your Helly Hansen parkas? Some Vikings you are! Throw on a damn reindeer skin, nut up, and quit your bitching, you pussies! If the toughness of your modern sailors is any indication, it's no wonder Grendel busted into your Danish mead hall and went bowling with your ancestors' decapitated skulls without breaking a sweat. You all would have been wiped out if Beowulf didn't show up in the nick of time to save you with some clutch Goth barbarian asskickery.
This kind of quitting on a calm sea bullshit never would happen if Sig "The Hotness" Hansen was skippering the Sea Stallion instead of this Carsten Fvid jackass:
Unlike Carsten "The Boy Who Cried Hypothermia" Fvig, Sig wouldn't have allowed a little lack of wind or some nipply temperatures stop him from barking at the crew to man the oars and row that shit all the way to the North Pole. He'd just stoically zip up his Northwestern jacket and fire up a Marlboro with a contemptuous smirk on his face, holler at the crew to put their backs into it, and try to plot a course that would enable him to swing by the Bering Sea and fill the Sea Stallion's tanks with Red Gold. In fact, he probably wouldn't even have to get the crybaby Danish crew to row. Sig's presence probably generates such blistering heat that a hurricane would spontaneously form and provide the much-needed wind to blow him all the way to New York, much less Scotland. That's how Norwegian seamen do it. Leif Erikson (who was also Norwegian in spite of being born in Iceland...his father was Erik the Red, a Norwegian explorer, outlaw, and all around barbarian pimp who is singlehandedly credited with providing the genetic basis for the redheaded phenotype commonly observed in Ireland) did just that when he discovered North America and settled there with his hot wife Thorgunna around the time the original Sea Stallion was sinking to the bottom of the fjord at Roskilde in the mid 10-00's. Why did the Sea Stallion sink, you ask? Because the pussified Danes at the helm couldn't hold off a fierce fleet of bloodthirsty Norwegians, that's why! They didn't have cannons or gunpowder then, but I'm sure the turn-of-the-millenium Norwegian navy managed to find an effective way for bringing the hammer of Thor down upon those pathetic second-class Vikings. When will the History Channel make an hour-long "Viking Tech" show so that I can watch this sublime moment in my cultural history reenacted in low-budget CGI?
My grandfather might not be proud of my many drunken or depraved exploits (although he'd probably understand; when he died we took a stack of nudey mags as tall as the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree out of his house), but he'd be beaming with nationalistic pride at my Norwegian smack talking. Grandpa Ben had a clever bit of verse for belittling all of his Scandinavian rivals, such as "ten thousand Swedes ran through the weeds, chased by one Norwegian." I can't remember what he said about those fruitcakes from Denmark, but I know that he'd like ALL of what I just said. It would almost be enough to mitigate the sting of the Danes' electing a Prime Minister named Rasmussen (a move I'm pretty sure the Danish people conspired as a nation to make solely to besmirch my family name and piss me off). Here's to you, Grandpa Ben! If your surviving heirs hadn't thrown away your (completely rank from ten years of constant wear) Sons of Norway baseball cap after you passed on to the halls of Odin, I'd put it on and tip it to pay honor to our people's mighty history.
SKOAL! Stolt a bli Norsk!
NORWEGIANS HAVE BEEN KICKING DANISH ASS SINCE THE 11TH CENTURY AND CONTINUE TO DO SO TODAY!
As usual, something's rotten in the state of Denmark, or in this case, on a boat produced in the state of Denmark. Apparently the Sea Stallion, this replica Viking ship sailing from Denmark to Scotland to study "the seamanship of early Norsemen" got stalled in the North Sea due to calm weather conditions. Presumably the seamanship of early Norsemen was superior to the seamanship of extant Norsemen, especially Danish museum curators and history professors on summer break from the University of Copenhagen. They actually quit because of calm seas. I had no idea that Horse Latitudes existed up there, but apparently on either side of the equator isn't the only place you can experience a ship-stopping lack of wind. Since they were a bunch of unseaworthy wimps, the Danes running things decided to call for a tow to Scotland rather than just crack open a seal bladder full of gammeldansk and pass the time reading some Hans Christian Andersen or something while they waited for the breeze to pick up. I mean, jeez, it probably would have only taken a few days. It's not like they were subsisting on weevils and getting scorbutic.
In addition to their intolerance for pleasant, leisurely sailing conditions and their distaste for doing any actual rowing, Captain Carsten Fvid said that supposedly a couple sissy boys on the ship were also cold. Welcome to Scand-rock, bitches! Did you think you were going on a breadfruit mission to Tahiti or something and forget your Helly Hansen parkas? Some Vikings you are! Throw on a damn reindeer skin, nut up, and quit your bitching, you pussies! If the toughness of your modern sailors is any indication, it's no wonder Grendel busted into your Danish mead hall and went bowling with your ancestors' decapitated skulls without breaking a sweat. You all would have been wiped out if Beowulf didn't show up in the nick of time to save you with some clutch Goth barbarian asskickery.
This kind of quitting on a calm sea bullshit never would happen if Sig "The Hotness" Hansen was skippering the Sea Stallion instead of this Carsten Fvid jackass:
Unlike Carsten "The Boy Who Cried Hypothermia" Fvig, Sig wouldn't have allowed a little lack of wind or some nipply temperatures stop him from barking at the crew to man the oars and row that shit all the way to the North Pole. He'd just stoically zip up his Northwestern jacket and fire up a Marlboro with a contemptuous smirk on his face, holler at the crew to put their backs into it, and try to plot a course that would enable him to swing by the Bering Sea and fill the Sea Stallion's tanks with Red Gold. In fact, he probably wouldn't even have to get the crybaby Danish crew to row. Sig's presence probably generates such blistering heat that a hurricane would spontaneously form and provide the much-needed wind to blow him all the way to New York, much less Scotland. That's how Norwegian seamen do it. Leif Erikson (who was also Norwegian in spite of being born in Iceland...his father was Erik the Red, a Norwegian explorer, outlaw, and all around barbarian pimp who is singlehandedly credited with providing the genetic basis for the redheaded phenotype commonly observed in Ireland) did just that when he discovered North America and settled there with his hot wife Thorgunna around the time the original Sea Stallion was sinking to the bottom of the fjord at Roskilde in the mid 10-00's. Why did the Sea Stallion sink, you ask? Because the pussified Danes at the helm couldn't hold off a fierce fleet of bloodthirsty Norwegians, that's why! They didn't have cannons or gunpowder then, but I'm sure the turn-of-the-millenium Norwegian navy managed to find an effective way for bringing the hammer of Thor down upon those pathetic second-class Vikings. When will the History Channel make an hour-long "Viking Tech" show so that I can watch this sublime moment in my cultural history reenacted in low-budget CGI?
My grandfather might not be proud of my many drunken or depraved exploits (although he'd probably understand; when he died we took a stack of nudey mags as tall as the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree out of his house), but he'd be beaming with nationalistic pride at my Norwegian smack talking. Grandpa Ben had a clever bit of verse for belittling all of his Scandinavian rivals, such as "ten thousand Swedes ran through the weeds, chased by one Norwegian." I can't remember what he said about those fruitcakes from Denmark, but I know that he'd like ALL of what I just said. It would almost be enough to mitigate the sting of the Danes' electing a Prime Minister named Rasmussen (a move I'm pretty sure the Danish people conspired as a nation to make solely to besmirch my family name and piss me off). Here's to you, Grandpa Ben! If your surviving heirs hadn't thrown away your (completely rank from ten years of constant wear) Sons of Norway baseball cap after you passed on to the halls of Odin, I'd put it on and tip it to pay honor to our people's mighty history.
SKOAL! Stolt a bli Norsk!
Labels: Aunt Jesus, Deadliest Catch, epic geekery, family matters, History Channel, PWT, Razzification, seamen
Friday, July 06, 2007
Daily Douchebag: Mike Rowe
Real Name: Michael Gregory Rowe
DOB: March 18, 1962
Occupation: Scourge of the Discovery Channel
Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland
Current residence: San Francisco, California
Douchebaggery: Mike Rowe has irrevocably bound himself to the Discovery Channel, undoubtedly through some type of voodhoo, hoodoo, santeria, soul-selling, or other nefarious dark magic. He hosts "Dirty Jobs" and narrates a host of other shows. Since I think both "American Chopper" and "Ghost Hunters" are impossibly lame, he can narrate those until his voice gives out. However, he also narrates "Deadliest Catch", the undisputed best show in the history of the Discovery Channel. His narrating itself isn't that bad; his voice as a disembodied, God-like commentary on Bering Sea weather conditions, the many dangers of crabbing, and Captain Sig the Hotness Hansen's irascible style of crab boat captaining actually works pretty well. However, sometimes he's not limited to voice-over and actually shows up to ruin everything. On these occasions, like "After the Catch", a special sit-down with the "Deadliest Catch" captains at a bar in Seattle, I experience a great deal of stress and frustration. On one hand, I observe that Sig Hansen is there in a bulky Northwestern jacket sucking on a Marlboro Light, slamming pints of Alaskan Amber, and generally making the interior of the Lockspot Bar in Seattle sizzlingly hot enough to necessitate turning on the A/C (which they probably have just for when Sig drops by) and I want to lick the television. On the other hand, Mike is sitting there looking like a dweeb in his brand-new Dutch Harbor shirt asking dumb questions like, "So have you guys ever worried about death?" or "Why are you all Norwegian?" (same reason as me...they were born to be AWESOME), and I want to throw my television out the window. God, SHUT UP! And quit pestering Sig and Captain Phil of the Cornelia Marie to quit smoking.
He's even worse on "Dirty Jobs", which is his show and basically showcases his decided lack of comedic talent for a full hour. On one episode I caught, he was visiting a pig farm, and the farmer decided to make a quip about the pigs. Mike shushed his ass and said, "Leave the jokes to me." Are you kidding? Like Mike's guffawing about clipping pig tails is comic gold compared to the farmer making trade jokes, especially when most of his jokes revolve around what he calls "poo." Who the fuck says "poo"? That's a euphemism favored by fat housewives who decorate with God's eyes and watercolors of Jesus, along with "darn it", "shoot", and "fudge." I went on a cruise in the seventh grade with this girl I knew from the gifted program, and her mom was like that. She forced me to drink milk, refused me coffee on the grounds of age, and then, when her stupid lactose intolerant husband went overboard at the Monarch of the Seas ice cream sundae bar and got sick, wouldn't take us on the Mayan ruin touring/snorkeling tour we planned to do. She tried to make me go to a Protestant church service (sha RIGHT) and made me go to bed every night at nine so she and the old man could spend the evening in the casino. She also liked being on the ship better than the excursions to the various stops on the cruise because there were no annoying foreigners trying to sell her things. I was like, "Are you joking? You like the ship better than Grand Cayman because you don't have to deal with the NATIVE FUCKING PEOPLE there?" Bitch. Anyway, this woman always said "poo" and even at the age of eleven I thought that was stupid. My parents use "shit" and, if not feeling that full profanity is warranted, "crap." The word "poo" sucks, and every time Mike Rowe uses it I scoff viciously. There was a lot of scoffing going on when I watched the "Dirty Jobs" episode where he follows around a "pigeon control" technician whose main job was cleaning bird shit and setting up various pigeon-shooing apparati around building roofs since the entire thing was comprised of poorly executed "poo" jokes.
If you ask my dad, Mike Rowe's greatest transgression is taking his smarmy, know-it-all schtick to sell F-150 trucks for Ford. For reasons that are unclear to me, my father would rather be drawn and quartered than drive a Ford truck. He's very particular about trucks. One time we were driving around Puyallup and I saw a "rig" (his preferred word for "truck") similar to his and pointed it out. He scoffed, "My rig's bigger'n that. That's only a half-ton. Besides, it's a Ford." His voice had more venom than Heather Locklear's in a classic episode of "Melrose Place" while noting that it was a Ford. I don't personally have an issue with the Ford Motor Company, but since my dad hates it and he's an eminently sensible man, I may as well loathe Ford too. Now that Mike Rowe is their spokesperson, I have a good reason. Especially since he replaced Toby Keith, who sold Ford trucks by playing his signature stars-and-stripes guitar and singing about hauling heavy loads through a driving rain and generally ruled.
Why Ford thought Mike Rowe would be more appealing than the straight asskickery that is Toby Keith completely baffles me. Again, I can only attribute this to his striking some sort of fool's bargain with Satan. The good news is that eventually Lucifer will come to collect and drag his sorry-ass soul down into eternal damnation where it belongs. I pray that it's soon.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, Deadliest Catch, TV
Sunday, June 17, 2007
The deadliest shout-outs
Tonight I was watching "Ice Road Truckers," which is the History Channel's pathetic attempt to compete with "Deadliest Catch," the awesomeness of which I have documented extensively. The entire show is such a "Deadliest Catch" rip-off, it's not even funny. Instead of being about cantankerous crab fishermen, it's about cantankerous truck drivers who are supposedly in constant danger of...their engine breaking down and heat turning off. Supposedly the trucks can fall through the ice into the lake below the titled "ice road," but it seems like that doesn't happen often. The biggest danger these truckers are facing, frankly, seems to be methamphetamine addiction. Furthermore, I can't even figure out why these guys are driving on the ice road. Presumably they're delivering something, but what and to whom has not come up yet. I'm already not interested. For one thing, these truckers look like a group of grizzled, hunchbacked trolls compared to a certain blisteringly hot Norwegian skipper whose name starts with S and rhymes with "Ig Hansen." They wouldn't last a second on the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea. For another, I could give a shit less about the ins and outs of hydraulic braking systems in extreme cold, and, along with the pre-trucking drug test, that's most of the action so far. It's not like they're battling rogue waves and fifty-foot seas, and the "terrors of the ice road" don't come close to the dangers of the Arctic ice pack. I thought, "Fuck 'Ice Road Truckers', I'll see what's up with the internets."
I was dicking around, looking at my site statistics, and noticed that I was getting hits from something besides my usual referral sources (Sig's MySpace blog and Google image searches for "Andrea Lowell Fucking"--which I don't have a picture of, but because I once wrote "Andrea Lowell is a fucking idiot", it always seems to send a lot of dudes seeking free porn erroneously my way). Specifically, something called Deadliest Reports. I checked this out, and was already excited by the fact that everything there is DEADLY AS HELL:
After spending a moment contemplating whether I wanted to listen to the undoubtedly dulcet tones of the Deadliest Music, pick up a few crab-related items at the Deadliest Mall, or catch up on some of the Deadliest Writing in the Deadliest Library, I was thrilled to see that my writing is hot on the "Deadliest Catch"-related blog syndication circuit:
SWEET! At least not all of the Deadliest Fans think I'm some kind of delusionally obsessive Glenn Close-type character who is lurking in Sig Hansen's house, waiting to play some operatic tunes from Madama Butterfly and chase him around with a pair of sewing shears or whatever. Opilia, the author of Deadliest Reports, has accurately characterized my writing as "awesome" and "entertaining" and not the work of a frightening stalker. As an added bonus, Opilia, as if she understands my overwhelming distaste for children, has advised her readers that it is "adults only," ensuring that the Deadliest Bratty Kids will stay away. Rock on, Deadliest Reports, and thanks for the traffic!
I was dicking around, looking at my site statistics, and noticed that I was getting hits from something besides my usual referral sources (Sig's MySpace blog and Google image searches for "Andrea Lowell Fucking"--which I don't have a picture of, but because I once wrote "Andrea Lowell is a fucking idiot", it always seems to send a lot of dudes seeking free porn erroneously my way). Specifically, something called Deadliest Reports. I checked this out, and was already excited by the fact that everything there is DEADLY AS HELL:
After spending a moment contemplating whether I wanted to listen to the undoubtedly dulcet tones of the Deadliest Music, pick up a few crab-related items at the Deadliest Mall, or catch up on some of the Deadliest Writing in the Deadliest Library, I was thrilled to see that my writing is hot on the "Deadliest Catch"-related blog syndication circuit:
SWEET! At least not all of the Deadliest Fans think I'm some kind of delusionally obsessive Glenn Close-type character who is lurking in Sig Hansen's house, waiting to play some operatic tunes from Madama Butterfly and chase him around with a pair of sewing shears or whatever. Opilia, the author of Deadliest Reports, has accurately characterized my writing as "awesome" and "entertaining" and not the work of a frightening stalker. As an added bonus, Opilia, as if she understands my overwhelming distaste for children, has advised her readers that it is "adults only," ensuring that the Deadliest Bratty Kids will stay away. Rock on, Deadliest Reports, and thanks for the traffic!
Labels: computer incompetence, Deadliest Catch, I LOVE IT, internet domination, Razzification
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
They've got crab legs
I take my responsibilities as Captain Sigurd Hansen's .1 fan very seriously. As such, I would be remiss if I didn't observe how each week, "Deadliest Catch" is getting progressively more awesome. Unfortunately, last night Mike Douchebag Rowe appeared in a commercial for "Dirty Jobs" to advise viewers that after next week, "Deadliest Catch" will be making its last trip back to Dutch Harbor for the season, then taunted, "I'm getting my time slot back! I'm getting my time slot back!" Thanks for rubbing it in, asshole!
Since my time for waxing on and on about the sublime greatness of "Deadliest Catch" is running short, I've got to make the most of it while I still can, and I'm going to start with mentioning that last night Sig hadn't shaved in a few days and he was thus continuing his unwitting crusade against Al Gore by ensuring that climate change continues to trend toward HOT HOT HOT.
He's like the Bering Sea's equivalent of Don Johnson as James "Sonny" Crockett, except in a pair of cozy Helly Hansen thermal underwear instead of a pastel linen suit. Also, instead of cruising around Miami Beach in a Ferrari, he's show-stopping at the edge of the treacherous Arctic ice pack behind the wheel of the majestic F/V Northwestern. This week Sig ventured into the ice pack to check it out, and amazingly it didn't immediately melt in his scorching presence. He allowed Edgar to run around making snow angels and harassing sea lions on it before returning to his soaking pots plugged full of "orange gold"--Bering Sea Opilio crab. In spite of the dangers of the ice pack, "Sig has found his honey hole, and he's staying put." Things are running fabulously aboard the Northwestern, excepting a minor crybaby freakout from the dumb greenhorn that required Sig telling him to nut up and take the grind like a man. Since their tanks are filling up with Opies, Sig is in a good mood, as he notes on "After the Catch", "you just get an adrenaline rush when you're coming with a full load." If Sig keeps talking all dirty like that, I'm going to have to take a cold shower, because the concept of Sig coming with a full load has me experiencing paroxysms of yearning.
The other exciting thing that happened last night on "Deadliest Catch" was that, after Andy had to attend to urgent business on his horse farm in Indiana, Johnathan took over the helm of the F/V Time Bandit, and did something that I've been longing to see on this show since its inception: he sang the Sea Galley jingle! Sea Galley was this nautically-themed seafood restaurant serving all-you-can-eat crab legs that used to have these ads where a trio of executive chefs wearing giant King crab leg pants can-canned and sang, "We've got crab legs...Sea Galley! We've got crab legs...Sea Galley!" Amazingly, this was available on YouTube, described as "Epic 1980s Sea Galley TV Commercial. This is a cult classic for people living in the Northwest." It's like Fame by way of Moulin Rouge, except about all-you-can-eat crab legs.
Up until I was about 10, Sea Galleys dominated western Washington's all-you-can-eat seafood scene, but ultimately lost their entire regional market share when the corporate tyrants that run Red Lobster decided to expand operations into the P-N-Dub. Now the internets tell me that Sea Galley is limited to several small restaurants in Alaska, and they no longer have similarly awesome commercials.
Anyway, last night the Time Bandit had finally gotten over its streak of bad luck, including mechanical problems, a crew member needing to be bailed out of the Dutch Harbor pokey, and Andy's unexpected departure, and as they hauled in their first fully plugged pot, Johnathan starts muttering, "We've got crab legs...Sea Galley! Lots of crab legs...Sea Galley!" I about fell off the couch with excitement; it's SO P-N-Dub! The only thing he could do to make me more nostalgic for the 253 would be to start raving about Taco Time's crisp beef burrito.
All I know is that "Deadliest Catch" better drop on DVD immediately after giving up its time slot to Douchebag Rowe's "Dumbass Jobs" or whatever, along with "After the Catch." Apart from being able to drool over the hotness that is Sig Hansen year-round, I can't miss awesome things like Captain Phil of the Cornelia Marie informing his son, deckhand Jake, that "you're not a man until you've pulled out your own tooth with a pair of pliers." When Jake doesn't succeed in extracting the tooth, Phil exclaims, "you're not makin' love to it...just give it a yank!" Phil admitted that he once removed one of his own teeth with a chisel and a claw hammer, so seemingly impromptu dentistry is a Harris family tradition. Man, I'm going to miss this show so much. I can't believe there's only one week left.
Since my time for waxing on and on about the sublime greatness of "Deadliest Catch" is running short, I've got to make the most of it while I still can, and I'm going to start with mentioning that last night Sig hadn't shaved in a few days and he was thus continuing his unwitting crusade against Al Gore by ensuring that climate change continues to trend toward HOT HOT HOT.
The other exciting thing that happened last night on "Deadliest Catch" was that, after Andy had to attend to urgent business on his horse farm in Indiana, Johnathan took over the helm of the F/V Time Bandit, and did something that I've been longing to see on this show since its inception: he sang the Sea Galley jingle! Sea Galley was this nautically-themed seafood restaurant serving all-you-can-eat crab legs that used to have these ads where a trio of executive chefs wearing giant King crab leg pants can-canned and sang, "We've got crab legs...Sea Galley! We've got crab legs...Sea Galley!" Amazingly, this was available on YouTube, described as "Epic 1980s Sea Galley TV Commercial. This is a cult classic for people living in the Northwest." It's like Fame by way of Moulin Rouge, except about all-you-can-eat crab legs.
Up until I was about 10, Sea Galleys dominated western Washington's all-you-can-eat seafood scene, but ultimately lost their entire regional market share when the corporate tyrants that run Red Lobster decided to expand operations into the P-N-Dub. Now the internets tell me that Sea Galley is limited to several small restaurants in Alaska, and they no longer have similarly awesome commercials.
Anyway, last night the Time Bandit had finally gotten over its streak of bad luck, including mechanical problems, a crew member needing to be bailed out of the Dutch Harbor pokey, and Andy's unexpected departure, and as they hauled in their first fully plugged pot, Johnathan starts muttering, "We've got crab legs...Sea Galley! Lots of crab legs...Sea Galley!" I about fell off the couch with excitement; it's SO P-N-Dub! The only thing he could do to make me more nostalgic for the 253 would be to start raving about Taco Time's crisp beef burrito.
All I know is that "Deadliest Catch" better drop on DVD immediately after giving up its time slot to Douchebag Rowe's "Dumbass Jobs" or whatever, along with "After the Catch." Apart from being able to drool over the hotness that is Sig Hansen year-round, I can't miss awesome things like Captain Phil of the Cornelia Marie informing his son, deckhand Jake, that "you're not a man until you've pulled out your own tooth with a pair of pliers." When Jake doesn't succeed in extracting the tooth, Phil exclaims, "you're not makin' love to it...just give it a yank!" Phil admitted that he once removed one of his own teeth with a chisel and a claw hammer, so seemingly impromptu dentistry is a Harris family tradition. Man, I'm going to miss this show so much. I can't believe there's only one week left.
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, P-N-Dub, TV
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Polar ice caps are melting because the Bering Sea is so damn hot
As I've discussed at length, Sig Hansen pretty much sets an impossibly high bar for men to achieve. However, that hasn't stopped some other fine honeys employed in the world's deadliest occupation from trying (and failing, but they get points for effort) to meet Sig's gold platinum standard. There are the choice baker's dozen of fellas (and a couple ladies) that are causing the frigid waters to warm up just a few degrees with their sexy appeal.
13. Josh Harris, greenhorn, F/V Cornelia Marie
Josh wasn't even going to make the list, because he's been flipping his dad, Captain Phil, an inordinate amount of self-important, argumentative bullshit not accordant with the dues he has yet to pay before graduating to full-share status. I was going to put up Nick, the greenhorn from the F/V Wizard instead, but Nick has been replaced by some quitter bitch for Opilio season. The quitter is a pretty boy who stomps off deck and goes to bed because his fancy Under Armour sweatshirt wasn't keeping him warm enough. That just goes to show you not to hire guys named "Guy"--they're either unremarkable or French, and you don't want to be trusting either on a crab boat in the violent and unpredictable Bering Sea. Anyway, Josh also redeemed himself in my eyes this week when, after his thumb was smashed to shit by a falling crab pot, didn't complain once, patched it back together with electrical tape, and went back to work. Now if he would just stop not listening to the skipper/his dad, he'd move up on this list a little.
12. The entire crew of the F/V Rollo, but especially Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer
I don't know why the Rollo isn't on "Deadliest Catch" anymore, but the crew on that boat was fucking hilarious. I miss them. They had about 50 inflatable outfits like this that they were always putting on and goofing around for the cameras, and nothing is sexier than dudes who can make me laugh. However, they were all young and hot, too, especially Captain Erik.
Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer not only has one of the most badass Viking names ever, but he also has that rough, rugged hotness that Keanu Reeves tries unsuccessfully to imitate. Plus, sometimes he wears glasses, which makes him look intellectual as well as hilarious and tough. Fuck the Wizard and its boring-ass crew...bring back the Rollo, Discovery Channel!
11. Nicole Tilley, deckhand, F/V Aleutian Ballad
The Aleutian Ballad is also a boat emeritus from "Deadliest Catch", but last season in one of the most terrifying episodes ever, it got hit by a rogue wave. Nicole here got tossed from her bunk and was mildly injured (nothing that an ice pack made of frozen sweet corn couldn't fix). Plus, she's a hot bitch who, when not taking crabbing-related injuries like a man on the deck of the Aleutian Ballad, tends a rowdy bar in Westport, Washington. Westport is a nice hick town located on the scenic Washington coast where my family used to camp and my father once almost hit a cow wandering alongside a cranberry bog because he was too busy rocking out to BTO's classic "Takin' Care of Business" to pay attention to the ocean mist-obscured road. Seriously, that's par for the course in Westport-Grayland-greater Grays Harbor County. Needless to say, this hooker is tough.
10. Hiram Johnson, deckhand, F/V Maverick
Hiram was around last season, and he was a grouchy "old salt" who liked to wryly bitch at all the young whippersnappers wreaking havoc at the Maverick rail. When he wasn't saying funny shit, he was busy being entirely unforgiving to anyone foolish enough to whine or complain. I don't know where he went this season; he probably couldn't stand putting up with Blake's dumb ass any longer. Or maybe he retired, but I get the feeling that Hiram isn't the retiring type. He'll be out grinding until he has to use a walker, and possibly even after that. So where is Hiram? I miss that curmudgeonly old S.O.B.!
Note: NO, dumbass Blake isn't getting a spot on this list. I refuse to even call him "Captain." He's been a bitch from day one, and I can't stand his ass, even if he's somewhat physically attractive.
I can just tell that Blake has a small penis, both by his skeezy look (he's got Dale Earnhardt, Jr. syndrome, where he looks like a possibly roofie-slipping date rapist you do NOT want to leave an unattended Kokanee with) and his constant need to overcompensate. I bet Blake is also a shoulder-pusher. I HATE shoulder-pushers. For those of you who aren't big sluts like me, a shoulder-pusher is a guy who, while you're getting frisky with him, starts shoving insistently on your shoulders (or if he's really rude, the top of your head), to indicate that he would like a blow job. I'm always like, "Oh, you want a blow job? NO SHIT! ALL guys want blow jobs!" It's a given, so know that we ladies will give you one when we're good and ready, not because you physically wrangled our head and necks down into the vicinity of your dick and think we'll both put two and two together and ignore your blatant disregard for common courtesy. Blake strikes me as that type. Blake once said that "crab fishing is better'n sex"...probably because he SUCKS AT SEX! Also, he's a crybaby. Last year he bitched and moaned when Captain Rick wouldn't let him sit in for Opilio season. That was apparently for good reason, because he's an incompetent captain. At the end of last year's king crab season, he miscalculated the amount of crab he caught and cost his crew like $5 grand each. What an asshole. NOT HOT!
9. Ragnhild Moncrief, cook/Valkyrie/rubber boot fashionista, F/V Farwest Leader
This hot, feisty blonde originally hails from Sykkylven, Norway and met her husband, Farwest Leader captain Greg, while on an Alaskan cod trawler, probably one of the most romantic places on earth. Ragnhild does all kinds of useful shit to impress the rest of the crew, including set strings and pick pots out of the water with a pink hook, but her main specialty is cooking. Every time I see one of Ragnhild's spreads, I'm instantly hungry. She's clearly a student of the "if it ain't meat, it's garnish" school of cooking, and all of her meals include stuff like pork chops with gravy, bacon, sausage, eggs, steak, and home fries. Throw in some pepperoni pizza and beer and that's the ultimate Razzy diet. Whenever she serves up another spread of veggie-less awesomeness, I always wish Ragnhild was in my kitchen cooking for me. I'd really be impressed if she started incorporating some Scandinavian delicacies into her cuisine, however. I think that it's high time to up her game and break out the krumkake iron, the painted lefse stick, or the abelskiver pan and get Viking on everyone's gastronomies.
8. Captain Andy Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
Last night, Andy was so hot in his scuba diving outfit as he cut away a length of rope wreaking havoc on the Time Bandit's propellor. Granted, it was his bad driving that caused the rope to get wrapped around the propellor in the first place, but you've got to love a man who finishes what he starts, even if it's a fuckup. Plus, his cowboy hat goes so well with the deck slicker he wears when his brother Johnathan is in the wheelhouse.
7. Captain Johnathan Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
God, why does Mike Rowe always have to ruin everything with his excessive douchebagginess? You're better heard and not seen, Mike Rowe! Anyway, Johnathan manages to overcome Slutbag Rowe's contaminating presence by hotting it up in his standard "USA" motorcycle jacket and his crab pendant. Johnathan is awesome because not only does he do a now-infamous "crab jig" when the pots are full of clean keepers, but earlier this season he saved a dude's life after the guy fell off the stack of pots. The dude (who was fully butt naked) was grabbing onto Johnathan and between hypothermic shivers kept wailing, "YOU SAVED MY LIFE, MAN! YOU SAVED MY FUCKIN LIFE!" Johnathan was moved to tears, and there's something really sexy about seeing a dude who you know shows that kind of emotion once a decade weeping. Bless Johnathan's guarded but obviously giant heart.
6. Jake Harris, deckhand, F/V Cornelia Marie
This season, Jake pulled out his own cracked tooth without anesthetic using a handy pair of pliers. His father, Captain Phil, noted, "You're not a man until you've yanked out your own tooth." Here's Jake sharing one of his cowboy killers with a Chingy! of the sea. I have no idea how they wound up catching a walrus, but I guess that's just one of things that gets stuck in your crab pots sometimes.
5. Captain Phil Harris, F/V Cornelia Marie
Captain Phil is no Captain Sig, that's for sure, but he does look pretty badass on his Harley. Plus Phil always says funny shit. He'll be hard at pulling strings of pots, and say something like "I feel like a one-legged man in an asskicking contest!", followed with a peal of wheezy laughter. This appeal has conquered his lack of conventional hotness.
4. Tico Tyson, deckhand, F/V Farwest Leader
Could it be? There's actually a fine brother among all these Norwegians?! HELL YES! Man, when I die, I don't want to go to heaven...I want to go to Dutch Harbor! I about pissed myself with excitement a few weeks ago when Tico was demonstrating how to don a survival suit in a sinking ship on forty-foot seas. I was really hoping they'd show him taking it off, too, but alas...it was not to be. In another episode, when he complimented Ragnhild for making a particularly delicious egg sandwich, I actually shouted at my TV, "I can make that too, Tico!"
3. Norman Hansen, engineer, F/V Northwestern
I'm not sure I've EVER heard Norman speak. He's the shy type, but he emerged from the same gene pool as the two gentlement below, so that fact alone has gotten him into the holy trinity of hotness.
2. Edgar Hansen, deck boss, F/V Northwestern
My buddy MillerTime is INSANELY CRAZY about Edgar, and I have to admit, he's pretty funny. He's always got a very high energy level and loves nothing more than harassing greenhorns aboard the Northwestern, and I think that if I were a deckhand, I would be the exact same way. That's certainly how I am in lab, always dancing around, making up rap lyrics about PCR and polio, and telling the rotation students that they have to do half my work for me. That would probably work if J-Sexy didn't tell them to ignore me.
1. Captain Sigurd Hansen, F/V Northwestern
Come on, who did you think was going to be #1? I figured out why Sig has to stay up in the wheelhouse all the time--if he got too close to the deck, the crab in the hold below would literally BOIL in the hold due to their proximity to Sig's hotness. Well, also because Sig is a little rusty when it comes to deck work as I learned last night. He actually donned a slicker and hauled metal for a while, and it was awesomely sexy. I almost had an aneurysm. All the while, he delivered a lot of classic Sig moments, including him orchestrating a game/learning experience that can best be described as strip hook-throwing to fuck with the greenhorn. The greenhorn ended up pulling pots in his longjohns. After that, Sig made him coil thousands of feet of rope by hand and shake free "clingers" from the pots without the benefit of hydraulics. This was followed by Sig providing an animated description of how he would "ride the pots" in the old days (and by the way, I'm not above dressing up as a crab pot to inspire a riding), then telling the greenhorn to "shut the fuck up" and returning to the wheelhouse. As Mike Rowe noted, it takes a lot to impress this "hard-nosed Norwegian skipper" and his "seasoned Norwegian crew." God, SIG RULES! I am his #1 fan in a way that borders on pathological. I wanted to cry when 10 o'clock rolled around and the festival of Sig ended...until I remembered that "After the Catch" was on afterward!
"After the Catch" is basically Sig steaming up all of Ballard by hanging out in this bar there and swapping thrilling fishing tales with some other captains. I'd hang out there every night next time I'm in the P-N-Dub unless Mike Rowe was also there, uglying it up with his overcoiffed beard and touristy Dutch Harbor shirt, trying WAY too hard to give off a grizzled fisherman vibe. I bet Mike Rowe isn't there as often as Sig and crew, though, so I'll give it a shot. Where is this "deadliest bar in Seattle"? I mean, YOU CAN SMOKE THERE!!!!! Seriously, where is the Lockspot? Like, how do you get there from I-5? Ballard confuses the hell out of me.
13. Josh Harris, greenhorn, F/V Cornelia Marie
Josh wasn't even going to make the list, because he's been flipping his dad, Captain Phil, an inordinate amount of self-important, argumentative bullshit not accordant with the dues he has yet to pay before graduating to full-share status. I was going to put up Nick, the greenhorn from the F/V Wizard instead, but Nick has been replaced by some quitter bitch for Opilio season. The quitter is a pretty boy who stomps off deck and goes to bed because his fancy Under Armour sweatshirt wasn't keeping him warm enough. That just goes to show you not to hire guys named "Guy"--they're either unremarkable or French, and you don't want to be trusting either on a crab boat in the violent and unpredictable Bering Sea. Anyway, Josh also redeemed himself in my eyes this week when, after his thumb was smashed to shit by a falling crab pot, didn't complain once, patched it back together with electrical tape, and went back to work. Now if he would just stop not listening to the skipper/his dad, he'd move up on this list a little.
12. The entire crew of the F/V Rollo, but especially Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer
I don't know why the Rollo isn't on "Deadliest Catch" anymore, but the crew on that boat was fucking hilarious. I miss them. They had about 50 inflatable outfits like this that they were always putting on and goofing around for the cameras, and nothing is sexier than dudes who can make me laugh. However, they were all young and hot, too, especially Captain Erik.
Captain Stien Erik Nyhammer not only has one of the most badass Viking names ever, but he also has that rough, rugged hotness that Keanu Reeves tries unsuccessfully to imitate. Plus, sometimes he wears glasses, which makes him look intellectual as well as hilarious and tough. Fuck the Wizard and its boring-ass crew...bring back the Rollo, Discovery Channel!
11. Nicole Tilley, deckhand, F/V Aleutian Ballad
The Aleutian Ballad is also a boat emeritus from "Deadliest Catch", but last season in one of the most terrifying episodes ever, it got hit by a rogue wave. Nicole here got tossed from her bunk and was mildly injured (nothing that an ice pack made of frozen sweet corn couldn't fix). Plus, she's a hot bitch who, when not taking crabbing-related injuries like a man on the deck of the Aleutian Ballad, tends a rowdy bar in Westport, Washington. Westport is a nice hick town located on the scenic Washington coast where my family used to camp and my father once almost hit a cow wandering alongside a cranberry bog because he was too busy rocking out to BTO's classic "Takin' Care of Business" to pay attention to the ocean mist-obscured road. Seriously, that's par for the course in Westport-Grayland-greater Grays Harbor County. Needless to say, this hooker is tough.
10. Hiram Johnson, deckhand, F/V Maverick
Hiram was around last season, and he was a grouchy "old salt" who liked to wryly bitch at all the young whippersnappers wreaking havoc at the Maverick rail. When he wasn't saying funny shit, he was busy being entirely unforgiving to anyone foolish enough to whine or complain. I don't know where he went this season; he probably couldn't stand putting up with Blake's dumb ass any longer. Or maybe he retired, but I get the feeling that Hiram isn't the retiring type. He'll be out grinding until he has to use a walker, and possibly even after that. So where is Hiram? I miss that curmudgeonly old S.O.B.!
Note: NO, dumbass Blake isn't getting a spot on this list. I refuse to even call him "Captain." He's been a bitch from day one, and I can't stand his ass, even if he's somewhat physically attractive.
I can just tell that Blake has a small penis, both by his skeezy look (he's got Dale Earnhardt, Jr. syndrome, where he looks like a possibly roofie-slipping date rapist you do NOT want to leave an unattended Kokanee with) and his constant need to overcompensate. I bet Blake is also a shoulder-pusher. I HATE shoulder-pushers. For those of you who aren't big sluts like me, a shoulder-pusher is a guy who, while you're getting frisky with him, starts shoving insistently on your shoulders (or if he's really rude, the top of your head), to indicate that he would like a blow job. I'm always like, "Oh, you want a blow job? NO SHIT! ALL guys want blow jobs!" It's a given, so know that we ladies will give you one when we're good and ready, not because you physically wrangled our head and necks down into the vicinity of your dick and think we'll both put two and two together and ignore your blatant disregard for common courtesy. Blake strikes me as that type. Blake once said that "crab fishing is better'n sex"...probably because he SUCKS AT SEX! Also, he's a crybaby. Last year he bitched and moaned when Captain Rick wouldn't let him sit in for Opilio season. That was apparently for good reason, because he's an incompetent captain. At the end of last year's king crab season, he miscalculated the amount of crab he caught and cost his crew like $5 grand each. What an asshole. NOT HOT!
9. Ragnhild Moncrief, cook/Valkyrie/rubber boot fashionista, F/V Farwest Leader
This hot, feisty blonde originally hails from Sykkylven, Norway and met her husband, Farwest Leader captain Greg, while on an Alaskan cod trawler, probably one of the most romantic places on earth. Ragnhild does all kinds of useful shit to impress the rest of the crew, including set strings and pick pots out of the water with a pink hook, but her main specialty is cooking. Every time I see one of Ragnhild's spreads, I'm instantly hungry. She's clearly a student of the "if it ain't meat, it's garnish" school of cooking, and all of her meals include stuff like pork chops with gravy, bacon, sausage, eggs, steak, and home fries. Throw in some pepperoni pizza and beer and that's the ultimate Razzy diet. Whenever she serves up another spread of veggie-less awesomeness, I always wish Ragnhild was in my kitchen cooking for me. I'd really be impressed if she started incorporating some Scandinavian delicacies into her cuisine, however. I think that it's high time to up her game and break out the krumkake iron, the painted lefse stick, or the abelskiver pan and get Viking on everyone's gastronomies.
8. Captain Andy Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
Last night, Andy was so hot in his scuba diving outfit as he cut away a length of rope wreaking havoc on the Time Bandit's propellor. Granted, it was his bad driving that caused the rope to get wrapped around the propellor in the first place, but you've got to love a man who finishes what he starts, even if it's a fuckup. Plus, his cowboy hat goes so well with the deck slicker he wears when his brother Johnathan is in the wheelhouse.
7. Captain Johnathan Hillstrand, F/V Time Bandit
God, why does Mike Rowe always have to ruin everything with his excessive douchebagginess? You're better heard and not seen, Mike Rowe! Anyway, Johnathan manages to overcome Slutbag Rowe's contaminating presence by hotting it up in his standard "USA" motorcycle jacket and his crab pendant. Johnathan is awesome because not only does he do a now-infamous "crab jig" when the pots are full of clean keepers, but earlier this season he saved a dude's life after the guy fell off the stack of pots. The dude (who was fully butt naked) was grabbing onto Johnathan and between hypothermic shivers kept wailing, "YOU SAVED MY LIFE, MAN! YOU SAVED MY FUCKIN LIFE!" Johnathan was moved to tears, and there's something really sexy about seeing a dude who you know shows that kind of emotion once a decade weeping. Bless Johnathan's guarded but obviously giant heart.
6. Jake Harris, deckhand, F/V Cornelia Marie
This season, Jake pulled out his own cracked tooth without anesthetic using a handy pair of pliers. His father, Captain Phil, noted, "You're not a man until you've yanked out your own tooth." Here's Jake sharing one of his cowboy killers with a Chingy! of the sea. I have no idea how they wound up catching a walrus, but I guess that's just one of things that gets stuck in your crab pots sometimes.
5. Captain Phil Harris, F/V Cornelia Marie
Captain Phil is no Captain Sig, that's for sure, but he does look pretty badass on his Harley. Plus Phil always says funny shit. He'll be hard at pulling strings of pots, and say something like "I feel like a one-legged man in an asskicking contest!", followed with a peal of wheezy laughter. This appeal has conquered his lack of conventional hotness.
4. Tico Tyson, deckhand, F/V Farwest Leader
Could it be? There's actually a fine brother among all these Norwegians?! HELL YES! Man, when I die, I don't want to go to heaven...I want to go to Dutch Harbor! I about pissed myself with excitement a few weeks ago when Tico was demonstrating how to don a survival suit in a sinking ship on forty-foot seas. I was really hoping they'd show him taking it off, too, but alas...it was not to be. In another episode, when he complimented Ragnhild for making a particularly delicious egg sandwich, I actually shouted at my TV, "I can make that too, Tico!"
3. Norman Hansen, engineer, F/V Northwestern
I'm not sure I've EVER heard Norman speak. He's the shy type, but he emerged from the same gene pool as the two gentlement below, so that fact alone has gotten him into the holy trinity of hotness.
2. Edgar Hansen, deck boss, F/V Northwestern
My buddy MillerTime is INSANELY CRAZY about Edgar, and I have to admit, he's pretty funny. He's always got a very high energy level and loves nothing more than harassing greenhorns aboard the Northwestern, and I think that if I were a deckhand, I would be the exact same way. That's certainly how I am in lab, always dancing around, making up rap lyrics about PCR and polio, and telling the rotation students that they have to do half my work for me. That would probably work if J-Sexy didn't tell them to ignore me.
1. Captain Sigurd Hansen, F/V Northwestern
Come on, who did you think was going to be #1? I figured out why Sig has to stay up in the wheelhouse all the time--if he got too close to the deck, the crab in the hold below would literally BOIL in the hold due to their proximity to Sig's hotness. Well, also because Sig is a little rusty when it comes to deck work as I learned last night. He actually donned a slicker and hauled metal for a while, and it was awesomely sexy. I almost had an aneurysm. All the while, he delivered a lot of classic Sig moments, including him orchestrating a game/learning experience that can best be described as strip hook-throwing to fuck with the greenhorn. The greenhorn ended up pulling pots in his longjohns. After that, Sig made him coil thousands of feet of rope by hand and shake free "clingers" from the pots without the benefit of hydraulics. This was followed by Sig providing an animated description of how he would "ride the pots" in the old days (and by the way, I'm not above dressing up as a crab pot to inspire a riding), then telling the greenhorn to "shut the fuck up" and returning to the wheelhouse. As Mike Rowe noted, it takes a lot to impress this "hard-nosed Norwegian skipper" and his "seasoned Norwegian crew." God, SIG RULES! I am his #1 fan in a way that borders on pathological. I wanted to cry when 10 o'clock rolled around and the festival of Sig ended...until I remembered that "After the Catch" was on afterward!
"After the Catch" is basically Sig steaming up all of Ballard by hanging out in this bar there and swapping thrilling fishing tales with some other captains. I'd hang out there every night next time I'm in the P-N-Dub unless Mike Rowe was also there, uglying it up with his overcoiffed beard and touristy Dutch Harbor shirt, trying WAY too hard to give off a grizzled fisherman vibe. I bet Mike Rowe isn't there as often as Sig and crew, though, so I'll give it a shot. Where is this "deadliest bar in Seattle"? I mean, YOU CAN SMOKE THERE!!!!! Seriously, where is the Lockspot? Like, how do you get there from I-5? Ballard confuses the hell out of me.
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot chicks, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, P-N-Dub
Monday, June 04, 2007
Be still my uncontrollably palpitating heart
Today could have been a really bad day. I had a very long day at work, I'm off the cancer sticks and thus somewhat bitchy, and when I arrived home wanting nothing more than finish up a few work things, watch TV, and cool off with a frosty cold Heineken, my key made a funny noise as I turned it in the lock. Then it wouldn't move. After ten minutes of twisting it, banging on my door, twisting the key again, kicking my door, and swearing at it, I called a locksmith. I found out that my lock had "collapsed", and I only barely avoided an obscene bill to replace the entire lock. Instead I "got lucky" and just needed a new cylinder, according to the short but dirtily sexy Czechoslovakian number who fixed it. Thus I had a $450, marginally less obscene bill to pay in cash.
However, it's all good, because as far as I'm concerned, nothing bad can happen today. Captain Sigurd "The Hotness" Hansen of "Deadliest Catch" fame, after posting a link to my original ode to his rugged good looks and excellence in crab boat captaining and subsequently defending me against allegations of stalking, has once again opined on his MySpace blog, and I am OVER THE FUCKING MOON with excitement.
THAT'S RIGHT! According to Sig (who is infallible) I'm the number one fan (I'm assuming he hit the period key instead of the pound key by accident) of the crew of the F/V Northwestern. Yes, you heard it STRAIGHT FROM SIG HIMSELF...I'm the #1 FAN! Take that, all you hos who called me a stalker! Even cooler is the fact that, judging by his exclamatory "WOOT!," he is absolutely thrilled that I am occupying that lofty position. Because let's face it, what kind of crazy hot Viking fisherman WOULDN'T want a Norwegian-American wannabe pirate from Puyallup in her underwear adoring them? Which reminds me, I'm going to have to get a picture of me in my "I'm a Sig Girl" thong to send the Hansen boys as a morale booster before they brave the violent and unpredictable Bering Sea in this modern day gold rush next fall. Maybe I can convince MillerTime, who is almost as obsessed with Sig's brother Edgar as she is "The Girls Next Door", that she should pose with me in the "I'm an Edgar Girl" thong that undoubtedly she has purchased by now. We can find someone who likes the strong, silent type (ie: Norman Hansen), and complete the trifecta of Northwestern adulation.
This is tantamount to Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson dissing me on his next album, or Robert Sylvester Kelly calling me up and asking if he could sex me up, strip for me, or piss on me (all in spite of my old age), or Ernest Hemingway coming back from the dead to take me lion hunting and/or foreign civil war fighting with him. No matter how many bullshit broken locks or failed experiments in lab I have to deal with, Sig has bestowed upon me what I think is the Northwestern's equivalent of the Congressional Medal of Fucking Honor. Now, the Seahawks just have to win a Super Bowl and my life will be pretty much complete.
However, it's all good, because as far as I'm concerned, nothing bad can happen today. Captain Sigurd "The Hotness" Hansen of "Deadliest Catch" fame, after posting a link to my original ode to his rugged good looks and excellence in crab boat captaining and subsequently defending me against allegations of stalking, has once again opined on his MySpace blog, and I am OVER THE FUCKING MOON with excitement.
THAT'S RIGHT! According to Sig (who is infallible) I'm the number one fan (I'm assuming he hit the period key instead of the pound key by accident) of the crew of the F/V Northwestern. Yes, you heard it STRAIGHT FROM SIG HIMSELF...I'm the #1 FAN! Take that, all you hos who called me a stalker! Even cooler is the fact that, judging by his exclamatory "WOOT!," he is absolutely thrilled that I am occupying that lofty position. Because let's face it, what kind of crazy hot Viking fisherman WOULDN'T want a Norwegian-American wannabe pirate from Puyallup in her underwear adoring them? Which reminds me, I'm going to have to get a picture of me in my "I'm a Sig Girl" thong to send the Hansen boys as a morale booster before they brave the violent and unpredictable Bering Sea in this modern day gold rush next fall. Maybe I can convince MillerTime, who is almost as obsessed with Sig's brother Edgar as she is "The Girls Next Door", that she should pose with me in the "I'm an Edgar Girl" thong that undoubtedly she has purchased by now. We can find someone who likes the strong, silent type (ie: Norman Hansen), and complete the trifecta of Northwestern adulation.
This is tantamount to Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson dissing me on his next album, or Robert Sylvester Kelly calling me up and asking if he could sex me up, strip for me, or piss on me (all in spite of my old age), or Ernest Hemingway coming back from the dead to take me lion hunting and/or foreign civil war fighting with him. No matter how many bullshit broken locks or failed experiments in lab I have to deal with, Sig has bestowed upon me what I think is the Northwestern's equivalent of the Congressional Medal of Fucking Honor. Now, the Seahawks just have to win a Super Bowl and my life will be pretty much complete.
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, MillerTime, MySpace, Razzification
Saturday, June 02, 2007
OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!
I was dicking around and looking at my site statistics today and noticed I was getting a lot of hits from some MySpace blog. I clicked on the link to see which MySpacer had given me a shout-out, and just about had a fucking heart attack:
Oh my God. Oh. My. GOD. OH! MY! GOD! Captain Sigurd Hansen, the crab captain singlehandedly responsible for global warming because of his blistering hotness, READS MY BLOG! This is like rolling Christmas, my birthday, my wedding, the birth of my first child, and a Super Bowl where the Seahawks don't get flagrantly robbed by terrible officiating all into one uber-joyous occasion.
Unfortunately, it seems that the majority of Sig's MySpace blog readers misinterpreted my prosaic ode to Sig (and suggested that they didn't like my site...one bitch even wrote "I'm no Whitman, but Razzy needs to bone up on her writing skills"), and responded with a lot of comments along the lines of "This bitch is SCARY," "Watch your back, this girl is a crazy freak," and "Watch out, Sig, you have a stalker."
Obviously I'm the world's least competent stalker, since it took a month for me to notice that Sig had gotten a straight blast of Razzification and liked it so much that he linked to me. If I'd been a better stalker I'd have been more up to speed on his MySpace. Furthermore, since his tour of all the late night talk shows is now over, Sig probably isn't going to be in NYC anytime soon, so I'll have a hard time actually physically stalking him. Last week on "After the Catch," a companion special to "Deadliest Catch" where the captains sit around shooting the shit with Mike Rowe at some bar in Seattle, I thought for about two seconds about trying to find that establishment the next time I'm in the P-N-Dub. However, it's in Ballard, and I always get totally lost trying to find anything in Ballard. My friend Sexxxica lives around there and every time I try to meet up with her I'm filled with terror as I try to negotiate the confusing shitshow of streets with changing names and six-way intersections common in that part of Seattle. I get lost trying to find Ballard itself, so the chances of me even getting there to skulk about looking for Sig are slim indeed.
I don't need to worry about Sig being afraid that he'll show up at home one day and find one of his kids' pet rabbits boiling away on the stove, because he understands where I'm coming from and DEFENDS ME! I appreciate that, since "Blister!!" below seems inclined to take a contract with some frightening Croatians out on me or something, just because I read and retained (aka am "privvy" to) the information from Sig's MySpace and Wikipedia pages.
Sig's got it right. While his dashing good looks, roguishly amusing commentary, and authoritative barking at his goofy brothers and terrified greenhorns are incredibly sexy to me, I have to say that I am a hardcore Northwestern fan for a variety of other reasons. First, I'm likewise of Norwegian descent, and any hot Nordic fellas who like to get their lutefisk on, bite the heads off herring and swallow codfish hearts for luck, and say "uff da" are my kind of dudes. Second, I'm also from the P-N-Dub, and I root for any local boys that make good. I like to see Pacific Northwesterners prominently featured in the national media, especially not in the context of a "Cops" episode focusing on the Pierce County Sheriff meth lab squad. I strongly support hometown heroes like Sig and the Hansens, who are better looking and more admirable than standard famous P-N-Dubbers such as Kurt Cobain, Robb Weller (host of the now-defunct game show "Win, Lose, or Draw"), and Apolo Anton Ohno (who may be the world's biggest pretty boy professional athlete, and who you just know is an asshole in person). Third, I grew up fishing, and although mining the Hood Canal for Dungeness gold in June is considerably easier and more relaxing than braving the violent and tempestuous Bering Sea trying to fill pots with Opilio in January, I can nonetheless appreciate what he does for a living. Finally, I think that Sig and his brothers have BALLS OF GALVANIZED STEEL to keep grinding away season after season, but I love that they are relatively modest about it and regard it simply as continuing with their family business. My hardcore Northwestern fan status is just that, and am not going to try to follow Sig around Seattle or show up at his front door or anything like that.
However, I am DEFINITELY going to not shut up about Captain Sig "The Hotness" Hansen giving me some good URL on his MySpace for at least the next decade. He just made my entire fucking year. Thanks, Sig. I'm going to invest in at least ten more pairs of "I'm a Sig Girl" panties and force everyone I know to park their asses in front of the Discovery Channel Tuesdays at 9, so that we can root for the Northwestern to defeat the nefarious Captain Phil of the Cornelia Marie in the Yellow Book Crab Count every week! Captain Sig RULES!
Oh my God. Oh. My. GOD. OH! MY! GOD! Captain Sigurd Hansen, the crab captain singlehandedly responsible for global warming because of his blistering hotness, READS MY BLOG! This is like rolling Christmas, my birthday, my wedding, the birth of my first child, and a Super Bowl where the Seahawks don't get flagrantly robbed by terrible officiating all into one uber-joyous occasion.
Unfortunately, it seems that the majority of Sig's MySpace blog readers misinterpreted my prosaic ode to Sig (and suggested that they didn't like my site...one bitch even wrote "I'm no Whitman, but Razzy needs to bone up on her writing skills"), and responded with a lot of comments along the lines of "This bitch is SCARY," "Watch your back, this girl is a crazy freak," and "Watch out, Sig, you have a stalker."
Obviously I'm the world's least competent stalker, since it took a month for me to notice that Sig had gotten a straight blast of Razzification and liked it so much that he linked to me. If I'd been a better stalker I'd have been more up to speed on his MySpace. Furthermore, since his tour of all the late night talk shows is now over, Sig probably isn't going to be in NYC anytime soon, so I'll have a hard time actually physically stalking him. Last week on "After the Catch," a companion special to "Deadliest Catch" where the captains sit around shooting the shit with Mike Rowe at some bar in Seattle, I thought for about two seconds about trying to find that establishment the next time I'm in the P-N-Dub. However, it's in Ballard, and I always get totally lost trying to find anything in Ballard. My friend Sexxxica lives around there and every time I try to meet up with her I'm filled with terror as I try to negotiate the confusing shitshow of streets with changing names and six-way intersections common in that part of Seattle. I get lost trying to find Ballard itself, so the chances of me even getting there to skulk about looking for Sig are slim indeed.
I don't need to worry about Sig being afraid that he'll show up at home one day and find one of his kids' pet rabbits boiling away on the stove, because he understands where I'm coming from and DEFENDS ME! I appreciate that, since "Blister!!" below seems inclined to take a contract with some frightening Croatians out on me or something, just because I read and retained (aka am "privvy" to) the information from Sig's MySpace and Wikipedia pages.
Sig's got it right. While his dashing good looks, roguishly amusing commentary, and authoritative barking at his goofy brothers and terrified greenhorns are incredibly sexy to me, I have to say that I am a hardcore Northwestern fan for a variety of other reasons. First, I'm likewise of Norwegian descent, and any hot Nordic fellas who like to get their lutefisk on, bite the heads off herring and swallow codfish hearts for luck, and say "uff da" are my kind of dudes. Second, I'm also from the P-N-Dub, and I root for any local boys that make good. I like to see Pacific Northwesterners prominently featured in the national media, especially not in the context of a "Cops" episode focusing on the Pierce County Sheriff meth lab squad. I strongly support hometown heroes like Sig and the Hansens, who are better looking and more admirable than standard famous P-N-Dubbers such as Kurt Cobain, Robb Weller (host of the now-defunct game show "Win, Lose, or Draw"), and Apolo Anton Ohno (who may be the world's biggest pretty boy professional athlete, and who you just know is an asshole in person). Third, I grew up fishing, and although mining the Hood Canal for Dungeness gold in June is considerably easier and more relaxing than braving the violent and tempestuous Bering Sea trying to fill pots with Opilio in January, I can nonetheless appreciate what he does for a living. Finally, I think that Sig and his brothers have BALLS OF GALVANIZED STEEL to keep grinding away season after season, but I love that they are relatively modest about it and regard it simply as continuing with their family business. My hardcore Northwestern fan status is just that, and am not going to try to follow Sig around Seattle or show up at his front door or anything like that.
However, I am DEFINITELY going to not shut up about Captain Sig "The Hotness" Hansen giving me some good URL on his MySpace for at least the next decade. He just made my entire fucking year. Thanks, Sig. I'm going to invest in at least ten more pairs of "I'm a Sig Girl" panties and force everyone I know to park their asses in front of the Discovery Channel Tuesdays at 9, so that we can root for the Northwestern to defeat the nefarious Captain Phil of the Cornelia Marie in the Yellow Book Crab Count every week! Captain Sig RULES!
Labels: Deadliest Catch, down with OPB (other people's blogs), hot dudes, I LOVE IT, MySpace, P-N-Dub, Razzification
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
...Or maybe three's a crowd
Fat Joe once asked, "What's love got to do with a little menage?" Well, nothing, but I would certainly argue that looks and basic hygiene have everything to do with it. I never thought I'd be taking back my assertion that there's really no such thing as a bad threesome, but that just goes to show that one should proverbially never say never. Tonight, I was walking Caesar and Chingy! and found myself eating my words. And then almost throwing up.
Outside my building, there are a couple brick planter boxes that line the walkway to the lobby door. Various tenants often sit on the edges of these planter boxes, especially on evenings like today, when the weather is mildly balmy and generally pleasant. When I departed the apartment, Irene and Drusilla, the building's resident nosy old ladies were there. I greeted them, wrangled the dogs across the sidewalk to the curb rapidly because Drusilla hates dogs, and continued on our evening stroll of the neighborhood.
When I returned, Irene and Drusilla's benign presence had been replaced by two people I always dread running into individually, much less together. One is this withered, creepy-looking man, who I suspect is younger than he looks because he's always drinking at all hours of the day. He's impossibly filthy, as he's always dressed in the same dirty white undershirt and grungy Puerto Rico baseball cap. He also has this persistent HUGE festering, purulent cold sore on his lower lip, and I always heed my inner virologist and try to maintain a five foot distance from him. Despite my sometimes irresponsible promiscuity, I've miraculously managed to avoid contracting any strain of herpes simplex (oral or otherwise) thus far, and I'd like to keep it that way. Unfortunately, my attempts at maintaining personal, herpes-free space are always thwarted by his aggressive enthusiasm for my dogs, especially Chingy!, who I assume he is attracted to based on their inherent grossness. He is always cautioning me to clean out Chingy!'s nose wrinkle because of the risk of infection, and I always want to tell him that he should worry about his own hygiene before losing sleep over Chingy!'s. His wife is an equally nasty character. She is missing most of her teeth, and her face looks like one of those "before" pictures they show on Proactiv commercials. Also, after several trips in the elevator with her, I've realized that she has some of the most rank body odor on the planet. When I was a little kid, I used to read books by this guy named Roald Dahl, who wrote Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach. He also wrote this book called The Twits, who were "the world's most horrible couple." That's who these two are: the Puerto Rican Twits.
Anyway, tonight they were perched on the planter boxes outside the apartment, swilling King Cobra forties and not even bothering to brown-bag them.
"Heyyyyyy, sexy," said Senora Twit.
"Hello," I replied, hurrying by them. Unfortunately, Senor Twit chose that moment to cluck provocatively at my dogs, causing Caesar to go sniffing and wagging up to him to say a more personal hello. I tugged Caesar away, trying not to seem too desperate to get away. They are my neighbors, and I don't want to get a reputation as the big bitch in the building. "Have a good night!" I said cheerfully, but dismissively.
"Hey, sexy," Senora Twit said again, her voice deepening to what was unmistakably a seductive purr. "Jou look really sexy tonight," she added.
I looked down. I was wearing a halter top that was pretty cantastic (as is typical for me), a skirt, and a pair of strappy heels, but God knows I did not put that outfit on trying to get some action with toothless loitering drunks outside my building.
"Uhhhh, thanks," I said. "Good night." I turned to enter the building. Senor Twit wasn't about to let me get away so easy.
"She's my wife!" he said, pointing at Senora Twit. "Isn't she beautiful?"
I totally ignored that. For one thing, I'm a horrible liar. For another, I wasn't sure whether to burst out laughing or run screaming in terror.
"I know," I said. I put my key in the lock of the front door. I was almost safely away from what was rapidly becoming an extremely uncomfortable situation.
"Hey, sexy, why don't jou come up to visit sometimes?" slurred Senora Twit. "Jou're so SEXY."
"Uhhh, gotta go. Take care!" I hustled inside and slammed the front door before that could go any further. Maybe they weren't propositioning me, but I don't know where else that disturbing conversation was going. I feel like I need to take a shower just for suffering through the seductive charms of my upstairs neighbors. It seems that not only do banging blondes and hung dudes want to fuck me at the same time, but so do dentally challenged, unshowered drunks.
At least tonight, "Deadliest Catch" is on, and the engine problems that were plaguing the mighty Northwestern have been overcome and the studly exemplar of manhood that is Skipper Sig Hansen is hoping to make up for lost time at the dock in Dutch Harbor. I'm hoping that will inspire me to overcome the severe case of the heebie-jeebies that are currently plaguing me. Hopefully, unlike head Northwestern deckhand Edgar, this will not necessitate biting the head off a live herring, but I'm not ruling anything out.
*THOROUGHLY CREEPED-OUT SHUDDER*
Outside my building, there are a couple brick planter boxes that line the walkway to the lobby door. Various tenants often sit on the edges of these planter boxes, especially on evenings like today, when the weather is mildly balmy and generally pleasant. When I departed the apartment, Irene and Drusilla, the building's resident nosy old ladies were there. I greeted them, wrangled the dogs across the sidewalk to the curb rapidly because Drusilla hates dogs, and continued on our evening stroll of the neighborhood.
When I returned, Irene and Drusilla's benign presence had been replaced by two people I always dread running into individually, much less together. One is this withered, creepy-looking man, who I suspect is younger than he looks because he's always drinking at all hours of the day. He's impossibly filthy, as he's always dressed in the same dirty white undershirt and grungy Puerto Rico baseball cap. He also has this persistent HUGE festering, purulent cold sore on his lower lip, and I always heed my inner virologist and try to maintain a five foot distance from him. Despite my sometimes irresponsible promiscuity, I've miraculously managed to avoid contracting any strain of herpes simplex (oral or otherwise) thus far, and I'd like to keep it that way. Unfortunately, my attempts at maintaining personal, herpes-free space are always thwarted by his aggressive enthusiasm for my dogs, especially Chingy!, who I assume he is attracted to based on their inherent grossness. He is always cautioning me to clean out Chingy!'s nose wrinkle because of the risk of infection, and I always want to tell him that he should worry about his own hygiene before losing sleep over Chingy!'s. His wife is an equally nasty character. She is missing most of her teeth, and her face looks like one of those "before" pictures they show on Proactiv commercials. Also, after several trips in the elevator with her, I've realized that she has some of the most rank body odor on the planet. When I was a little kid, I used to read books by this guy named Roald Dahl, who wrote Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach. He also wrote this book called The Twits, who were "the world's most horrible couple." That's who these two are: the Puerto Rican Twits.
Anyway, tonight they were perched on the planter boxes outside the apartment, swilling King Cobra forties and not even bothering to brown-bag them.
"Heyyyyyy, sexy," said Senora Twit.
"Hello," I replied, hurrying by them. Unfortunately, Senor Twit chose that moment to cluck provocatively at my dogs, causing Caesar to go sniffing and wagging up to him to say a more personal hello. I tugged Caesar away, trying not to seem too desperate to get away. They are my neighbors, and I don't want to get a reputation as the big bitch in the building. "Have a good night!" I said cheerfully, but dismissively.
"Hey, sexy," Senora Twit said again, her voice deepening to what was unmistakably a seductive purr. "Jou look really sexy tonight," she added.
I looked down. I was wearing a halter top that was pretty cantastic (as is typical for me), a skirt, and a pair of strappy heels, but God knows I did not put that outfit on trying to get some action with toothless loitering drunks outside my building.
"Uhhhh, thanks," I said. "Good night." I turned to enter the building. Senor Twit wasn't about to let me get away so easy.
"She's my wife!" he said, pointing at Senora Twit. "Isn't she beautiful?"
I totally ignored that. For one thing, I'm a horrible liar. For another, I wasn't sure whether to burst out laughing or run screaming in terror.
"I know," I said. I put my key in the lock of the front door. I was almost safely away from what was rapidly becoming an extremely uncomfortable situation.
"Hey, sexy, why don't jou come up to visit sometimes?" slurred Senora Twit. "Jou're so SEXY."
"Uhhh, gotta go. Take care!" I hustled inside and slammed the front door before that could go any further. Maybe they weren't propositioning me, but I don't know where else that disturbing conversation was going. I feel like I need to take a shower just for suffering through the seductive charms of my upstairs neighbors. It seems that not only do banging blondes and hung dudes want to fuck me at the same time, but so do dentally challenged, unshowered drunks.
At least tonight, "Deadliest Catch" is on, and the engine problems that were plaguing the mighty Northwestern have been overcome and the studly exemplar of manhood that is Skipper Sig Hansen is hoping to make up for lost time at the dock in Dutch Harbor. I'm hoping that will inspire me to overcome the severe case of the heebie-jeebies that are currently plaguing me. Hopefully, unlike head Northwestern deckhand Edgar, this will not necessitate biting the head off a live herring, but I'm not ruling anything out.
*THOROUGHLY CREEPED-OUT SHUDDER*
Labels: Deadliest Catch, doggity style, gross, Harlem world, oh the horror, perversion, you're ugly
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The deadliest obsession
It's been at least a week since I've discussed the devastatingly sexy hunk of hotness that is Skipper Sigurd Hansen of the F/V Northwestern. Obviously, that had to be rectified immediately, to celebrate the super exciting shit going down on "Deadliest Catch" this evening.
As narrator Mike Rowe notes, "the only thing more dangerous than fishing for King crab on the Bering Sea in November is fishing for Opilio crab in January," and Opie season kicks off tonight! Hell YES!!!
In case for some unknown reason, you are not pathologically obsessed with "Deadliest Catch" yet, then you need to watch the opening credits. J-Sexy was going off today about how she did not think it possible to get excited about crab fishing, no matter how much florid language Mike Rowe uses to describe "this modern day gold rush." I dare you to not get excited about the seafaring adventure to be had while skirting the Arctic ice pack halfway to fucking Siberia once you see the badass skippers (especially Sig) juxtaposed with images of crashing 40-foot waves and the sounds of Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive."
As I said before, HELL YES!
And since I spend so much time talking about "Psycho Sig...on the loose again," MillerTime's preferences are being ignored and she feels left out. So here's her imaginary boyfriend, Captain Phil Harris of the F/V Cornelia Marie.
Just kidding...MillerTime likes hot Vikings too. This is her boyfriend, Sig's younger brother Edgar. Last night she was talking to me about Edgar on the phone and expressed her suspicions that, based on his exuberant personality, he might just be a cokehead. After all, how does he manage to grind out the crab for so many hours on end and have such seemingly boundless energy reserves? While I agree, I'd have to argue that he's actually into meth. He is from the P-N-Dub, after all, and we have almost as much meth as coffee, salmon, and Windows software.
I don't know why Edgar seems so happy, because that is not "clean crab." Look at all the barnacles on those motherfuckers! Probably he thinks it's great because he's high.
Anyway, WATCH "DEADLIEST CATCH"! Tonight at nine on the Discovery Channel! You will not regret it.
In case for some unknown reason, you are not pathologically obsessed with "Deadliest Catch" yet, then you need to watch the opening credits. J-Sexy was going off today about how she did not think it possible to get excited about crab fishing, no matter how much florid language Mike Rowe uses to describe "this modern day gold rush." I dare you to not get excited about the seafaring adventure to be had while skirting the Arctic ice pack halfway to fucking Siberia once you see the badass skippers (especially Sig) juxtaposed with images of crashing 40-foot waves and the sounds of Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive."
As I said before, HELL YES!
And since I spend so much time talking about "Psycho Sig...on the loose again," MillerTime's preferences are being ignored and she feels left out. So here's her imaginary boyfriend, Captain Phil Harris of the F/V Cornelia Marie.
Just kidding...MillerTime likes hot Vikings too. This is her boyfriend, Sig's younger brother Edgar. Last night she was talking to me about Edgar on the phone and expressed her suspicions that, based on his exuberant personality, he might just be a cokehead. After all, how does he manage to grind out the crab for so many hours on end and have such seemingly boundless energy reserves? While I agree, I'd have to argue that he's actually into meth. He is from the P-N-Dub, after all, and we have almost as much meth as coffee, salmon, and Windows software.
I don't know why Edgar seems so happy, because that is not "clean crab." Look at all the barnacles on those motherfuckers! Probably he thinks it's great because he's high.
Anyway, WATCH "DEADLIEST CATCH"! Tonight at nine on the Discovery Channel! You will not regret it.
Labels: Deadliest Catch, drugs, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, J-Sexy, MillerTime, P-N-Dub, TV
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Catching crabs
The Crab Feed, a fundraiser for my high school which is the reason for my trip back to the P-N-Dub every April, was a smashing success. For one thing, my parents and all their old friends were unable to attend, so it was a kids-only Crab Feed (by "kids" I mean everyone was aged 25-30). HotLawyer instructed me to pose for some pictures, so naturally I obliged with my favorite standard pose, what is otherwise known as the "descending Girl Gone Wild" (the "ascending" version of this pose is when you lift your shirt up, as opposed to pulling the neck down):
(Ignore the scary face I'm making...it really gives it that whole "Jay Leno's chin" feel, which may not exactly embody the epitome of hotness, but at least my tits distract from the neck-up horror) Unfortunately, it seems that flashing your breasts in a high school gymnasium in front of your former Honors American Lit teacher and your parents' friends at another table is not encouraged. After posing for several similar photographs, the off-duty but still uniformed Tacoma police officer on hand to keep minors out came and stood menacingly at the end of our table. I can almost hear him saying, "Go on, honey, show your tits again...I haven't thrown anyone at the crab feed in the pokey for fifteen years and I'm itching to lay the smackdown on some drunken alum supporting the Bellarmine Boosters athletic fund." My brother Lil' Tevie probably would have put the handcuffs on me and tossed me into the backseat of the Crown Vic himself, he was so mortified by my behavior. I could see him at the other end of the table looking determinedly in the other direction.
The truth is that it was all a cleverly orchestrated scheme to take pictures of my cans juxtaposed with some crab legs, so that I can send them on to the broiling inferno of sexiness that is Sig Hansen and the crew of the F/V Northwestern. This is why they risk the terrors of the swiftly moving (and DEADLY) Bering Sea Arctic ice pack during Opie season: so drunk bitches can incorporate them into seductive titty shots for their websites devoted to useless bullshit. Oh, and because they're pretty delicious, too.
I hope that next year my parents and all their friends have some wedding or something to go to on Crab Feed weekend, because I think I need to be encouraging talk about my arreolas for many crab feeds to come. And Sig...that could be you with the great view and the crab cracker on your nose! Especially because I'm in the Seattle area right now, so it would be easy to meet if you're not currently in Dutch Harbor, Alaska! Holler at your girl if you too would like to stroke my bosom with your snow crab legs: razzy@razzy.org!
(Ignore the scary face I'm making...it really gives it that whole "Jay Leno's chin" feel, which may not exactly embody the epitome of hotness, but at least my tits distract from the neck-up horror) Unfortunately, it seems that flashing your breasts in a high school gymnasium in front of your former Honors American Lit teacher and your parents' friends at another table is not encouraged. After posing for several similar photographs, the off-duty but still uniformed Tacoma police officer on hand to keep minors out came and stood menacingly at the end of our table. I can almost hear him saying, "Go on, honey, show your tits again...I haven't thrown anyone at the crab feed in the pokey for fifteen years and I'm itching to lay the smackdown on some drunken alum supporting the Bellarmine Boosters athletic fund." My brother Lil' Tevie probably would have put the handcuffs on me and tossed me into the backseat of the Crown Vic himself, he was so mortified by my behavior. I could see him at the other end of the table looking determinedly in the other direction.
The truth is that it was all a cleverly orchestrated scheme to take pictures of my cans juxtaposed with some crab legs, so that I can send them on to the broiling inferno of sexiness that is Sig Hansen and the crew of the F/V Northwestern. This is why they risk the terrors of the swiftly moving (and DEADLY) Bering Sea Arctic ice pack during Opie season: so drunk bitches can incorporate them into seductive titty shots for their websites devoted to useless bullshit. Oh, and because they're pretty delicious, too.
I hope that next year my parents and all their friends have some wedding or something to go to on Crab Feed weekend, because I think I need to be encouraging talk about my arreolas for many crab feeds to come. And Sig...that could be you with the great view and the crab cracker on your nose! Especially because I'm in the Seattle area right now, so it would be easy to meet if you're not currently in Dutch Harbor, Alaska! Holler at your girl if you too would like to stroke my bosom with your snow crab legs: razzy@razzy.org!Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot chicks, HotLawyer, nudity, overcompensation, P-N-Dub, Razzification
Monday, April 30, 2007
I'm a Sig girl
For the last several days, I have found myself acting as an apologist of "Deadliest Catch" and particularly my new boyfriend Sig Hansen. Yesterday, HotLawyer and Princess HotLawyer were over at my house with my brother and a couple of his friends, and while we stuffed our faces with bratwurst and steak, HotLawyer said, "I watched 'Deadliest Catch' the other day and that Sig guy you're always raving about is a total douche. He's always sitting around with his jacket sleeves pushed up to his elbows, smoking, trying to be funny, and acting like a grade A TOOL."
Immediately I became incensed and feel compelled to defend the smoldering hotness that is this fourth-generation Norwegian fisherman, who learned his profession working on a salmon gillnetter when he was just fifteen. Fortunately, there's ample pictures of his hot young rubber overall-wearing ass on his MySpace page. Check out the intensity of that gaze, even at a young age, as he plies his trade on the Alaskan seas (most likely to stack paper and ball outrageous...ie: score mad Scandinavian pussy upon returning to Seattle in the off-season):
Because he was so damn good at salmon fishing (and I would gladly go plug herring and tie leaders on his salmon boat any day) and because he's a towheaded Viking fox, he got promoted to Bering Sea crab boat captain at the tender age of 22 and has been mining its violent and unpredictable waters for "red gold" ever since.
Okay, so he might be a little rougher around the edges 15 years later, and his fashion sense might not be fresh off the catwalks of Milan, and his haircut might be a little on the unkempt side, but I find him so fucking sexy it's unreal. He's always sitting around in the wheelhouse, steering the Northwestern through rogue waves and the various other hazards of the Bering Sea, pondering his aggressive and unconventional crabbing strategies, chain smoking cowboy killers (although I think he may have switched to Marb Lights this season), and plotting diabolical pranks designed to fuck with Blake, the cute but date-rapist-y greenhorn captain of the Maverick:
Sig has indirectly influenced my feelings about the fine region of the country in which I came up in surprising ways. There are a lot of things I miss about living in the P-N-Dub, and one that I never thought I would miss is seeing "Northwest Afternoon." This show, known colloquially as "NWA" (the show's producers apparently never listened to "Fuck Tha Police" or anything else by Eazy-E, Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, MC Ren, and DJ Yella, because there are no Niggaz with Attitude to be found anywhere among its TV personalities) is an afternoon talk show about Seattle. The first half is this fat bitch named Cindi Rinehart who gives a Cliff Notes version of what happened on various soap operas that day, followed by the other two hosts, who are a he-she team of smarmy, guffawing morons, doing some sort of lame feature story. Normally I'd always be on SoapNet watching reruns of "Beverly Hills, 90210" at 3 p.m. when this shitshow airs, but I was crushed to see that I'd missed this must-see episode which aired while I was back in the Big Apple:
Yes, for once they actually had some guests worth watching: Sig, raising the temperature on set about 50,000 degrees with his blazing hotness, and his brother Edgar, head deckhand on the Northwestern. Check out that gold chain Sig is rocking around his neck like the straight-up PIMP that he is.
And if I were "Deadliest Catch" narrator Mike Rowe, who also hosts a show called "Dirty Jobs", I'd be thinking dirtier thoughts than occupations if I were tossing back a few cocktails with Sig at the Dutch Harbor watering hole. Seemingly Mike Rowe was, because in this picture he seems upset that Sig is laughing at his clumsy advances. Obviously Sig is a ladies-only man, and he's saving himself for a fine Norse crab connoisseur babe like myself. Denied, Mike Rowe!
If by now I haven't convinced you that Sig Hansen is the Adonis of Alaskan crab fishermen, I probably never will, but you'll see what I'm talking about if you watch a little "DC" and see the master in action. Sig is so smoking hot that come Opilio season, he'll melt all the frozen sea spray off the rigging of the Northwestern just by standing near it. Seriously, I am getting this picture made into a poster and hung over my bed, so that I can gaze into his piercing, determined blue eyes as I fall asleep at night:
I'm a Sig girl for life.
Immediately I became incensed and feel compelled to defend the smoldering hotness that is this fourth-generation Norwegian fisherman, who learned his profession working on a salmon gillnetter when he was just fifteen. Fortunately, there's ample pictures of his hot young rubber overall-wearing ass on his MySpace page. Check out the intensity of that gaze, even at a young age, as he plies his trade on the Alaskan seas (most likely to stack paper and ball outrageous...ie: score mad Scandinavian pussy upon returning to Seattle in the off-season):
Okay, so he might be a little rougher around the edges 15 years later, and his fashion sense might not be fresh off the catwalks of Milan, and his haircut might be a little on the unkempt side, but I find him so fucking sexy it's unreal. He's always sitting around in the wheelhouse, steering the Northwestern through rogue waves and the various other hazards of the Bering Sea, pondering his aggressive and unconventional crabbing strategies, chain smoking cowboy killers (although I think he may have switched to Marb Lights this season), and plotting diabolical pranks designed to fuck with Blake, the cute but date-rapist-y greenhorn captain of the Maverick:
And if I were "Deadliest Catch" narrator Mike Rowe, who also hosts a show called "Dirty Jobs", I'd be thinking dirtier thoughts than occupations if I were tossing back a few cocktails with Sig at the Dutch Harbor watering hole. Seemingly Mike Rowe was, because in this picture he seems upset that Sig is laughing at his clumsy advances. Obviously Sig is a ladies-only man, and he's saving himself for a fine Norse crab connoisseur babe like myself. Denied, Mike Rowe!
Labels: Deadliest Catch, hot dudes, HotLawyer, P-N-Dub, Razzification, sex
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