Thursday, July 24, 2008
Daily Douchebag: former Senator John Edwards
DOB: June 10, 1953
Occupation: world-class hypocrite
Hometown: Seneca, South Carolina
Current residence: Most recently, it was the Beverly Hilton fleeing from National Enquirer reporters
Douchebaggery: I always thought John Edwards was a putz. He comes across as a real salesman, which means I automatically don't trust him one bit. Edwards just cracks that "aw, shucks" Southern boy smile of his and presumes it's disarming enough to distract people from what he is actually saying, and whether it is the truth or a lie. I don't like liars, and I especially don't like liars who think they're so fucking charming they get a pass on being dishonest. I derive more than a little schadenfreude when they get their comeuppance for being so.
Monday night, the National Enquirer was tipped off that Edwards was visiting his mistress and love child at the Beverly Hilton. Granted, it hasn't been proven that this is Edwards's mistress and love child, and in fact one of his campaign staffers took the paternity bullet for him when the Enquirer first reported the story last year, but his behavior certainly seems to suggest that something in the milk ain't clean. According to the story, Edwards showed up at the Beverly Hilton, avoided the lobby, and took a side staircase to his supposed mistress's room. Then, at 2:40 in the morning, he snuck out an elevator into the basement, where to his dismay, he was confronted by several reporters. He ran to the lobby, then ran back to the basement after he spotted a photographer, and eventually locked himself in a men's room until hotel security could escort him off the premises. There could be many explanations for this behavior, but none of them equate to a man who is just making an innocent to a female friend and her new baby...surreptitiously...in the middle of the night...with a great fear of the press finding out. It sounds to me a lot more like he got caught fucking his side broad and visiting his bastard than making a friendly social call.
I don't particularly care who John Edwards is hitting on the side. I certainly can't speak from a position of moral authority, considering I have banged plenty of dudes who were in relationships with other people. I once witnessed one of my paramours calling his girlfriend–at home with their baby–to tell her he was working late (until 2 a.m.) from a seedy motel right before he fucked me cross-eyed. Another time, one of my special girlfriends had a brief phone discussion about paying household bills with her live-in fiancé and explaining that she was too drunk to drive home while I ate her pussy. Yet another time I ran into this guy at a breakfast joint in Tacoma and met his lovely girlfriend of five years, a few days after he gave me a pearl necklace (not the jewelry) and a hideous rug burn on my ass from the vigorous dicking he delivered on my living room floor. My personal position on these people (unless they are dating one of my friends, in which case I won't touch it) is that they are responsible for their own affairs and the cheating aspect of fucking me is their business. Adultery is as old as the institution of marriage itself, and is hardly some new horrible offense that shocks everyone. However, when a public political figure is constantly invoking the image of his loyal, cancer-ridden wife and brood of children as evidence of his upstanding character, I take issue with his hypocrisy.
Even if you are a politician and thus obliged to cater to the people who actually think politicians aren't all a bunch of corrupt, lying assholes, don't spend all your time touting your familial devotion if you are busy impregnating other bitches during your down time. I don't presume to tell people how to wipe their ass, since I already know mine is just as shitty as everyone else's. John Edwards should have just stuck to telling everyone how he has triumphed for the little people via his mastery of civil torts and cut the "family man who stands by his wife while she gets her tits cut off" schtick. At least he probably wasn't impregnating opposing counsel in secret, and thus could have escaped exposure as the duplicitous bullshitter he truly is.
Labels: assholes, comeuppance, Daily Douchebag, family matters, media whores, politics, retard rage, scathing indictments
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Josef Fritzl
DOB: 1935
Occupation: incestuous authoritarian father/dungeon master and world-class creep
Hometown: Amstetten, Austria
Current residence: JAIL
Douchebaggery: Like most people, I think it goes without saying that Josef Fritzl, the creepy Austrian guy who imprisoned his daughter in his basement dungeon, raped her for 24 years, and fathered seven children by her, is not only a douchebag but an absolutely repugnant human being. In fact, I have yet to meet anyone saying "oh, I'm sure the media's making it seem worse than it actually is" or "this story's getting blown way out of proportion." In the court of public opinion, the verdict is unanimous that Josef Fritzl is a disgusting, base, creepy, terrible man who deserves at the very least to be viciously raped in prison, where hopefully he'll spend the rest of his miserable life.
However, Josef Fritzl doesn't agree. He's apparently upset that the media has portrayed him as "a monster." He seems to think that, since he allowed his gravely ill 19-year-old daughter/granddaughter to go to the hospital (thus bringing this to the attention of authorities and prompting his capture) and since he didn't kill any of the six surviving children his daughter popped out in a quarter century of brutal incest-rape, "monster" is a little harsh. I mean, he only spent decades plotting how to imprison and horrifically abuse his own daughter, and he only forced three of his children/grandchildren to spend their entire lives trapped in a cramped, damp cellar that he conscripted his own daughter/sex slave to help build. I guess the media should give him a gold star and a commendation for not immediately murdering his children/grandchildren upon their birth, because that's got "nice guy" and "decent human being" written all over it. Josef Fritzl is a true hero and a shining beacon of goodness and respectability and we should all aspire to be like him.
Or NOT! I hardly need the media to explain that Josef Fritzl's criminal deeds are the work of a thoroughly evil person, or in other words, a monster. If you define "monster" as an incorrigibly wicked, vile, cruel person, then you really don't need the media's help concluding that Josef Fritzl fits the bill. Josef Fritzl is so fucking bad that he makes the dudes on "To Catch a Predator" seem like a bunch of upstanding citizens, and I watch that show primarily for the satisfaction of seeing dirtbag pedophiles exposed and punished for their despicable crimes. Trolling the internet for unsuspecting children to molest seems like a victory for human rights compared to what Josef Fritzl did.
Josef's complaints about unfair media characterizations sound to me more like this asshole feels sorry for himself now that he can't rape his daughter with impunity. He's not sorry for destroying the lives of his daughter or their children; he's sorry he got caught and the general public was so appalled by his life's work that Austrian parliament is now passing emergency legislation to deal more harshly with convicted sex offenders. So fuck you, Josef. You're a monster.
Labels: comeuppance, crime and punishment, Daily Douchebag, oh the horror, sexual assault
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Eliot Spitzer
Alias: George Fox, Client 9
DOB: June 10, 1959
Occupation: governor of New York; john
Hometown: Riverdale, the Bronx, New York, New York
Current residence: Albany, New York (but possibly not for long)
Douchebaggery: Ever since he was elected governor of the Empire State, Eliot Spitzer has been dogged with all sorts of accusations. There have been a number of scandals related to him pulling all sorts of trickery against his political opponents in the state Assembly and Senate, including using state police to document his rivals' travels and conspiring to influence media coverage of scandals related to his enemies. However, that all looks like a cakewalk compared to his most recent fuck-up. It seems Eliot likes to unwind from all that hard work being a "fucking steamroller" (as he once described himself to a political rival) with a nice, relaxing hour or two with a high-priced call girl.
Last night, LL Cool Jew and I were talking about this and she said, "Dude, did you see the Times article about Spitzer? You've got to check it out. It reads like a Jackie Collins novel." I immediately went and read it, and realized why Eliot was so vague in his press conference yesterday. He's seemingly such an old hand at shelling out for these expensive hookers to the point where he has hundreds of dollars in credit left over from previous bookings, and the prostitutes were gossiping that "George Fox" looked a whole lot like the governor of New York.
I don't really care if dudes patronize hookers. For starters, I don't believe that prostitution should be illegal. Adults selling something that it's legal to give away for free to other adults seems to me like a victimless crime. However, when the john in question himself prosecuted several prostitution rings and was elected based on promises to about restoring ethics to Albany. I have a problem with his credibility. Eliot Spitzer shouldn't have been busting up prostitution rings and bloviating about his ethical credentials when he's known around the escort service water cooler as a "difficult client" with tastes the hookers are reticent about indulging. Although he did make good on one campaign promise:
Bring some passion back to Albany, huh? Well, Eliot certainly did that as far as his passion for the ladies of the night are concerned. He may be a hypocritical dumbass, but nobody could ever accuse him of not bringing the passion. Apparently his passions are so kinky that his hooker had to say, "Listen, dude, you really want the sex?" in response to some requests on his part that were outside her comfort zone. Kudos on making good on your campaign promises. Your constituents thank you.
Labels: assholes, comeuppance, crime and punishment, Daily Douchebag, NYC, politics, sex
Friday, February 22, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Hepatitis A virus
Taxonomy: Family Picornaviridae, Genus Hepatovirus
Baltimore classification: IV (plus-sense single-stranded RNA)
DOB: N/A
Occupation: replicating like what, embarrassing snotty clubs by spreading around them via the oral-fecal route
Hometown: in this case, New York, New York
Current residence: hopefully in Ashton Kutcher and friends's hepatocytes
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I always get excited when viruses make the news, especially a virus from the most awesome yet unsung family in the entire virome: Picornaviridae, baby! I am glad whenever a cousin of my lab's study focus (polio and rhinovirus...both picornaviruses) garners some press attention, especially when said attention is for doing something totally awesome like ruining Ashton Kutcher's 30th birthday party.
Apparently, Ashton decided to throw a bash for all his celebrity friends at New York City's club Socialista, and didn't know that the bartender just came back from a vacation in Honduras. Unbeknownst to him, the barkeep brought an unidentified hepatotropic friend back with him, and thanks to Socialista's lack of hand soap in the bathroom, distributed said friend to all his patrons when he returned from yet another bout of diarrhea in the men's room and didn't properly wash his hands. Thanks to the sick bartender's inability to follow basic hygiene practices now Ashton, Demi Moore, Bruce Willis, Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow, Salma Hayek, and Roberto Cavalli are enjoying symptoms like jaundiced skin and eyes, fever, nausea, abdominal pain, vomiting, and diarrhea. It's like the host gift that keeps on giving.
I also love that this Socialista joint didn't have hand soap in the bathroom. It seems like one of these pricey, snotty, banker-infested, overly exclusive New York places that I generally loathe, like Marquee or Lotus. It also seems like the kind of place that has an army of bathroom attendants who you have to tip every time you take a piss and they just give you a paper towel when you get out of the can. I hate bathroom attendants, because I always feel bad not tipping them as I am sure they work hard and need every dollar they can get, but I can wash my hands myself! Besides, if I'm trying to do something I'd like more privacy for--such as sniffing certain powdered substances, engaging in some kind of drunken sex act, or having a confidential talk with someone--it's annoying to have a bathroom attendant hanging around eavesdropping. I think it's awesome that Socialista's bathroom attendant managed to somehow tend to the guests without providing them with hand soap, the dispensal of which is, from a public health perspective, the most important bathroom attendant job. Now Socialista has a sticky public relations situation to deal with in the form of explaining why their high-end, VIP establishment was smeared with what the health inspector is calling "widespread contamination with trace amounts of fecal matter." Gross!
This just goes to show that picornaviruses are not to be trifled with, and the world needs to be reminded of this. Sometimes I hear people speaking disparagingly of polio (since it's "cured"--which it's not, nor is it eradicated) or my personal beloved/despised obligate intracellular parasite in these taxa, rhinovirus, because it "just causes colds." Hepatitis A virus gets similarly diminished in terms of importance and worth. I guess people care more about the (non-picornavirus, and therefore considerably less sexy) hepatitis B and hepatitis C viruses because they are sexually transmitted and cause chronic infection and liver disease. Please. Hepadnaviridae and Flaviviridae are totally lame virus families compared to the sexy infectious hotness of the Picornaviridae. So what if Pam Anderson has hepatitis C? Hepatitis A just tore through half of Hollywood, and with far more star wattage. Madonna and Bruce Willis trump Pam Anderson any day. You just got owned, Flaviviridae! HA!
Labels: assholes, celebrities, comeuppance, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, epidemic geekery, nerd alert, science, viruses rule
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Guys are fucking assholes AKA my quest for redemption
When I have boy problems--especially ones that are relatively insignificant but make me act and subsequently feel like a complete and total fool--I have a variety of coping mechanisms, including drinking, porn, Lord of the Rings, pepperoni pizza, and lesbian sex. Sadly, I am hung over, not hungry, not in the mood for porn or epic battles, and I forgot to pick up a hot lesbian (since there weren't any around) last night when I was squiring the typically lame grad school recruits about Nieuw Amsterdam.
So to distract myself from my boy troubles, I just Googled my thoughts to see if the internets could provide some pearl of wisdom that would turn my frown upside down and get my Razzification back on track: "guys are fucking assholes." Maybe I would stumble upon some smart, hot, funny, kick-ass bitch's blog that ranted about how some dumb guy made her feel bad by reiterating his post-coital sentiments of ignorant disdain for her, and that in turn compelled her to demonstrate her abysmal lack of maturity by spilling a drink on his button-down, calling him a fucking asshole, making the world's lamest threat at involving Photoshop and Republican politicians, apologizing, taking back that apology, calling him an asshole again, leaving the bar with another girl only to realize she left her keys there, and returning in humiliation, in turn feeling (deservedly so) like a total idiot douchebag...until she remembered that she's still a smart, hot, funny, kick-ass bitch and it will take more than embarrassing herself in front of a dumb, mean, fucking asshole guy to render her otherwise.
Maybe reading such a blog would in turn put the spring back in my step after experiencing a similar disastrous scenario. A totally similar disastrous scenario. Basically, I wanted to know why this dude I banged a few months ago had ceased being friendly with me as he had been before we became Biblically acquainted. I am not trying to be his girlfriend, but I didn't understand why just having regular-old drunk sex had caused such awkwardness between us. I mean, I have drunk sex with my random friends all the time and it's not a big deal. Judging by his current girlfriend he doesn't usually fuck with bitches rocking personalities like mine, and I just wanted him to know that I wanted things to be okay with us. He did not share this sentiment. Instead he did this infuriating, arrogant country-boy "aw shucks and by 'shucks' I mean 'fuck you'" shrug thing that reminds me of George W. Bush, said he didn't want to talk about it EVER, he preferred to ignore me, and he doesn't care if that hurts my feelings. In other words, fuck you, Razzy. You're a dumb whore and not important enough for me to even say so directly. I can handle a lot of things: hatred, anger, disapproval, judgment, and other forms of negative opinion about myself. One thing I don't handle well, however, is someone announcing that I'm not even worthy of opinion and thus fit only to be ignored. I responded by getting in touch with my inner drunk eleven-year-old, threw a semi-tantrum, semi-Smith girl processing session, and thus cemented my self-humiliation. Actually, the one time I got drunk when I was eleven (I was an altar girl and I thought it would be a sin to pour the leftover consecrated communion wine down the drain, so I pounded it), I was way more mature: I just staggered into the coffee hour after mass and demanded jovially that my mother procure me a donut. As a result, it would make me feel better about myself if I could take some cues from an account of some other admittedly flawed but ultimately admirable bitch taking responsibility for her own ill-advised and completely idiotic drama-bringing and kicking the situation in the ass with her own inherent awesomeness. At the very least, abusing men for being dickheads always mitigates the sting of getting straight-up scorned.
Unfortunately, potential positive Razzy female role models were not to be had with a Google search for "guys are fucking assholes." The first link I clicked led me to a message board where someone responded to a posting opinion "you guys are fucking assholes" with "oh. and go root for the browns, you fucking douche bag." I realized I had stumbled into a forum for STEELERS FANS! If there's one thing that's not going to make me feel better about getting denied hard and then humiliating myself, it's reading the lolcat rantings of a bunch of Stealers fans crying into their Terrible Towels about how the officials screwed them in the AFC Divisional playoff game against Jacksonville. For one thing, there's no good that can come out of me posting something like "Karma's a bitch, ain't it, Super Bowl XL champions?" on a Steelers fan board in response to complaints about unfair penalty calls. It also only serves to remind me of my own woes, because I once watched a Jags game at a bar with this dude.
So I went back to my search hits for "guys are fucking assholes" in hopes that I'd land somewhere better than Steelers Country. I clicked on the next link. This was even worse...I ended up in a MORRISSEY FAN FORUM! I like Morrissey, but his music is definitely not what I need to be listening to right now in order to feel better about this situation. Yeah, I know Morrissey can be funny sometimes, but his witticisms are usually in the context of songs that are otherwise about feeling awkward, self-loathing, humiliated, rejected, disillusioned, and miserable. I don't need to be focusing on my inadequacies right now any more than I already am reading a bunch of hipster fucktards dishing on lyrics about bitches who are nobody's nothing. Besides, Morrissey fans are almost as obnoxious as Steelers fans. They're like elitist Steelers fans who think their taste and intellect are utterly beyond reproach. My friend Morrissey'sHair hung out with a bunch of Morrissey fans from MySpace or something once in Seattle, and I expect that pretentious, faux-cosmopolitan Seattle-dwelling Morrissey fans are probably the most insufferable of the entire lot. They're the Yankees of Morrissey fans. Truly, all Morrissey'sHair ever got out of that was a cougar stalking him and probably a lot of condescending discussion about whatever Anglophilic pseudo-intellectual topics Morrissey fans gather to discuss. (No offense to Morrissey'sHair...he rocks the look but is an exception to the rule regarding douchebaggery of the average Morrissey fan).
Sure enough, this page came up when some Morrissey fan uses the phrase "you guys fucking suck" to begin a thread excoriating other Morrissey fans about their outrage involving ticket refunds for some canceled show. A lengthy tirade about the lack of gratitude shown by these critical, bitchy, ticketless Morrissey fans included gems such as the following:
Morrissey isn't a charity, you don't give him 'donations', you are buying things you want for yourself. And it's not his fault if you went out and bought plane tickets or booked time off work, that was your decision and your responsibility, you knew there were risks involved, and not just because it's Morrissey, these things can happen to anyone. Grow up and stop trying to blame other people for everything that goes wrong in your life. You gambled and you lost, accept the responsibility and just fucking deal with it. You could have bought flexible tickets, but you decided to take a risk to save some money - completely understandable, but in this case it didn't pay off. And that is Morrissey's fault? Ridiculous.
I couldn't even get through most of the asinine bitching that precipitated this tirade. On the bright side, this isn't really reminding me of being depressed or feeling like an asshole. However, petty squabbling between Morrissey's fans about showing proper gratitude to their idol isn't perking me up, either. So on to the next link.
Upon clicking it, I smacked myself in the forehead for not considered some of the possibilities that might result on the internets for searches involving the words "guys", "fucking", and "assholes." Yep, I wound up on a site called "edengay.com" where I found myself staring down a variety of free photo galleries with names like "hardcore anal action" and "College Guys Sucking Cock." I thought most of the material was actually pretty tame for gay porn. Nonetheless, watching alleged "frat boys" and "english lads" buttfucking each other wasn't going to lift my flagging spirits. I was starting to think that maybe the internets weren't going to pay off in terms of providing me with a compass for my social and emotional recovery from Hurricane Idiot Razzy.
This was verified when I then found sites not worth spending time at. There was some kind of message board for the "underground literary community" debating the contributions of British zine writers to the canon, some morons arguing on the Deftones' band forum about the superiority of various Heart songs and whether or not "These Dreams" was worthy of discussion since it's not "classic 70s Heart", some Australian teenager complaining on her Livejournal page about her boyfriend being unsympathetic toward her parents' grounding her, somebody who hates Jared Padalecki and everything about the CW's ad campaign for last season of "Supernatural," and some tech geek complaining about how some IT company in Cork, Ireland is staffed exclusively with "fucking assholes." There was a hilarious Craigslist rant in which a dude laments how "because some of you fucking assholes couldn't keep a good thing to yourselves, your big ass pie holes have turned CL into an adult movie arcade!!!! You know, the one where you pretend you're 'browsing' for 3 hours when in fact you're waiting for that 'hit or miss' cocksucker to show up! AND when one finally does, you jostle into line with a bunch of other 'horny' guys with their wangs out!!! " swinger problems like "The T4M section was exotic, mysterious, and filled with hot and sexy gurls like Amaya begging for cocks and some booze. Now, guys fight over the chance to rump wrangle grandpa wearing a wig!" and "Couples in MW4M were abundant. Meet at a bar, pork the wife and blow your load on the hubby, bada bing..bada boom! Now, couples are holding fucking interviews and looking over your tax returns!!!!" are now prevalent in the Craigslist casual encounters community.
However, none of this made me feel genuinely better. Nothing was providing me with that spark of wisdom I needed to mentally push myself back into a state of high-level Razzification, where the world is in awe of me, I'm smoting everyone's ruin on the mountainside, and the general consensus is that I rule and am a badass, and not in my current state, where I'm hung over and depressed and wearing nothing but a pair of socks with Pugs on them. Therefore, I was about to give up altogether and resign myself to the depressing fate of going to lab, when I found what I was looking for in the most unexpected place: a website called Destructoid for "the hardcore video gaming community."
I certainly did not expect a bunch of masturbating shut-ins who spend their days blogging about Halo 3 or whatever the hell video game types cover to provide me inspiration. However, they were featuring a rant from some other gamer blog about being "burned by the dickery that is AOL Joystiq." I have no idea what AOL Joystiq is, but it has a stupid name, and I'm against it already. This gamer posted a quote from Team America: World Police relating to whatever the problem is with AOL Joystiq, and it's EXACTLY what I needed to hear.
See, there's three kinds of people: dicks, pussies, and assholes. Pussies (other video game sites) think everyone can get along, and dicks (Dtoid and Jaffe) just want to fuck all the time without thinking it through. But then you got your assholes (AOL Joystiq), Chuck. And all the assholes want us to shit all over everything! So, pussies may get mad at dicks once in a while, because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes, Chuck. And if they didn't fuck the assholes, you know what you'd get? You'd get your dick and your pussy all covered in shit!
THANK YOU, Video Game nerds, for your ability to apply the wisdom of Matt and Trey to your situation with AOL Joystiq and thus my analogous situation with this mean-spirited former paramour of mine and my consequential inability to deal. This all boils down to dicks, pussies, and assholes. I was being a pussy, and as a result I got shit on by an asshole. What I need to do is get back to the business of being a dick, which is exactly what I was born to be. I need to get back to fucking assholes and righting things in the world.
So thanks to the sagacious analysis of Destructoid, a site I anticipate I will never have cause to visit again, for reminding me that I can search the internets until I see every last worthless MySpace blog or LiveJournal page, and I will never find another bitch to make like me and tell me what I already know: I fucked up, I looked like a fucking tool, and it's time to move on and reclaim my dickishness, because I am shameless and proud and more than capable of shelving my bratty, irrational, oh-boo-hoo-my-feelings-are-hurt loserly self-pity. I am still Razzy, and much like R. Kelly, there is only one me. No amount of Googling for "guys are fucking assholes" or "I fucked up big-time" or "I hate feeling like an idiot and knowing that I WAS an idiot" is going to yield a blog better or more inspiring for me than what I just figured out through a lot of roundabout internet distraction.
I had to conquer Steelers fans, Morrissey fans, gay porn, and Craigslist swinger rants only to find the hardcore video gaming nerd community guarding the Holy Grail I sought: I already know I am a badass, and I need to quit being a pussy about screwing up insignificant relationships and feeling bad about myself and go back to being a badass. It's time to make like Bill Belichick and say something taciturn and supremely dickish like "we're moving on to the Chargers next week" or "that was a hard-fought game," and go back to plotting my world domination. I am fucking Razzy, goddammit. I AM FUCKING AWESOME! I might fuck up sometimes. But I'm also a hot blonde with pretty eyes and a fine rack, I'm smart, I'm sickeningly talented, I have two awesome dogs, I give great head, I am funny, I have a large vocabulary, I live an exciting and unique life, I am loved by wonderful people, I am often described with impressive adjectives like "singular", "hilarious", "ridiculous", and "intimidating", and if I can shake this particularly brutal scotch and Jaeger hangover, I have a date with a hot, smart guy who actually seems to like me tonight. Why am I sitting around in bed blogging about what a fuckup I am and feeling sorry for myself? I RULE!
So, thanks for your patience with this Smith girl whiny, processy blog posting. As of now-thirty, I'm back to being a dick. Assholes of the world, consider yourselves on notice.
Labels: assholes, comeuppance, contrition, for serious people, grad school bullshit, oh the horror, ranting, Razzification, sex, sluts
Monday, February 04, 2008
Daily Douchebag: the New England Patriots yet AGAIN
DOD: February 3, 2008
Occupation: failing to achieve perfection
Hometown: Boston, Assachusetts
Current residence: wherever the hell they go to lick their wounds in the offseason
Douchebaggery: Anyone in New York who watched the Super Bowl yesterday, excepting those few New England transplants who are probably pouting somewhere (and yes, I'm talking about you, Benzo, Neo, Miss Corbutt's boyfriend, hot guys at P.D. O'Hurley's who watched the Steelers-Jags game with me a month or so ago, and Andy Gray), is celebrating the demise of the perfect team. Ha. Ha! HA!!!! The Patriots lost! The Patriots lost!
Last Friday, when I douchebagged the Patriots in preparation for the Super Bowl and hoped that their book 19-0: The Historic Championship Season of New England's Unbeatable Patriots would jinx them as badly as it should. Some cranky Pats fan left this anonymous comment:
And what you fail to mention is how the Giants had a book like that too.Well, some people do like bitches, as evidenced by two things: 1. I have friends and 2. the Patriots have fans. Actually, I didn't realize the Giants also tried to put a book like that on Amazon for pre-ordering, or I would have mentioned it. We take fact-checking very seriously here at RAZZY.org ("fact checking"=drinking beer and popping off at the mouth), and someone's head is going to roll for this. You hear me, Google? How dare you fail to turn up any sports blogs mentioning this when I searched for "cocky sons-a-bitches Super Bowl preparation"? Yes, it may have been an oversight that I didn't criticize the Giants for also releasing a pre-game jinx book, but I imagine at least the Giants book didn't have such a disgustingly obnoxious title. In any event, YOU grow up, Pats fans! Your team's attempts at perfection were valiant (and insufferably arrogant, and involved cheating) but ultimately doomed in the one must-win game of the season. 18-1: The Historic AFC Championship Season of New England's Ultimately Beatable Super Bowl-Losing Patriots doesn't quite have the same ring to it.
Grow up, princess. No one likes a bitch.
Granted, I would buy that book, only to read the chapter at the end where the Pats finally lose and enjoy all the pictures of Tom Brady getting sacked five times and looking increasingly dejected each time as he hauled his precious male model ass off the turf, or Bill Belichick, being the perennial exemplar of class and sportsmanship by walking off the field with time still on the clock. To Belichick's credit, at least he busted out a brand new cut-off sleeve sweatshirt (with Arizona-length short sleeves and a festive red color as opposed to the usual dirty gray, three-quarter-length sleeves he rocks at Foxborough) for the occasion. This uncharacteristically bright homeless guy take on NFL team gear made it that much more noticeable when his dour, pouty ass decided to make a premature exit in the twilight of the game.
I don't think I could have borne the stress of every Boston sports fan in the world crowing about their precious perfect season had the Patriots won, so this was the greatest Super Bowl ever in my book. Usually, I think Super Bowls are either boring (the "Pirate Bowl", last year's game in which Rex Grossman capitulated before the game even started, and the game where Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" was the most exciting part) or disgraceful (Super Bowl XXXIV where the Titans lost to the Rams by the one agonizing yard that Kevin Dyson's arm couldn't stretch and Super Bowl XL in which the Seahawks were robbed by Bill Leavy's biased and incompetent officiating). The Patriots have nothing to brag about except being three-time douchebags on RAZZY.org this season, and all is right in the world. YES!
Labels: assholes, comeuppance, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Pats, I LOVE IT, NFL football
Monday, January 28, 2008
Nothing says "murdering drug dealer" like this outfit
Meet William Torres. All I have to say is that it's a good thing Michael Kors isn't somehow involved in dispensing justice, because I can only imagine the snide remarks that would issue down from the bench to a defendant dressed like this:
He was just arrested in Allentown, Pennsylvania and charged with drug dealing and double homicide. He apparently didn't have a very high opinion of the cops' ability to catch him, because when they broke down his door and took him into custody, he didn't have time to change out of his giant fuzzy slippers. Seriously, each of those slippers looks like it should start belting out "In the ciiiiiiiircle of life, it's the wheel of fortune..."
Somehow, I don't think even the double murder rap he's facing is going to give him a lot of credibility with the hardened criminals down at the jail with that kind of footwear. Certainly if I were a violent felon looking to get my prison rape on I'd totally call first dibs on old Simba-slippers and make a beeline for the showers or the laundry room or wherever forcible sodomy between incarcerated criminals is wont to occur. I'm thinking William Torres is going to have a rough go of things if he can't post bail before his trial. Besides, it's not like those pussy feet have any air of real intimidation, like, say, THESE slippers would:
Frankly, no matter how long I'd been the slammer, I'd make a point to avoid dropping my soap anywhere near the vicinity of a dude wearing CHINGY! slippers, if only because they emit an aura of revulsion that can't be washed off.
CHONGAY CHONG, lion slippers!
Somehow, I don't think even the double murder rap he's facing is going to give him a lot of credibility with the hardened criminals down at the jail with that kind of footwear. Certainly if I were a violent felon looking to get my prison rape on I'd totally call first dibs on old Simba-slippers and make a beeline for the showers or the laundry room or wherever forcible sodomy between incarcerated criminals is wont to occur. I'm thinking William Torres is going to have a rough go of things if he can't post bail before his trial. Besides, it's not like those pussy feet have any air of real intimidation, like, say, THESE slippers would:
CHONGAY CHONG, lion slippers!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, comeuppance, crime and punishment, hilarious shit
Monday, January 07, 2008
Recipe for a perfect Saturday
1. Wake up. Note time.
2. Masturbate. Take tonsil meds. Haul sorry ass out of bed.
3. Shower and get ready while watching the Saturday morning lineup of "Beverly Hills, 90210" on SoapNet. Get excited because they are showing the episode where Dylan's dad, disgraced crooked financier Jack McKay AKA Roman from "Days of our Lives", gets blowed up in a car bomb. Of course, it turns out in six years that Jack McKay actually just faked his death to enter the witness protection program, and that sends Dylan spiraling out of control once again into the substance abuse drama that has tormented him throughout his brooding, privileged life, but that's another story. The scene where Jack McKay supposedly explodes is awesome because it features many shots of Luke Perry screaming "DAAAAAAAD!!!!! WHHYYYYYYYYY?!" like Nancy Kerrigan.
4. Walk dogs.
5. Go to JerseyGirl's apartment.
6. Watch three episodes of "Beverly Hills, 90210" season three with JerseyGirl, Senioritis, Rack, and FalloniusMonk. Make fun of when Brenda pretends to be French to impress Dean Cain. Get hot and bothered about the sexual tension between Dylan and Kelly. Laugh hysterically when Donna Martin says things like, "Je suis AMERICAN. And if you don't like it, then too bad!" Eat an awesome club sandwich and fries. Consume Heineken.
7. Go to P.D. O'Hurley's, the bar that is practically downstairs from JerseyGirl's apartment, and meet your (Redskins fan) friend MultipleScorgasms for NFC Wild Card playoff football. Wear your new Julian Peterson Seahawks jersey. Look totally hot. Explain that Jamie Moyer is a beloved former Mariners pitcher when his physically enthusiastic raising of the 12th man flag before the game prompted JerseyGirl to ask, "Dude, why is that guy like totally wildin' out?"
8. WATCH AS THE SEAHAWKS LAY WASTE TO THE REDSKINS. Laugh in MultipleScorgasm's face as this occurs. Convince all your Bev Niner friends--who aren't really paying attention to the game--that they should say things like "Go Seahawks!" at opportune moments. Okay, so there were a few tense minutes in the fourth quarter where things weren't looking so great for Seattle, but I knew they could pull it out and they did. How can you beat Seattle? We have the 12th man. And we have our mighty Sea-Fence.
9. Go back to JerseyGirl's apartment to drink more and watch two more episodes of "Beverly Hills, 90210." Let Senioritis convince you to accompany her back to P.D. O'Hurley's to watch the end of the Pittsburgh-Jacksonville game, because, like T-Pain, she likes the bartender and apparently did him once, she needs a wingman, and she knows that I am always easily persuaded with the prospect of watching football. She planned to work this into free drinks for us.
10. LAUGH AS THE SHITSBURGH STEALERS LOSE! And drink scotch while chatting up some hot fellas watching the game nearby. They showed a surprising lack of obnoxious jackassery considering they were New England fans. One of them said I looked hot in my NOT PINK Seahawks jersey. Truth. I thanked him and conceded that at least I don't hate the Patriots as much as I hate the Stealers. Then I tapped my bottomless reserve of hatred for anyone wearing yellow and black and went off on one of my predictable tirades about the officiating in Super Bowl XL. I then reveled when the Jags smote the Steelers' ruin upon Heinz Field thanks to key plays like this one where Najeh Davenport gets totally owned by Rashean Mathis:
Then I noted that Jack Del Rio is kind of a hot piece. He really works that challenge flag.
Now that he's lost his typical funeral suit with garish Jags-colored tie, I'd hit that. Usually I like a man in a suit, but Jack Del Rio has bad taste in suits and looks stupid wearing them on the sidelines. I appreciate his effort to class it up, but he just doesn't wear a suit well with his giant Motorola headset. It doesn't work. Also, he has a real problem with wearing these Oakleys that are straight out of 1997, and it's not a good look for him. He needs to wear outfits like this leather jacket number more often. It gives him that kind of rugged, middle-aged bad boy dad look that Steve Mariucci used to rock to great effect back when he was tearing his hair out over Joey Harrington's passer rating in Detroit.
Then I polished off the last of my Johnnie Walker, saluting both Jack's good looks and his team's owning of Pittsburgh (who promptly started complaining about the officials ignoring holding penalties committed by the Jaguars...isn't karma a bitch?), and went home.
Unless somehow you figure out a way to make my tonsil feel 100% back to normal and include R. Kelly showing up in a trenchcoat ready to pull a switcheroo and strip for me with a pepperoni pizza and the director's cut of Total Recall, that is about as close as you get to a perfect Saturday: Seattle wins, Pittsburgh loses, and ample Bev Niner in between. Good times. And watch out, Green Bay...because Seattle's going to be kicking some cheesehead ass this coming weekend! Trust!
2. Masturbate. Take tonsil meds. Haul sorry ass out of bed.
3. Shower and get ready while watching the Saturday morning lineup of "Beverly Hills, 90210" on SoapNet. Get excited because they are showing the episode where Dylan's dad, disgraced crooked financier Jack McKay AKA Roman from "Days of our Lives", gets blowed up in a car bomb. Of course, it turns out in six years that Jack McKay actually just faked his death to enter the witness protection program, and that sends Dylan spiraling out of control once again into the substance abuse drama that has tormented him throughout his brooding, privileged life, but that's another story. The scene where Jack McKay supposedly explodes is awesome because it features many shots of Luke Perry screaming "DAAAAAAAD!!!!! WHHYYYYYYYYY?!" like Nancy Kerrigan.
4. Walk dogs.
5. Go to JerseyGirl's apartment.
6. Watch three episodes of "Beverly Hills, 90210" season three with JerseyGirl, Senioritis, Rack, and FalloniusMonk. Make fun of when Brenda pretends to be French to impress Dean Cain. Get hot and bothered about the sexual tension between Dylan and Kelly. Laugh hysterically when Donna Martin says things like, "Je suis AMERICAN. And if you don't like it, then too bad!" Eat an awesome club sandwich and fries. Consume Heineken.
7. Go to P.D. O'Hurley's, the bar that is practically downstairs from JerseyGirl's apartment, and meet your (Redskins fan) friend MultipleScorgasms for NFC Wild Card playoff football. Wear your new Julian Peterson Seahawks jersey. Look totally hot. Explain that Jamie Moyer is a beloved former Mariners pitcher when his physically enthusiastic raising of the 12th man flag before the game prompted JerseyGirl to ask, "Dude, why is that guy like totally wildin' out?"
8. WATCH AS THE SEAHAWKS LAY WASTE TO THE REDSKINS. Laugh in MultipleScorgasm's face as this occurs. Convince all your Bev Niner friends--who aren't really paying attention to the game--that they should say things like "Go Seahawks!" at opportune moments. Okay, so there were a few tense minutes in the fourth quarter where things weren't looking so great for Seattle, but I knew they could pull it out and they did. How can you beat Seattle? We have the 12th man. And we have our mighty Sea-Fence.
9. Go back to JerseyGirl's apartment to drink more and watch two more episodes of "Beverly Hills, 90210." Let Senioritis convince you to accompany her back to P.D. O'Hurley's to watch the end of the Pittsburgh-Jacksonville game, because, like T-Pain, she likes the bartender and apparently did him once, she needs a wingman, and she knows that I am always easily persuaded with the prospect of watching football. She planned to work this into free drinks for us.
10. LAUGH AS THE SHITSBURGH STEALERS LOSE! And drink scotch while chatting up some hot fellas watching the game nearby. They showed a surprising lack of obnoxious jackassery considering they were New England fans. One of them said I looked hot in my NOT PINK Seahawks jersey. Truth. I thanked him and conceded that at least I don't hate the Patriots as much as I hate the Stealers. Then I tapped my bottomless reserve of hatred for anyone wearing yellow and black and went off on one of my predictable tirades about the officiating in Super Bowl XL. I then reveled when the Jags smote the Steelers' ruin upon Heinz Field thanks to key plays like this one where Najeh Davenport gets totally owned by Rashean Mathis:
Then I polished off the last of my Johnnie Walker, saluting both Jack's good looks and his team's owning of Pittsburgh (who promptly started complaining about the officials ignoring holding penalties committed by the Jaguars...isn't karma a bitch?), and went home.
Unless somehow you figure out a way to make my tonsil feel 100% back to normal and include R. Kelly showing up in a trenchcoat ready to pull a switcheroo and strip for me with a pepperoni pizza and the director's cut of Total Recall, that is about as close as you get to a perfect Saturday: Seattle wins, Pittsburgh loses, and ample Bev Niner in between. Good times. And watch out, Green Bay...because Seattle's going to be kicking some cheesehead ass this coming weekend! Trust!
Labels: alcoholism, Bev Niner, comeuppance, FalloniusMonk, JerseyGirl, NFL football, Rack, Razzification, Seahawks, Senioritis, Stealers suck
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Anna O'Malley
Name: Anna O'Malley
DOB: 1967
Occupation: "data entry specialist," hot unwitting victim
Hometown: ?
Current residence: Brooklyn, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: One day, Anna O'Malley was just minding her own business when her phone started blowing up with calls from seeming perverts. I imagine at first she was confused, then a little scared, then pissed as hell upon realizing that this was a result of somebody getting up to some asshole mischief on Craigslist. According to the NY Daily News:
Fake Craigslist post offered sex for cashAh, this fake call-me-for-sex Craigslist posting brings back memories. Memories of happy, carefree days past in which a dumb bitch named Tejratan Bindra (Smith '07) took exception to mean things I wrote about her dorm room on my blog and orchestrated the following similar attack on my privacy and well-being, in which I was "besieged" by correspondence from "men hungry for sex:"
BY CARRIE MELAGO
DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER
Sunday, January 6th 2008, 4:00 AM
Men hungry for sex besieged a Brooklyn woman with phone calls after spotting a bogus ad on Craigslist that said she was looking to turn tricks to pay off Christmas debt.
Anna O'Malley, 40, was stunned to learn someone with the e-mail address igotjunglefever@gmail.com posted an ad Jan. 2 offering sex for cash using her name and telephone number.
"I'm a hardworking, honest person and I would never in my life post an ad like that," said O'Malley, who was awakened last week to more than a dozen calls.
The callers were responding to the racy ad, which read: "I'm a real hottie looking to earn extra cash to pay off Christmas debt."
The data entry specialist had to change her phone number.
"I don't want to constantly look over my shoulder," she said.
O'Malley said she was further peeved when Craigslist would not help her locate the pervert.
After one of the callers flagged the ad for O'Malley, it was taken down too fast for her to check if her home address or other personal information was listed. She also wasn't able to take down other details to give cops, she said.
Craigslist initially told O'Malley they could not turn over the ad without a subpoena. But after they were contacted yesterday by the Daily News, the Web site turned over the full text.
"We hope Ms. O'Malley will decide to pursue this, in which case we will look forward to assisting law enforcement in bringing the perpetrator to justice," CEO Jim Buckmaster said in a statement.
WHY did I not show Anna O'Malley's common sense and go to the damn Daily News when this happened to me? Granted, my fake Craigslist ad was offering to give it up for free rather than recoup holiday bills via prostitution, but still...I DID get more than a dozen calls. And the dumb bitch who put up the ad actually corresponded with one of the respondents and sent him to my apartment door. I strongly suspect that the aforementioned dumb bitch was able to obtain my personal information from Smith College's glorified alumnae network database. What later became known to Razzy historians as the Tej Offensive got out of control, and I went to the cops, who sent me to the FBI. Nothing happened because the harassment ceased as soon as I tattled on Tej to Smith College's Dean of Students. But I never thought of making like Anna and telling the Daily News (or better yet, the Post) about it! That was a smart move.
I should have gone to the press, not just because it would be awesome to have the CEO of Craigslist commenting on my predicament, but because it would have been sooooooooo embarrassing and distressing for Tej, who aspires to maybe go to law school, where she might be semi-interested in doing stuff about human rights. I can only imagine the look on her jowly face fretting about the prospect of her former bosses at the New York City Human Rights Commission opening their morning Daily News and seeing Tej's name in glorious ignonimous print. Kiss that recommendation from that oh-so-valuable Praxis-funded internship goodbye! Why didn't I think of that? Clearly, Anna O'Malley is a sage, and she must also be a real ball-busting bitch to have incurred an enemy serious enough to go the sexual-identity theft-on-Craigslist route. I hereby register my admiration.
Labels: comeuppance, crime and punishment, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Dumb Smith bitches, sexual assault, Tej Offensive, vengeance is sweet
Sunday, December 30, 2007
There's a fine line between Razzyphilia and Razzy Hatred
A while ago, I got an email from some Razzyphile expressing his love and gratitude for yours truly. Okay, it was more like crazy rambling about Tookie Williams and how this guy's fake persona got kicked off Yahoo chat, but I think it was fan mail. At least, "I like your site" was one of the few coherent sentiments expressed in it.
My exclamations of "sha right" became more emphatic as I read his "refreshing ultra right wing opinion" on a variety of news stories. First, he goes off on Muslim women, specifically noting "I just don't care what muslim men do to muslim women. I think they're all dirty little animals and it just doesn't much matter to me what in the hell they do to one another and it seriously bothers me that white americans care."
It seriously bothers ME that you think I would ever link to a site containing sentiments like that. Next, Jaimie decides to express his sentiments on who is responsible for prostitution in whatever part of buttfuck upstate NY he lives in.
Because OF COURSE the hick cops managed to bust only johns of color. Whatever, Jaimie. Anyway, back to Jaimie's favorite subject: making idiotic racial slurs! This time, he hates on the Asians.
Ah, right. "Liberals" are offended by anything that is not an interracial relationship. I guess that explains why I can generally be found doing the nasty with blacks, Latinos, and Jews and NOT "staying with my own kind." Oh, right...I've fucked lots of white guys too. My sexual partners are like Skittles: I taste the rainbow, baby! High five to me!
Anyway, now James decides to demonstrate what a classy guy he is when he wishes he could have gone to a "liberal public school" in order to be molested by a hot teacher who doesn't teach kids how to hate Muslims properly.
And as long we're on the subject of kids complaining about being molested...time for some commentary on pedophile priests, and how their victims are all a bunch of liars!
Wait, you hated the priests but they are the finest people you've ever met? Do the clergy at St. Paul's and Catholic Central hate Muslims too? As always, I'm confused by Jaimie's "object hypocrisy." Anyway, back to hating Islam!
God, no wonder this guy has the cops coming to his house. He can't even walk his dogs without being a total fucking asshole.
Rather than start a pointless war with him, I sent him an e-mail saying that his dog was "kick ass" (the dog is cute, and it's not Jack's fault his owner is a dipshit), but that I strongly disagreed with his political views. I hoped that a succinct e-mail would discourage him from continuing his correspondence with me, and pestering me for a shout-out on my site. Although I am not always the nicest person, people who read my site know that I don't consider racism to be funny or to fall under the heading of "useless bullshit" that people might actually want to read. I would not even link to--and thereby endorse--a site containing nothing but post after post of moronic, knuckle-dragging idiocy, no matter how many times I was complimented or how many pictures of cute dogs I received. If I want to see cute dogs, I can look at the two canines snoring on my bed or couch and skip the paranoid bloviating about Muslims and minorities and liberals and their culpability for all the world's problems.
Unfortunately, this did not discourage Jaimie from writing back. In fact, he decided that he would more directly ask for a shoutout to his site, as well as offer his computer help.
I can't believe that, to top off the meritless rant about "Persons of Color" he just treated me to, he implies that my intelligence is suspect if I don't agree with him and reiterates that he is a "Doctor." Fuck that. Not only am I intelligent enough to question how a man whose MySpace profile lists his highest educational achievement as his high school diploma obtained a doctorate (most likely he bought it online), I'm intelligent enough to realize that when he says his website was "inspired by" mine, he actually meant FLAGRANTLY PLAGIARIZED:
I can't believe this asshole actually had the audacity to beg me for a link when he practically copied what I wrote word-for-word (tweaking it only to dumb it down). Mercifully, Dr. Jaimie didn't follow my lead and put up a picture of himself and his fat wife trying to look sexy, because...yikes. Newsflash: nobody wants to hear about "hot sex" between a pair of racist terrestrial whales. I mean, I'm sure someone out there wants to hear about how Jaimie has to lift his trashy-ass wife's prodigious gunt in order to access her rank, cheesy snatch, or how sexy it is when she peels off his metallic hammer pants and deep-throats all three inches of his chapstick, but it's not me.
I think that even my detractors can agree they'd WAY rather see my pasty ass in a lab coat than see Jaimie and his corpulent wife Lisa do their best "Welcome to our trailer/meth lab, y'all!" routine. Even if they put on normal clothes (hint: vertical stripes make you look thinner), gave Dr. McBride the haircut he so DESPERATELY needs, and touched up Lisa's Ogilvy home perm, I can't imagine that anyone except a true glutton for punishment would want to gaze upon these two for longer than a mere glance. Looking at them for as long as it has taken to write this post has me practically choking on phantom anhydrous ammonia fumes.
Not surprisingly, Jaimie's website has mysteriously vanished from the internets upon my informing him that he should brace his flabby, impotent ass for ignonimy. A word to the unwise: pester me with e-mails expecting me to see the light and agree with your fucking appalling, abysmally stupid, poorly articulated, Aryan Nation-inspired racist rants, and this is what you get. Enjoy being owned by me, douchebag.
From: Jaimie (jaimie@stny.rr.com)I wasn't entirely sure why Jaimie was so proud of "the powers that be" shutting his "completely interactive and highly controversial" site down for pointing out the "object hypocrisy" of hippies or black people or whatever, and I really had no idea how this related to Razzy's Rejects. In my view, there is a big difference between busting on an individual person for being an asshole, and busting on an entire demographic group because a couple of their numbers were assholes. I suppose Dr. James E. McBride felt that I might applaud him for going to such lengths to fuck with whatever dipshits spend their time in Yahoo political chat rooms. I think I probably responded with a terse "thanks", if at all. However, Jaimie was not done reaching out to me. In fact, he was just getting warmed up begging for my attention.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: i like your site
As the powers that be recently suggested I shut my sites down I'm going through a withdrawal kind of thing and took to randomly surfing the net like the other swine. My site was very cool, completely interactive and highly controversial. Mostly I trolled idiocy that is Yahoo Political Chat and promoted my site, just to bust balls. The fast majority of the braying asses on yahoo chat are left wing conspiracy kooks who love The Diversified (LOL(I know you're one of them)) frequently refer to Islam is The Religion of Peace. I was merciless. You know as well as I do how gullible the nitwits in zombieland are.
For all their constant whining and crying and, of course, their object hypocrisy I felt duty bound to give them what they've been asking for all these years... or at least what they deserve. And so like your section fucking with the trolls who hit on you I did much the same thing except my beefs were more politically motivated. Like the fat kid on South Park, I hate hippies. I hate all their anti war bullshit, I have their smugness, I hate the ground they walk on.
But what to do? They're always bitching and whining about our country, the cops, every fucking thing. Like that mass shooting at VT, they whined that the cops weren't aggressive enough yet that drunk cunt at some fucking airport who died in police custody was Police Brutality. The liberals were over joyed when Timothy McVeigh got smoked (as was I) yet when they killed Tookie Williams, it was racist. I think that was when I snapped. Fuck Tookie Williams, you know?
Comes now http://profiles.yahoo.com/wolfgang_hoenicher . Wolfie, as they came to call him (me, duh) was everything they hated in this world. I was an Arch Conservative, seriously, heavily racist White Christian Male, who sometimes dabbled in fagdom (to ward off any chance of boredom coming on. Wolfgang was married to a Serbian refugee named Dragana Strajnic, who sometimes went on line and told tales of torturing muslim children to get information from their parents.
They believed every thing I told them. Everything. I told them I owned two adult bookstores upstate and made a fortune off the closet queens using the loops. I told them I owned three rooming houses in Syracuse having made a deal with NYS Parole rented exclusively to level 2 and 3 sex offenders for $250 a week per offender. They thought my wife's life in girlfriend (dare I wish) was named Lana Damarkov who was from Kiev. Lana got me a job doing the books for the organizatsiya for which they rewarded me with a co-op on Brighton Beach Avenue. I've never been to Brooklyn and my wife was born and raised in upstate NY.
I suppose I'm writing because I like your site and I especially like the meanness of your work. Our sites are much, much different because I attacked whole segments of society while you attack individuals. Alas my sites are gone now and it looks like i'm going to have to lay low for a while, perhaps quite a while.
In any case i have to walk my dog, a beautiful fawn american pitbull, and that's about it. I like your site.
Dr James E McBride
From: Jaimie (jaimie@stny.rr.com)I went to this site, but oddly the link didn't take me to his site proper. Somehow I ended up at his Topix profile, and immediately scoffed audibly at the prospect of posting anything about his dog or linking to his site as he was heavy-handedly hinting he'd like me to do.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: RE: my kick as dog!
here's a kick ass dog!!! i'd freak if you put him on your site. His name is Jack, he's mostly american pitbull with a tiny pit of ridgeback. he'll be a year old on Christmas Day.
http://jaimieandlisa.strangled.net
this is my site which in many ways was inspired by your site. it's really new and i'm just starting to fill it up with useless shit.
My exclamations of "sha right" became more emphatic as I read his "refreshing ultra right wing opinion" on a variety of news stories. First, he goes off on Muslim women, specifically noting "I just don't care what muslim men do to muslim women. I think they're all dirty little animals and it just doesn't much matter to me what in the hell they do to one another and it seriously bothers me that white americans care."
It seriously bothers ME that you think I would ever link to a site containing sentiments like that. Next, Jaimie decides to express his sentiments on who is responsible for prostitution in whatever part of buttfuck upstate NY he lives in.
Because OF COURSE the hick cops managed to bust only johns of color. Whatever, Jaimie. Anyway, back to Jaimie's favorite subject: making idiotic racial slurs! This time, he hates on the Asians.
Ah, right. "Liberals" are offended by anything that is not an interracial relationship. I guess that explains why I can generally be found doing the nasty with blacks, Latinos, and Jews and NOT "staying with my own kind." Oh, right...I've fucked lots of white guys too. My sexual partners are like Skittles: I taste the rainbow, baby! High five to me!
Anyway, now James decides to demonstrate what a classy guy he is when he wishes he could have gone to a "liberal public school" in order to be molested by a hot teacher who doesn't teach kids how to hate Muslims properly.
And as long we're on the subject of kids complaining about being molested...time for some commentary on pedophile priests, and how their victims are all a bunch of liars!
Wait, you hated the priests but they are the finest people you've ever met? Do the clergy at St. Paul's and Catholic Central hate Muslims too? As always, I'm confused by Jaimie's "object hypocrisy." Anyway, back to hating Islam!
God, no wonder this guy has the cops coming to his house. He can't even walk his dogs without being a total fucking asshole.
Rather than start a pointless war with him, I sent him an e-mail saying that his dog was "kick ass" (the dog is cute, and it's not Jack's fault his owner is a dipshit), but that I strongly disagreed with his political views. I hoped that a succinct e-mail would discourage him from continuing his correspondence with me, and pestering me for a shout-out on my site. Although I am not always the nicest person, people who read my site know that I don't consider racism to be funny or to fall under the heading of "useless bullshit" that people might actually want to read. I would not even link to--and thereby endorse--a site containing nothing but post after post of moronic, knuckle-dragging idiocy, no matter how many times I was complimented or how many pictures of cute dogs I received. If I want to see cute dogs, I can look at the two canines snoring on my bed or couch and skip the paranoid bloviating about Muslims and minorities and liberals and their culpability for all the world's problems.
Unfortunately, this did not discourage Jaimie from writing back. In fact, he decided that he would more directly ask for a shoutout to his site, as well as offer his computer help.
From: Jaimie (jaimie@stny.rr.com)Jack is kick ass enough for my site, but sadly, affiliation with dickless, mouth-breathing trash is not. I was relieved I hadn't actually stumbled upon the many political essays he's supposedly posted on the net (likely on account of my not keeping up with various Aryan Nation websites), because those few blurbs on his Topix page were more than enough. I elected not to respond, and hoped that Jaimie would keep busy decorating his double-wide with swastikas and unprovokedly harassing local chicken restaurant owners by ordering pork chops in a clearly halal establishment. I figured that, much like when I'm trying to dodge some overbearing honey who felt that a night of unremarkable jackhammering was tantamount to the beginning of a beautiful relationship, silence is more effective than dialogue. Unfortunately, Jaimie was not going to be so easily deterred.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: RE: my kick as dog!
thanks for calling jack kick ass!!!! as for my political views? did you Google us or something because although I have a great many political essays on the web there's only three on this particular site. I'm planning on doing a piece on Keith Olbermann who I absolutely despise.
I agree we are probably at very different ends of the political spectrum but i really do like the mean spiritedness of your website. Let me ask you something: are you hosting your own server? Which is to say is your site on a commerical server ie some kind of site hosting thing or are you running your own server?
I'm running my own. I have an ibm xseries server and roadrunner t-1 services. the site you apparently viewed (i could check the apache logs but why bother?) is written in php/sql/flash and a little bit of javascript.
If you want any banners or any kind of easy shit let me know and i'll do it for a mere mention in your site, which i think is awesome. My site is lacking in content at this time because the last one got shut down--cops at the house any everything!!!
The the mutts on yahoo chat believed this persona i created over the years and they turned me in. Oh well, i hope you write back because--for some reason--i like you and the site is cool. Is Jack Kick ass enough for your site?
Jaimie
From: Jaimie (jaimie@stny.rr.com)Are you kidding me? You want me to bust on victims of molestation? Clearly, Dr. McBride is not going to leave me alone so long as he thinks I'm at least tolerant of his fucked-up, paranoid, certifiably insane beliefs.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: another catholic schooler
Raz:
I know you think i'm a right wing war monging racist but i have a question.
i note you went to a catholic grammar school. I went all though catholic
school. So did my parents and my kids. I don't have any first hand
information of anyone who ever got molested by a priest. Do You? I think
these mutts with their oh so sad tales are ruining the lives of fine, fine
men because The Church has deep pockets and no balls. What say you razzy?
dr james e mcbride
From: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)Jaimie wrote me back the same day. Rather than get the message that he should just fuck promptly off, he decided to reiterate his hatred for minorities via his old standbys: Tookie Williams and Mumia Abu Jamal. Apparently, "my type" can't see what is obvious to him: blame it on the people of color!
To: Jaimie (jaimie@stny.rr.com)
Subject: RE: another catholic schooler
Listen, Jaimie, I am glad you like my site, but you are right when saying that I do think
you are a racist. I know you have said that this is part of some persona you have
created to ostensibly amuse people, but I don't think there is anything funny about it. I dislike your pervasive use of the term "mutts" (as well as "sandniggers", "gooks", etc.) and I have a hard time believing that behind your internet views, you are anything other than the type of person whose ignorant and backwards views I have grown up despising.
For that reason, I am afraid I cannot link to your site, as, although my site can be
mean-spirited, I don't want people associating my brand of useless bullshit with useless hatemongering. You may consider your views "right wing," but all the ultra conservative people I know would undoubtedly take exception to your placing that label on views that amount to neo-Nazism. To me, your views are abhorrent, and I do not wish to associate myself with them in any way, even peripherally.
And for the record, I don't know anyone who was molested by a priest, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. Most priests are fine, admirable people, but I have no doubt that some of them are pedophile creeps, just as there are some doctors, missionaries, lawyers, judges, teachers, rabbis, politicians, etc. who are pedophile creeps. Sort of like how there are some Muslims who are terrorists, but the majority of them are fine, admirable people and not deserving of the vitriol you reserve for them as a large group. Take Timothy McVeigh, a white American who also turned out to be a terrorist that despicably killed hundreds of innocent people.
Those are my thoughts, "Doctor."
Razzy
From: Jaimie (jaimie@stny.rr.com)Well, that does it. I can't sit idly by while this witless loser attempts to pathetically engage me in what his dumb ass probably considers an intellectual debate and what I consider an exercise in futility. This asshole will never get the point that virtually every racial, cultural, or religious demographic has its share of detestable pricks, but most human beings are decent and don't deserve to be judged by the acts of a few bad apples. I also find that arguing with monumentally stupid people is tiring, and arguing with monumentally stupid people who think they are smart (to the point of calling oneself "Doctor" to enhance his faux academic mystique) is nothing less than a waste of my valuable time.
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Subject: RE: another catholic schooler
it's not at all remarkable that you'd mention McVeigh. your type always does. You are aware that we executed McVeigh i assume and there wasn't a whole lot of FREE MCVEIGH when we, as a society, gave him the gas. Remember when we executed Tookie Williams? Every liberal in the country was whining, exactly as they're whining now about that other murderous hump Mumia Abu Jamal. I wonder why that is, eh? Do you think it's because they're Persons of Color?
Look at the illegal immigration deal. Remember in May when all the illegals marched and whined and cried and told their sad tales to Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson? Did you by chance notice there weren't a whole lot of white faces in those crowds? My wife has a whole lot of relatives in Brighton Beach. I have a lot of relatives in Winter Hill and Southie. Something tells me that not all the people in those neighborhoods have their paperwork in order either yet you didn't see them not going to work and waving Irish and Russian flags now do you?
Nope. It's always Persons of Color who make all the noise and do all the whining. You're an intelligent woman and you have to realize that i'm right and i am, after all a doctor....
Dr James E McBride
I can't believe that, to top off the meritless rant about "Persons of Color" he just treated me to, he implies that my intelligence is suspect if I don't agree with him and reiterates that he is a "Doctor." Fuck that. Not only am I intelligent enough to question how a man whose MySpace profile lists his highest educational achievement as his high school diploma obtained a doctorate (most likely he bought it online), I'm intelligent enough to realize that when he says his website was "inspired by" mine, he actually meant FLAGRANTLY PLAGIARIZED:
I can't believe this asshole actually had the audacity to beg me for a link when he practically copied what I wrote word-for-word (tweaking it only to dumb it down). Mercifully, Dr. Jaimie didn't follow my lead and put up a picture of himself and his fat wife trying to look sexy, because...yikes. Newsflash: nobody wants to hear about "hot sex" between a pair of racist terrestrial whales. I mean, I'm sure someone out there wants to hear about how Jaimie has to lift his trashy-ass wife's prodigious gunt in order to access her rank, cheesy snatch, or how sexy it is when she peels off his metallic hammer pants and deep-throats all three inches of his chapstick, but it's not me.
Not surprisingly, Jaimie's website has mysteriously vanished from the internets upon my informing him that he should brace his flabby, impotent ass for ignonimy. A word to the unwise: pester me with e-mails expecting me to see the light and agree with your fucking appalling, abysmally stupid, poorly articulated, Aryan Nation-inspired racist rants, and this is what you get. Enjoy being owned by me, douchebag.
Labels: comeuppance, correspondence, crazies, ranting, Razzy Haters, Razzyphiles, retard rage, scathing indictments, small penises, terror, you're ugly
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Man is not made for defeat, but I just might be
My favorite author Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "Man can be destroyed but not defeated." Unfortunately, it seems that the opposite is true with women, because yesterday while my utter destruction did not occur, I assuredly was defeated thanks to the Miami Dolphins' failure to beat the New England Patriots as I had predicted. Thus Benzo won the bet I made with him concerning whether the Dolphins would stop the Pats from having a perfect season, and I now have to pay up.
Well, I never let my mouth write a check my ass--or in this case, my tits--can't cash and I'm about to make good on the terms of this wager. If you recall, I promised to post topless photos of myself with "Patriots Rule" written on my cans, and to write an excessive post describing the Patriots' awesomeness in graphic detail. I'll do just that, with one exception. My boobs are going to have to say "Pats Rule" instead of "Patriots Rule," as my rack just isn't big enough to spell out "Patriots" on my right breast backwards in cocksucker red lipstick. Furthermore, I am currently at my parents' house for the holidays, and I don't want to be answering any pesky questions about why I have red lipstick all over my shit later today when the family gathers together to attend Christmas mass. Bare breasts posted on the internets have to be kept on the low here at casa de Razzy. However, I'm sure this will still be satisfactory to Benzo and all the other Patriots fans who have been eagerly lining up for a glimpse of my combined hot set of jugs and my ignonimous loss of dignity. Enjoy.
The New England Patriots are the greatest football team in the AFC, and ALMOST the greatest team in the entire National Football League (the greatest team being, of course, the vaunted Seattle Seahawks, but that's for another posting). They have won three Super Bowls in the past five years, and will without a doubt win a fourth (unless, of course, they play the aforementioned Seahawks, in which case it will be a battle more epic than the Trojan War which the Pats will just BARELY lose). The Patriots will have a perfect 16-0 season this year, and will lay waste to the AFC as they march toward Super Bowl XLII with the same merciless fury as General Sherman marching to Atlanta, leaving nothing but flames and ruin in their wake.
Why are the Patriots so amazing, you ask? For starters, their personnel are a bunch of true professionals with exceptional football ability. As Bengals right tackle Willie Anderson once said of the Pats, "They're grown men who take football seriously." This is true. Even Randy Moss, who once had all sorts of behavioral problems, including but by no means limited to squirting officials he didn't agree with, claiming to play only when he wanted to, and running over a meter maid with his tricked-out Lexus, has behaved like the consummate professional now that he's in his New England uniform. Yesterday, he demonstrated once again how far he has come when he caught two touchdowns to help the Pats rout the Dolphins 28-7 (thus precipitating this article).
Which brings me to the guy throwing those touchdown passes: the rugged, chiseled granite block of macho stud known as Tom Brady. Fueled by a limitless supply of Stetson cologne, extreme self-confidence, virile face stubble, and supermodel pussy, he is an unstoppable offensive force capable of adjusting to almost any scenario he might face. He can complete a pass to Randy Moss in triple coverage as easily as he can spread the ball out to Wes Welker, or he can pitch it to Laurence Maroney. Either way, he does what he has to do, and the Patriots just roll all over everyone. Tom Brady is so good that even if Patriots forgot to send out the other ten players on their offense, he could singlehandedly destroy whatever hapless opponent unlucky enough to be facing him. Then he'd onside kick to himself, and play an all-offense game, and basically own everyone.
I should add that Tom Brady is really hot. He's so hot that he could turn the Reverend Fred Phelps gay. He's so hot that Al Gore has cited him along with petroleum and Freon coolants as a primary cause of global warming. He's so hot that even in December, Gillette Stadium feels like it is in south Florida rather than Foxborough, Assachusetts. When he played for Michigan, Tom Brady kept the sidelines warm and toasty with his smoldering caloric output. It's no wonder he's always getting top shelf ass. Probably even the hookers he cheats on Gisele with are ridiculously good-looking. In physics, magnetic intensity is expressed by the equation J=moM, and when applied to the square-jawed Mr. Brady, where M (magnetisation) corresponds to his physical attractiveness and mo (permeability) represents the extent to which women will notice him, then solving for J as a measure of his pussy magnetism results in an off-the-chart quantity of Teslas.
And speaking of pussy magnets, let me take a minute to wax poetic about Bill Belichick. Coach Belichick has mastered the art of inexplicable sexiness. He is the kind of tight-lipped guy who never reveals much of anything and makes everyone wonder what exactly is going on beneath that taciturn, curt-yet-obtuse facade. You won't be seeing any Coors Light commercials with Coach Belichick in them anytime soon since, unlike Dennis Green, Bill Parcells, or Jim Mora, Sr., the most emotion you get out of him in a press conference is "We're moving on from the Jets game. Anyone have a question about the Chargers? Let's talk about playing the Chargers." He's the strong, silent type, and I think any woman can agree with the hotness of that. Furthermore, anyone who doesn't like the Patriots (ie: yours truly) just really wants to hate fuck him hard. I'd be like, "I'll give you something illegal to videotape, baby," and then make him leave his pungent, unwashed, cutoff sweatshirt on while I ride him like a triple crown jockey. Those quiet types always end up being really hot in the sack.
Besides, I have to give Belichick and the Pats' front office credit for making some quality decisions off the field. Not only is Belichick a great coach in the sense that he keeps his team focused, on task, and doesn't distract them with a bunch of antics in the media, I continue to be astounded by the foresight of the Pats' decisions. For example, even though they lost their 2008 first-round draft pick due to the whole Spygate business, they still have San Francisco's from a deal they made in 2006. And the Pats managed to acquire a little player named Randy Moss from the Raiders for a fourth-round draft pick, they used on John Bowie. Good going, Oakland; that was a fair deal. I'm sure Bowie is really keeping receivers honest when they play the Raiders' practice squad.
Now, if I were to go off on the Pats' defense, I could be writing all day. However, since it is my Lord and Savior's birthday, I have some important Christian business to attend to (wearing my new Julian Peterson jersey and napping in front of the special edition Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix currently showing on my parents' flatscreen. Therefore, I'll just start wrapping this up now. I think I've paid my dues and hopefully all the anti-Patriots smack I've been talking has been remedied and I've been sufficiently shamed.
In conclusion, I would like to note that my ex-boyfriend Benzo is right about everything having to do with the dominance of the New England Patriots. This is what I get for making bets against the man who originally taught me about football: I was totally schooled, yet again. Thus I lose some face, and Benzo is once again vindicated concerning the inherent glorious awesomeness of the Patriots. Benzo (and every other Pats-loving New Englander I've ever boned) probably would like nothing better under their Christmas trees than my smack-talking ass topless and thoroughly humbled. Well, as Benzo is Jewish, he probably doesn't care about my unwrapped tits being under an actual Jesus-vagina-ejection-commemorating Christmas tree, but you get the point.
Well, I never let my mouth write a check my ass--or in this case, my tits--can't cash and I'm about to make good on the terms of this wager. If you recall, I promised to post topless photos of myself with "Patriots Rule" written on my cans, and to write an excessive post describing the Patriots' awesomeness in graphic detail. I'll do just that, with one exception. My boobs are going to have to say "Pats Rule" instead of "Patriots Rule," as my rack just isn't big enough to spell out "Patriots" on my right breast backwards in cocksucker red lipstick. Furthermore, I am currently at my parents' house for the holidays, and I don't want to be answering any pesky questions about why I have red lipstick all over my shit later today when the family gathers together to attend Christmas mass. Bare breasts posted on the internets have to be kept on the low here at casa de Razzy. However, I'm sure this will still be satisfactory to Benzo and all the other Patriots fans who have been eagerly lining up for a glimpse of my combined hot set of jugs and my ignonimous loss of dignity. Enjoy.
WHY THE PATRIOTS ARE AWESOME
By Razzy
The New England Patriots are the greatest football team in the AFC, and ALMOST the greatest team in the entire National Football League (the greatest team being, of course, the vaunted Seattle Seahawks, but that's for another posting). They have won three Super Bowls in the past five years, and will without a doubt win a fourth (unless, of course, they play the aforementioned Seahawks, in which case it will be a battle more epic than the Trojan War which the Pats will just BARELY lose). The Patriots will have a perfect 16-0 season this year, and will lay waste to the AFC as they march toward Super Bowl XLII with the same merciless fury as General Sherman marching to Atlanta, leaving nothing but flames and ruin in their wake.
Why are the Patriots so amazing, you ask? For starters, their personnel are a bunch of true professionals with exceptional football ability. As Bengals right tackle Willie Anderson once said of the Pats, "They're grown men who take football seriously." This is true. Even Randy Moss, who once had all sorts of behavioral problems, including but by no means limited to squirting officials he didn't agree with, claiming to play only when he wanted to, and running over a meter maid with his tricked-out Lexus, has behaved like the consummate professional now that he's in his New England uniform. Yesterday, he demonstrated once again how far he has come when he caught two touchdowns to help the Pats rout the Dolphins 28-7 (thus precipitating this article).
Which brings me to the guy throwing those touchdown passes: the rugged, chiseled granite block of macho stud known as Tom Brady. Fueled by a limitless supply of Stetson cologne, extreme self-confidence, virile face stubble, and supermodel pussy, he is an unstoppable offensive force capable of adjusting to almost any scenario he might face. He can complete a pass to Randy Moss in triple coverage as easily as he can spread the ball out to Wes Welker, or he can pitch it to Laurence Maroney. Either way, he does what he has to do, and the Patriots just roll all over everyone. Tom Brady is so good that even if Patriots forgot to send out the other ten players on their offense, he could singlehandedly destroy whatever hapless opponent unlucky enough to be facing him. Then he'd onside kick to himself, and play an all-offense game, and basically own everyone.
I should add that Tom Brady is really hot. He's so hot that he could turn the Reverend Fred Phelps gay. He's so hot that Al Gore has cited him along with petroleum and Freon coolants as a primary cause of global warming. He's so hot that even in December, Gillette Stadium feels like it is in south Florida rather than Foxborough, Assachusetts. When he played for Michigan, Tom Brady kept the sidelines warm and toasty with his smoldering caloric output. It's no wonder he's always getting top shelf ass. Probably even the hookers he cheats on Gisele with are ridiculously good-looking. In physics, magnetic intensity is expressed by the equation J=moM, and when applied to the square-jawed Mr. Brady, where M (magnetisation) corresponds to his physical attractiveness and mo (permeability) represents the extent to which women will notice him, then solving for J as a measure of his pussy magnetism results in an off-the-chart quantity of Teslas.
And speaking of pussy magnets, let me take a minute to wax poetic about Bill Belichick. Coach Belichick has mastered the art of inexplicable sexiness. He is the kind of tight-lipped guy who never reveals much of anything and makes everyone wonder what exactly is going on beneath that taciturn, curt-yet-obtuse facade. You won't be seeing any Coors Light commercials with Coach Belichick in them anytime soon since, unlike Dennis Green, Bill Parcells, or Jim Mora, Sr., the most emotion you get out of him in a press conference is "We're moving on from the Jets game. Anyone have a question about the Chargers? Let's talk about playing the Chargers." He's the strong, silent type, and I think any woman can agree with the hotness of that. Furthermore, anyone who doesn't like the Patriots (ie: yours truly) just really wants to hate fuck him hard. I'd be like, "I'll give you something illegal to videotape, baby," and then make him leave his pungent, unwashed, cutoff sweatshirt on while I ride him like a triple crown jockey. Those quiet types always end up being really hot in the sack.
Besides, I have to give Belichick and the Pats' front office credit for making some quality decisions off the field. Not only is Belichick a great coach in the sense that he keeps his team focused, on task, and doesn't distract them with a bunch of antics in the media, I continue to be astounded by the foresight of the Pats' decisions. For example, even though they lost their 2008 first-round draft pick due to the whole Spygate business, they still have San Francisco's from a deal they made in 2006. And the Pats managed to acquire a little player named Randy Moss from the Raiders for a fourth-round draft pick, they used on John Bowie. Good going, Oakland; that was a fair deal. I'm sure Bowie is really keeping receivers honest when they play the Raiders' practice squad.
Now, if I were to go off on the Pats' defense, I could be writing all day. However, since it is my Lord and Savior's birthday, I have some important Christian business to attend to (wearing my new Julian Peterson jersey and napping in front of the special edition Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix currently showing on my parents' flatscreen. Therefore, I'll just start wrapping this up now. I think I've paid my dues and hopefully all the anti-Patriots smack I've been talking has been remedied and I've been sufficiently shamed.
In conclusion, I would like to note that my ex-boyfriend Benzo is right about everything having to do with the dominance of the New England Patriots. This is what I get for making bets against the man who originally taught me about football: I was totally schooled, yet again. Thus I lose some face, and Benzo is once again vindicated concerning the inherent glorious awesomeness of the Patriots. Benzo (and every other Pats-loving New Englander I've ever boned) probably would like nothing better under their Christmas trees than my smack-talking ass topless and thoroughly humbled. Well, as Benzo is Jewish, he probably doesn't care about my unwrapped tits being under an actual Jesus-vagina-ejection-commemorating Christmas tree, but you get the point.
Merry Christmas, Patriots fans. We 12th Men will see you in the Super Bowl.
Labels: Assachusetts, Benzo, comeuppance, fuck the Pats, hot dudes, NFL football, nudity, sportsmen
Friday, December 21, 2007
GO DOLPHINS!
This Sunday, several epic battles will be decided via the greatest sport ever: football, and no, I don't mean bitch-ass soccer. First, I am going to get the $300 I justly deserve for laying waste to the other fools in the Columbia Ballers Fantasy League when I destroy the Js and the Ps in C-Ballers Bowl V. While that will be satisfying and while the cash will buy this alcoholic bitch a lot of Heineken, even more awesome will be when I win a little gentlemen's wager I made with my ex-boyfriend Benzo who is both a native of Assachusetts and a die-hard New England Patriots fan (like every other Pats supporter, he's been a hardcore fan since 2001). This wager concerns the impending epic week 16 battle between the 1-13 Miami Dolphins and the 14-0 Patriots:
I predicted that the Dolphins will beat the Patriots this Sunday, thus ensuring that they remain the only team in the Super Bowl era with a perfect record. I think this is even more likely now that Miami is coming off their first triumphant win of the season last week. They are primed and ready to keep the winning streak alive! Look at how fired up Joey Porter is in spite of his absolutely hideous countenance! He's ready to lay some bitches out in Foxborough. Benzo scoffed at me, as did every other New England-loving Masshole who heard of this. "Miami doesn't play well late in the season on the road," they say. "Ricky Williams is out," they say (because Ricky Williams has done SO much besides smoke pot, do yoga, and sit on his hippie ass the last few years...who cares?). "Cleo Lemon is starting," they say. I say "SO FUCKING WHAT?" back. Stranger things have happened in the NFL. My prediction about Jessica Simpson ruining Tony Romo was correct, and like the Dolphins, I'm gearing up for a big old winning streak!
Anyway, since the terms of this wager will be borne out on the blogosphere, here's what you all have to look forward to.
GO RAZZY!
If I win this bet, Benzo has to not only buy me large volumes of scotch, he will have to take a picture of himself holding one sign that says "PATRIOTS SUCK" and another that says one of the following (totally true) statements:
1. BELICHICK SUCKS DICK
2. BRADY SUCKS DICK
3. BOB KRAFT SUCKS DICK
4. PATRIOTS CHEAT
This picture will then be posted on this very blog, along with a lot of gloating sentiments from me. I tried to also make him wear a Yankees cap and stuff his junk between his legs Buffalo Bill-style as a revolting shot at the tuck rule, but he drew the line at doing those things. Oh well. I guess I'll take free scotch and the satisfaction of seeing Benzo implying that one of his Hatriot idols is exceptionally competent at fellatio.
GO BENZO!
If the Patriots win for Benzo, then I will take a picture of myself topless with "PATRIOTS RULE" written on my tits. I will also write a lengthy blog posting to accompany said photo extolling the Patriots' many virtues and discussing their excellent prospects for continued domination without any sarcasm. I will subsequently tolerate any comments from pro-Assachusetts bastards rubbing in how great the Patriots are. On that post, anyway.
But like that's going to happen. I'm already looking forward to the drinks Benzo will be buying me, as well as seeing his handsome rosy-cheeked visage holding a sign that says, "BELICHICK SUCKS DICK." Prepare to be owned, Benzo.
Anyway, since the terms of this wager will be borne out on the blogosphere, here's what you all have to look forward to.
GO RAZZY!
If I win this bet, Benzo has to not only buy me large volumes of scotch, he will have to take a picture of himself holding one sign that says "PATRIOTS SUCK" and another that says one of the following (totally true) statements:
1. BELICHICK SUCKS DICK
2. BRADY SUCKS DICK
3. BOB KRAFT SUCKS DICK
4. PATRIOTS CHEAT
This picture will then be posted on this very blog, along with a lot of gloating sentiments from me. I tried to also make him wear a Yankees cap and stuff his junk between his legs Buffalo Bill-style as a revolting shot at the tuck rule, but he drew the line at doing those things. Oh well. I guess I'll take free scotch and the satisfaction of seeing Benzo implying that one of his Hatriot idols is exceptionally competent at fellatio.
GO BENZO!
If the Patriots win for Benzo, then I will take a picture of myself topless with "PATRIOTS RULE" written on my tits. I will also write a lengthy blog posting to accompany said photo extolling the Patriots' many virtues and discussing their excellent prospects for continued domination without any sarcasm. I will subsequently tolerate any comments from pro-Assachusetts bastards rubbing in how great the Patriots are. On that post, anyway.
But like that's going to happen. I'm already looking forward to the drinks Benzo will be buying me, as well as seeing his handsome rosy-cheeked visage holding a sign that says, "BELICHICK SUCKS DICK." Prepare to be owned, Benzo.
Labels: Assachusetts, Benzo, comeuppance, Fantasia, fuck the Pats, intentional buffoonery, NFL football, Razzification