Monday, September 08, 2008
The Lord's day
Many people spend their Sundays in church. They put on their finery and get up early and head to their sacred space of choice for a day of prayer. While I'm a CEO Catholic (Christmas-Easter only), that doesn't mean I don't observe the same tradition of Sunday worshipfulness, except my Sunday best is a Lofa Tatupu jersey, my church of choice is called Josie Wood's Pub, and my religion is the National Football League. I may be a heretical Catholic for cheating on my spiritual faith with a professional sports league, but football is worth the time I might spend in purgatory for that. Anyway, chances are I'm headed for the big brimstone bath downstairs what with all my fornication and abortion-having and eating meat of Fridays in Lent and partial gayness, so skipping Mass for football is basically a no-brainer.
Yesterday, I felt like it was Christmas morning. I woke up early, cruised down to the Village, and was seated at my usual table at my usual football bar by 12:15, catching up with what all the other regulars were up to during the off-season. Then all my boys showed up by the time the 1 pm game started, which was very exciting because my buddy G-Cat is a Bills fan (he showed up in a Lee Evans jersey he claims to have "pulled from the clearance bin"), and that's who the Seahawks were playing. I was busy alternately shit-talking G-Cat and shit-texting another Bills fan in our Fantasy league while I watched the unfortunate manner in which that game unfolded (the Seahawks played like shit overall, Julius Jones can lick my twat because he's sure not doing it for me on the football field so he may as well make himself useful otherwise, and our lack of decent receivers has never been more glaringly obvious), when something amazing happened.
On another TV nearby, the Patriots were playing the Chiefs. Suddenly, the bar erupted in cheers of approval and excitement directed at that television. I turned my attention away from the Bills-Seahawks game and saw a beautiful sight: Mr. Perfect himself, Tom Brady, writhing around on the field clutching his knee and screaming.
Now, while I'm usually not inclined to wish severe, potentially crippling injury on anyone, I have no problem whatsoever doing this on my football enemies. Of those enemies, the ones who draw the vast majority of my evil thoughts are those wearing either a Patriots or a Pittsburgh Steelers uniform. While not everyone is as pissed about Super Bowl XL as I am, almost everyone in New York (and anywhere not in New England) can relate to my anti-Pats sentiments. The mood in Josie Wood's was one of decided elation, save the one dour-looking guy in a Randy Moss jersey and my conundrum of a friend NeisMan, a Giants fan wearing a Jet Favre jersey who stocked his entire Fantasy team with Patriots, including Mr. Perfect. He was so distraught by Brady's injury that in addition to probably frantically attempting to acquire Matt Cassel from the waiver wire, he changed his team name from "Mora's Patriots" to ":-(" in order to better reflect his prospects for Fantasy dominance this season. I got a text from a friend who had been battling the flu and advised me as to his recovery: "I'm somewhat better but mostly because I got to hear Tom Brady screaming in pain. That warmed my evil heart. I mean, he was shrieking like a goddamn woman. It was magnificent."
Now, while I'm usually not inclined to wish severe, potentially crippling injury on anyone, I have no problem whatsoever doing this on my football enemies. Of those enemies, the ones who draw the vast majority of my evil thoughts are those wearing either a Patriots or a Pittsburgh Steelers uniform. While not everyone is as pissed about Super Bowl XL as I am, almost everyone in New York (and anywhere not in New England) can relate to my anti-Pats sentiments. The mood in Josie Wood's was one of decided elation, save the one dour-looking guy in a Randy Moss jersey and my conundrum of a friend NeisMan, a Giants fan wearing a Jet Favre jersey who stocked his entire Fantasy team with Patriots, including Mr. Perfect. He was so distraught by Brady's injury that in addition to probably frantically attempting to acquire Matt Cassel from the waiver wire, he changed his team name from "Mora's Patriots" to ":-(" in order to better reflect his prospects for Fantasy dominance this season. I got a text from a friend who had been battling the flu and advised me as to his recovery: "I'm somewhat better but mostly because I got to hear Tom Brady screaming in pain. That warmed my evil heart. I mean, he was shrieking like a goddamn woman. It was magnificent."
It was indeed magnificent, and most of New York also thought so. According to the New York Times' (lame and boring) NFL Blog, the entire crowd at the Times Square ESPN Zone "roared with delight" when Brady's season bit the dust. The author wonders why, and says that "saying the Patriots are rivals of the Jets, and, to a lesser extent, the Giants is not a great excuse." Sounds like a fine enough excuse to me. In fact, the Patriots are rivals of EVERY team in the NFL to a certain degree, since we all were rooting for those insufferably arrogant cheaters to get their richly deserved karmic due. I've hated them so blindly and irrationally that I made a foolish bet with my Pats-praising ex-boyfriend, which resulted in my total humiliation on the internets last Christmas. Most of the country took great pleasure watching them lose Super Bowl XLII, and I get an extra special thrill of delight thinking of the five spectacular sacks the New York Football Giants' linebackers and defensive tackles laid on his prissy golden ass. I still get just a little bit hot when I hear Chris Berman describe the 2007 Patriots season as "historic but imperfect," so watching the Patriots' icon of vain dickheadery go down in a blaze of girlish screaming is, to say the least, extremely satisfying.
Even though it's little consolation knowing that Brady's going to spend the next year off "rehabbing" (running around in J. Crew turtlenecks and banging Gisele), and Belichick will probably not say a word about Brady's injury and just list him as questionable for the rest of the season, I can't help but laugh with great joy and mirth at this new downturn in the Pats' fortunes. If Sunday football is my religion, then I am shouting "Halle-fucking-lujah!" and "Praise Cheese-sauce!" at the top of my lungs, because I just witnessed the divine at work in Kansas City.
Labels: Fantasia, fuck the Pats, I LOVE IT, NFL football, sportsmen
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
By popular demand
Except by "popular" I mean one person requested that I put an anti-Patriots slogan on my tits to commemorate their historic 18-1 season and Super Bowl XLII loss. Besides, it's Mardi Gras, and exposing one's breasts is a time-honored tradition.
Unfortunately, this didn't work out quite as well as the time I wrote pro-Pats slogans on my cans (because I lost a bet, not because I wanted to support the bastardly Patriots), because of a variable I didn't have to contend with when I took those photos over Christmas at my parents' house: CHINGY! As you can see by the splotches, he became very interested in the red lipstick all over my girls and noticed I was taking pictures. Apparently desiring to put the "fat" in "fat Tuesday," he wiggled under my left arm, smearing lipstick everywhere. He currently looks like he has some horrible wound on his side because there is a giant streak of cocksucker red on his fawn fur. Whether he did this just to disrupt my blogging or because he secretly loves the Pats (and as Chingy! is a grade-A fucking asshole, that wouldn't surprise me), I don't know, but anyway. I have to get to lab so I don't have time to redo it. Enjoy the boobs.
CHONGAY CHONG, Patriots losing and Razzy titty shots!
Unfortunately, this didn't work out quite as well as the time I wrote pro-Pats slogans on my cans (because I lost a bet, not because I wanted to support the bastardly Patriots), because of a variable I didn't have to contend with when I took those photos over Christmas at my parents' house: CHINGY! As you can see by the splotches, he became very interested in the red lipstick all over my girls and noticed I was taking pictures. Apparently desiring to put the "fat" in "fat Tuesday," he wiggled under my left arm, smearing lipstick everywhere. He currently looks like he has some horrible wound on his side because there is a giant streak of cocksucker red on his fawn fur. Whether he did this just to disrupt my blogging or because he secretly loves the Pats (and as Chingy! is a grade-A fucking asshole, that wouldn't surprise me), I don't know, but anyway. I have to get to lab so I don't have time to redo it. Enjoy the boobs.
CHONGAY CHONG, Patriots losing and Razzy titty shots!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, fuck the Pats, NFL football, nudity
Monday, February 04, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the New York Giants
DOB: 1925
Occupation: Super Bowl champions
Hometown: New York, New York
Current residence: East Rutherford, New Jersey
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Usually, I reserve a special place for the Giants as the butt of many jokes about the NFL, and particularly for their quarterback, Eli "Fetal Alcohol Syndrome" Manning. FAS Manning's mouth-breathing appearance of country-fried stupidity and frequent bouts of turnover-yielding inconsistency provide a virtually limitless supply of fodder for mockery.
However, that has all changed now after yesterday's Super Bowl. Apart from his constant expression of slack-jawed bemusement, I could find nothing substantial about FAS to criticize. In the last minute of the game, FAS broke a tackle for probably the first time in his life only to throw what turned out to be a truly spectacular catch by David Tyree. Then he threw a touchdown to the hotness that is my former fantasy wide receiver Plaxico Burress to win the game. Plax started crying to Terry Bradshaw after the game, and I was deeply moved. I've now decided that my firstborn will be named Plaxico Mack Strong D'Brickashaw Rasmussen (I know it's probably bad to have a kid named after a Giant and a Jet, but I've been hot for D'Brickashaw Ferguson since he came on the scene with his awesome name. Also, I can't omit Mack Strong because he's the greatest fullback in NFL history, and that is no joke...I wept bitter tears when he retired). Any subsequent children I bear will be named after the Giants' defensive line, because they did a hell of a job, too. Granted, my kids will probably be annoyed when their friends make fun of them for being named things like Tuck Strahan Rasmussen and Kawika Alford Rasmussen, but that's their problem. They should be more worried about the fact that they all have my last name because they're undoubtedly all going to be bastards of dubious paternity.
This was the greatest Super Bowl in a long time, and the Giants deserved to win it. They all showed up to play. This win was worth it, if not just to see the hateful Hatriots lose, but to see FAS Manning's inarticulate primal victory bawl juxtaposed with his championship-t-shirt-over-pads post-game interview costume. I won't talk shit about the Giants anymore. At least, not until next season when I'll probably get saddled with FAS as my fantasy quarterback and get dangerously enraged with every week as he takes me farther from my dream of doing a Patriots-like dynasty in the Columbia Ballers Fantasy League. Or, alternatively, if I am lucky enough not to have FAS leading Tha Razzies' offense, I'll just hate all the commercials starring FAS that we'll probably be inundated with. Last night on Sportscenter, one of the dudes said, "You know what's next for Eli? CUT. THAT. MEAT! CUT. THAT. MEAT!" I think that's an unfortunately accurate prediction, and I'm already shuddering with the annoyance I'll experience once FAS starts getting as much commercial airplay as his obnoxious big brother Peyton.
Oh well. At least I'll savor the Giants' glorious victory and the Patriots' shameful defeat for a few sweet months before the tide of my favor turns in eight months when football season begins anew. Yay, Giants!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, fuck the Mannings, fuck the Pats, hot dudes, I LOVE IT, NFL football
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
Friday, February 01, 2008
Daily Douchebag: the New England Patriots...AGAIN
DOB: 1960, but the modern era of the Patriot scourge began in 2000 when Bill Belichick signed on as head coach
Occupation: existing as the most hateworthy team in the history of professional football next to the 2005 Shitsburgh Stealers
Hometown: Boston, Assachusetts
Current residence: Glendale, Arizona
Douchebaggery: I HATE THE FUCKING PATRIOTS SO GODDAMN MUCH! I really, really, deeply, wholeheartedly LOATHE them. All season I've been channeling as much negative energy in their direction as possible. They continued to dominate. I've douchebagged them on my blog. They kept winning. I've talked all sorts of smack to every Pats fan that has crossed my path. They won and bragged about it. I made an ill-advised wager on the Patriots-Dolphins game in week 16 that resulted in my public humiliation. Ultimately I threw a few Hail Marys of my own in the form of prayers to Jesus, Mary, God the Father, the Holy Spirit, and every saint I could think of to intervene and teach them some humility. The Pats had a perfect season. Not even Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, could hook a bitch up with a solitary Pats loss. And now those assholes are going to the Super Bowl.
I hate the insufferably obnoxious Patriots fans, who are right up there with Yankees fans for me. I hate everyone affiliated with the team in any way. I hate Bill Belichick's unethical, taciturn, slovenly ass. I hate Tom Brady, I hate Randy Moss, I hate Tedy Bruschi, I hate Stephen Gostkowski, I hate Mike Vrabel, I hate Rodney Harrison, and I even hate Junior Seau! I hate Bob Kraft and I hate Scott Pioli and I hate Pat Patriot and I even hate the cheerleaders! I HATE THEM ALL! Why? I don't even really know. I just know that I do.
Obviously, come Sunday I will be rooting for the Giants. This will be challenging for me, because while I don't hate the Giants with the same vitriolic gusto that I reserve for the Patriots, Colts, and Stealers, the Giants have historically been one of my go-to teams for mocking. Encouraging Eli Manning to be sharp, perceptive, and awesome goes against my instinct for having fun at his Fetal Alcohol Syndrome-having expense. This ambivalence is reflected here in a recent Gchat I had with LL Cool Jew:
LL Cool Jew: don't mean to interrupt you again but i had to share this tidbit from the nyt story on eli manning and his upbringing:It goes against everything natural in my world to wish success on a member of the Manning family, but I will root for FAS and love every minute that I see his slack-jawed dullard face so long as he runs up the score against the Patriots. The Pats MUST lose! The amount of aggressive arrogance that will emerge from New England if they actually win the Super Bowl could well be powerful enough to destroy the entire planet.
LL Cool Jew: It was not the first time Manning and his mother had bonded over stories. Long before he learned to read defenses, Manning struggled to decipher Dr. Seuss. “I had trouble reading,” he said.
LL Cool Jew: what a surprise.
LL Cool Jew: xoxo
Razzy: PRICELESS
Razzy: classic FAS
LL Cool Jew: how hilarious is it
LL Cool Jew: he scored a 39 out of 50 on the Wonderlic test
LL Cool Jew: which i just took
LL Cool Jew: and scored 100percent on in less than 5 minutes
Razzy: LOL
LL Cool Jew: even with my weak quantitative skills dude
Razzy: that is AWESOME
LL Cool Jew: have you taken it? it is SO DUMB
Razzy: what's wonderlics, precious, eh?
LL Cool Jew: it's apparently the intelligence test the nfl administers to draft prospects!
LL Cool Jew: how about peyton scored 11 points LOWER THAN ELI
Razzy: are you kidding????
LL Cool Jew: that's what the nyt article said!!
Razzy: how did i not know about this?
LL Cool Jew: i'm not sure!
Razzy: dude i'm bringing this up from now on EVERY TIME someone is like "peyton manning has such a sharp mind"
[Two minutes later]
Razzy: dewd i just scored 100% on the wonderlic test in less than 2 minutes
Razzy: i'm so much smarter than brian griese
Razzy: and both bros manning
Razzy: combined
LL Cool Jew: omg right??
Razzy: dude i should be a nfl QB
Razzy: too bad i'm not a boy :(
Razzy: i'm even smarter than steve young and dan marino
Razzy: and brett favre and drew bledsoe
LL Cool Jew: i take it you took teh test
LL Cool Jew: it's amazing these people can't answer these kinds of questions.
Razzy: oh yes
Razzy: 50, baby!
Razzy: i'm used to taking harder IQ tests
Razzy: this is like easier than the SAT
LL Cool Jew: i know!
LL Cool Jew: even I could do it1
Razzy: brett favre only got a 22
LL Cool Jew: that is so mississippi dude
Razzy: HA marcus vick, michael's bro, scored ELEVEN
LL Cool Jew: how is that even possible
LL Cool Jew: you have to not even try
LL Cool Jew: the wonderlic.
LL Cool Jew: hilarity
Razzy: it's pathetic dude
Razzy: but it proves you don't have to be smart to succeed as a nfl qb
Razzy: and smarts don't guarantee good performance on field
Razzy: cases in point:
Razzy: alex smith
Razzy: jp losman
Razzy: joey harrington scored in the high 30s
Razzy: meanwhile, david garrard got a whopping 14
LL Cool Jew: yeah, and who the f are they
LL Cool Jew: they ain't leaders of men, that's for sure
Razzy: don't forget sage rosenfels with 32
Razzy: (rosenfels=i think he's a jew!)
Razzy: michael vick=20
Razzy: i'm surprised it's that high
Razzy: arrrgh, tom brady did comparatively well at 33
Razzy: hate hate hate
LL Cool Jew: ew of course he did mr perfect
Razzy: whatever, we got 50!
Razzy: ha, tom brady!
Razzy: we're smarter than tom brady
Razzy: stupid dumb tom brady
Razzy: and whatever tom brady
Razzy: FAS Manning got a 39!
At least the Boston Globe's premature confidence in victory bodes well. This was on Amazon yesterday, until it got pulled after the Boston sports blogs went batshit crazy about it being the biggest jinx of all time.
GO GIANTS!
Labels: Assachusetts, assholes, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Mannings, fuck the Pats, NFL football
Monday, January 21, 2008
Daily Douchebag: the New York Giants fans at Josie Wood's Pub
Name: we never got there
DOB: various
Occupation: being fucking assholes
Hometown: New York? New Jersey?
Current residence: Josie Wood's pub, the Village of the West, New York, New York
Douchebaggery: Yesterday I went to watch the conference championships at my usual football bar, Josie Wood's Pub. Overall, it was not a good day for my football picks. I was obviously rooting for the Chargers since I loathe the New England Patriots more than cats, raisins, guys who push on your shoulders when they want a blow job, and the Super Bowl XL officiating crew. Since I didn't have any Chargers gear to wear, Multiple Scorgasms and I made signs on our placemats extolling the virtues of Philip Rivers et al. I discovered that I have a great talent at drawing the curvy lightning bolt that is the Chargers logo. Since everyone at the bar with the exception of my friend Neo (who managed to draw an admirable albeit effeminate Patriot on her placemat) felt similar anti-Patriot sentiments, we didn't have any problems with our fellow bar patrons based on this. Sadly, the Chargers didn't pull it off, and I knew they were doomed the moment I started thinking, "Hey, maybe they should put Billy Volek in and see if he can get the offense moving."
Unfortunately, the atmosphere of peace and camaraderie didn't last when the Giants game started. I decided to root for the Packers, just to be contrarian. Also, Multiple Scorgasms brought her cheesehead, and we had a fairly large posse of actual Packers fans rocking their green and yellow at our table, so I was more than happy to join them since there were more than enough Giants fans around. In fact, we were surrounded by them. As we drank our way through $300 of Bud Light pitchers, the shit-talking became more ferocious. The Giants fans on one side of us had brought their baby in (wearing a Manning onesie) and would hold him up to the delight of the Giants fans on the other side of us, who would shout "WE! HAVE! A! BABY!" and "CAIN! CAIN! CAIN!" (apparently that was the baby's name). Multiple Scorgasms pointed out that Cain was the bastard who killed his brother in the Bible, and I made a point to establish that they might have a baby, but I had a set of hot tits. I'm cheese and a cracker. I win again and as usual (except too bad my face is so busted in this picture)!
At one point, I got up during a commercial break in the fourth quarter to pee and the Giants fans were in the middle of a guffawing chant about the "Fudge Packers." I said, "It's funny watching a bunch of dudes, without a single woman anywhere in sight, imply that the Packers are gay." After all, those who live in latently homoerotic houses shouldn't throw stones.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" bellowed one of the drunker gentlemen there. I hurried off to the ladies room and returned in time to see the Giants kicker Lawrence Tynes miss his second field goal at the end of regulation. The Giants fans were not pleased with the cheering coming from our table, and took the opportunity to throw their beers--including the pint glasses--at us and at the ceiling above us. There was a ceiling fan that proceeded to give our entire table a beer shower. We all backed up and tried to dry ourselves off as best we could.
I thought about showing them my tits in rebuttal, but then I figured that doing so would be more like a reward for being beer-throwing assholes. I looked down at the table, saw several full pint glasses, and decided to fight Bud Light with Bud Light. I unleashed the contents of two glasses in their direction (but unlike them, I didn't throw the glasses). It was a direct hit. I felt avenged.
"FUCKIN' BITCH!" they shouted at me. Our table glared defiantly at them as they demanded we be ejected from the bar. Fortunately, I go to this bar every Sunday during football season and I'm a girl, so the owner decided to just stand in between our tables and try to maintain some kind of peace. Multiple Scorgasms and Moss were irate. My favorite waiter, Alex, brought us two complimentary pitchers to try to appease us. We settled our tab, pounded the beers, and left when Tynes finally managed to successfully kick a field goal and thus win the game a few minutes into overtime.
I'm totally annoyed that I wound up in such a situation at a bar where the inter-team rivalries usually maintain enough civility to not involve grown adults throwing engaging in a light macrobrewed American lager at each other. I was so pissed at these guys that I almost yelled "GO PATRIOTS!" as my parting shot (luckily I caught myself before those blasphemous words could escape my lips). Instead I just told Alex that I'll see him next September, and would never be tempted to do any retaliatory beer-throwing again. Rough times.
Labels: alcoholism, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Pats, NFL football, NYC, vengeance is sweet
Monday, January 14, 2008
Patriots fans are dumb
No disrespect to my ex Benzo, because he is a smart guy, but Boston fans are fucking retarded. Benzo can't help being from Assachusetts, thus mandating that he will be among the obnoxious hordes emanating from that region to be bad losers and even worse winners, and he is the exception to the rule as far as the collective IQ of the New England faithful is concerned. I am convinced that Boston fans are like a bunch of bulls: big, dumb, and easily spooked to moronic, head-butting, irrational, indsicriminately ass-beating, animal anger. It is impossible to argue with them about anything, and their teams' recent confluence of dominance has made them almost incorrigible. The Sox won the World Series...AGAIN...and the Patriots went 16-0, and even the Celtics are doing well. I fear that the end times are nigh.
However, I can take heart knowing that even if the Pats defeat the vaunted San Diego Chargers next Sunday, at least the Patriots fans will continue to remind us all how stupid they are and the rest of us can laugh at their mouth-breathing idiocy. For example, look at this articulate gentleman with his snide sign gloating about how the Patriots' record should put any naysayers crowing about the whole "Spygate" business to rest (for those of you who don't follow the NFL, Patriots coach Bill Belichick got fined and busted for illegally videotaping the Jets' defensive signals earlier this season, and some have suggested that any success the Patriots have this season will always be tainted by that controversy):
An ASTERICK? Is that anything like an ASTERISK? Or maybe that's just some stupid Masshole regional pronunciation thing, like the way "Worcester" is pronounced "Woostah." I guess I shouldn't judge, since anyone whose head seems to be predominantly chin and jowls rather than actual brain-containing cranium probably didn't ace their second grade punctuation and vocabulary tests, but still. One would think that a spell-check might be advisable for someone with such a sketchy academic track record before using a complicated (for this guy, anyway) word like "asterisk" as a means of delivering his "cheaters do prosper" message.
If I'd been more on top of the questionable literacy of those hailing from Assachusetts and the other shiteous New England states (ie: CONNECTICUT, the worst state in America), I would have bet a little more carefully when I wagered Benzo that the Dolphins would beat the Patriots, and if they didn't I'd write about the Patriots' greatness and exhibit pro-Patriots sentiments on my tits. Well, they didn't (although it was a CLOSE game, if you consider a three touchdown margin to be close, and apparently only I do and only in this situation), so I had to pay up:
I should have written "PATS ROOL" on my girls instead. Every New England fan reading this probably guffawed at my shame and said, "Stupid dumb girl! She doesn't know how to spell 'ROOL'! She's stupid and dumb! Nice cans, though." Oh yeah, and that was just an excuse to show off how awesome my boobs are yet again. Not that I get many complaints about that.
Even if New England wins yet another Super Bowl title and I have to listen to the insufferable braggadocio issuing forth from every Assachusetts native crossing my path, at least I can take heart knowing that I could beat the vast majority of them in a spelling contest. Even my ex-boyfriend, Benzo, who as I said before is generally smart, has misspelled Bill Belichick's name. This other honey I boned once who is also a tremendous Pats shit-talker and whiny Boston fan (to the point where he got Sports Illustrated to take down a FanNation website entitled "Tom Brady is a fag") makes at least one spelling or grammatical error in every e-mail he's ever sent me (and that's in spite of him being a professional writer). One of my Yankee buddies from grad school who is brilliant at math and physics can't spell to save her life. And the token Boston chick in our Fantasy league, when she deigns to leave some snide remark on our league message board, should keep a dictionary handy. Okay, I'm not sure she's actually ever left a snide remark, but I bet if she did, she'd spell something wrong! HA HA, Boston, Ass! You SUCK at SPELLING!
However, I can take heart knowing that even if the Pats defeat the vaunted San Diego Chargers next Sunday, at least the Patriots fans will continue to remind us all how stupid they are and the rest of us can laugh at their mouth-breathing idiocy. For example, look at this articulate gentleman with his snide sign gloating about how the Patriots' record should put any naysayers crowing about the whole "Spygate" business to rest (for those of you who don't follow the NFL, Patriots coach Bill Belichick got fined and busted for illegally videotaping the Jets' defensive signals earlier this season, and some have suggested that any success the Patriots have this season will always be tainted by that controversy):
If I'd been more on top of the questionable literacy of those hailing from Assachusetts and the other shiteous New England states (ie: CONNECTICUT, the worst state in America), I would have bet a little more carefully when I wagered Benzo that the Dolphins would beat the Patriots, and if they didn't I'd write about the Patriots' greatness and exhibit pro-Patriots sentiments on my tits. Well, they didn't (although it was a CLOSE game, if you consider a three touchdown margin to be close, and apparently only I do and only in this situation), so I had to pay up:
I should have written "PATS ROOL" on my girls instead. Every New England fan reading this probably guffawed at my shame and said, "Stupid dumb girl! She doesn't know how to spell 'ROOL'! She's stupid and dumb! Nice cans, though." Oh yeah, and that was just an excuse to show off how awesome my boobs are yet again. Not that I get many complaints about that.Even if New England wins yet another Super Bowl title and I have to listen to the insufferable braggadocio issuing forth from every Assachusetts native crossing my path, at least I can take heart knowing that I could beat the vast majority of them in a spelling contest. Even my ex-boyfriend, Benzo, who as I said before is generally smart, has misspelled Bill Belichick's name. This other honey I boned once who is also a tremendous Pats shit-talker and whiny Boston fan (to the point where he got Sports Illustrated to take down a FanNation website entitled "Tom Brady is a fag") makes at least one spelling or grammatical error in every e-mail he's ever sent me (and that's in spite of him being a professional writer). One of my Yankee buddies from grad school who is brilliant at math and physics can't spell to save her life. And the token Boston chick in our Fantasy league, when she deigns to leave some snide remark on our league message board, should keep a dictionary handy. Okay, I'm not sure she's actually ever left a snide remark, but I bet if she did, she'd spell something wrong! HA HA, Boston, Ass! You SUCK at SPELLING!
Labels: Assachusetts, Benzo, fuck the Pats, grammar gestapo, NFL football, retard rage, scathing indictments
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the San Diego Chargers
Name: the San Diego Chargers
DOB: 1960
Occupation: making Peyton Manning shout "fuck!" to himself and (you know it's coming) bitch about "idiot receivers" and the "idiot defense" that couldn't contain Billy Volek, much less Philip Rivers, and hopefully next week, kicking some Patriot ass
Hometown: San Diego, California
Current residence: somewhere in Assachusetts preparing to lay waste to New England in the AFC Championship game next Sunday
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: HOLY SHIT, the Chargers were amazing. While the Seahawks game the day before was a disgraceful bore as they meekly allowed Green Bay to deliver a humiliating ass-whooping, the San Diego-Indianapolis game was an exciting, nail-biting affair in which the Chargers entire offensive second string destroyed the Colts defense.
I was worried when LaDanian Tomlinson went out at the beginning of the second quarter, and REALLY worried when Billy Volek replaced Philip Rivers at the beginning of the fourth quarter, when the Chargers were down by four. While Volek had his moments with the Titans, this season he had completed all of 3/10 passing attempts. However, Volek managed to orchestrate an 80-yard drive for a touchdown, and the Colts' last-ditch effort to save the game failed.
I've always liked the Chargers, and I've always HATED the Colts. I hate Peyton Manning. I think he's an arrogant prick who blames his own mistakes on his team and his coaches. I also have no respect for teams that play in domes. If the Packers can play all season at Lambeau, and the Patriots can play all season in Foxborough, and the Bears can play all season at Soldier Field, then Peyton Manning should be able to haul his bitch ass away from whatever Mastercard commercial he is annoying us with for a minute to expose his precious self to the elements. This is PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL, not a fucking tea party, so nut up and put on a sweater. I always think dome teams deserve to lose for being pussies and having pussy fans insistent on central heat (and yes, I know the Seahawks used to play in a dome, but they sucked during that era and besides, EVERYONE in Seattle hated the now-imploded Kingdome and couldn't wait to get out into the rain at Qwest Field).
Anyway, I was totally pissed that Peyton Manning and the Colts won the Super Bowl last year, and thus am totally thrilled that the Chargers bench taught them some humility. Now, if they can just get used to the cold, get LT and Rivers back, and keep their Goliath-slaying spirits buoyed, it's time to beat the Pats! GO BOLTS!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, fuck the Mannings, fuck the Pats, I LOVE IT, NFL football
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
Friday, December 14, 2007
My gambling problem
So yesterday my ex-boyfriend Benzo, outspoken Boston sports fan extraordinaire, expressed interest in making a friendly wager with me concerning my prediction that the Miami Water Dogs will defeat the New England Patriots, thus spoiling their unbeaten record a week from this Sunday. He thinks otherwise, and is willing to back it up with a bet. I am willing to stand by my prediction, however improbable it might seem. It's just ridiculous enough to work! And I will gladly accept his wager, though I am too poor to make the stakes financially interesting.
Well, he doesn't know how to bet without money, so he wants me come up with the terms. I figured if I lose, I will write a lengthy blog posting extolling the virtues of the Hatriots, exploring the sweatshirt-mediated disgust that has evolved into a so-wrong-it's-right lust to hate-fuck Bill Belichick, and rhapsodizing over Tom Brady's rugged good looks AND sweet passer rating. I will celebrate their perfect season, join the Randy Moss fan club, and offer my services as a spy to them any time they need it. I will also post pictures of myself topless with "Go Patriots" or something like written on my tits. In fact, if anyone has Patriot gear they want to loan me, I'll wear that too (sorry, I draw the line at investing in wearable Pats logo products I'd rather wipe my ass with). Basically, I will humiliate myself publicly if I lose this bet.
However, since I'm NOT going to lose and the Dolphins WILL beat the Patriots, I need to come up with something good for Benzo to do if HE loses. At first I was like, "He should wear a Seahawks shirt every Sunday for the rest of the season," but that's not very creative and there's not a lot of 12th men here in New York to appreciate that. Besides, how would I know he was making good on the bet? I correspond with Benzo via e-mail and blog comments much more than I see him in person, so how could I even be sure he was wearing Seahawks gear as promised? I also think that, since Vegas probably has the Patriots winning this game by approximately 10,000 points, the payoff should be bigger if I am right. Therefore, in the interest of appeasing Patriots haters everywhere, I am posing this question to the internets.
What would you really like to see an (obnoxious, mouthy, smartassed) Boston sports fan do if the Patriots lose to the Dolphins (short of nudity or suicide, because I can tell you right now Benzo won't do either of those things)? What is the most humiliating thing a Patriots fan could do?
I have some other ideas, but why have all the fun myself? I may as well share it with my lovely Pats-despising Razzyphiles. So weigh in with some commentary.
And in the meantime, enjoy this video of Tom Brady's greatest pouty sadfaces:
Well, he doesn't know how to bet without money, so he wants me come up with the terms. I figured if I lose, I will write a lengthy blog posting extolling the virtues of the Hatriots, exploring the sweatshirt-mediated disgust that has evolved into a so-wrong-it's-right lust to hate-fuck Bill Belichick, and rhapsodizing over Tom Brady's rugged good looks AND sweet passer rating. I will celebrate their perfect season, join the Randy Moss fan club, and offer my services as a spy to them any time they need it. I will also post pictures of myself topless with "Go Patriots" or something like written on my tits. In fact, if anyone has Patriot gear they want to loan me, I'll wear that too (sorry, I draw the line at investing in wearable Pats logo products I'd rather wipe my ass with). Basically, I will humiliate myself publicly if I lose this bet.
However, since I'm NOT going to lose and the Dolphins WILL beat the Patriots, I need to come up with something good for Benzo to do if HE loses. At first I was like, "He should wear a Seahawks shirt every Sunday for the rest of the season," but that's not very creative and there's not a lot of 12th men here in New York to appreciate that. Besides, how would I know he was making good on the bet? I correspond with Benzo via e-mail and blog comments much more than I see him in person, so how could I even be sure he was wearing Seahawks gear as promised? I also think that, since Vegas probably has the Patriots winning this game by approximately 10,000 points, the payoff should be bigger if I am right. Therefore, in the interest of appeasing Patriots haters everywhere, I am posing this question to the internets.
What would you really like to see an (obnoxious, mouthy, smartassed) Boston sports fan do if the Patriots lose to the Dolphins (short of nudity or suicide, because I can tell you right now Benzo won't do either of those things)? What is the most humiliating thing a Patriots fan could do?
I have some other ideas, but why have all the fun myself? I may as well share it with my lovely Pats-despising Razzyphiles. So weigh in with some commentary.
And in the meantime, enjoy this video of Tom Brady's greatest pouty sadfaces:
Labels: Assachusetts, Benzo, fuck the Pats, NFL football, ridiculous absurdity
Monday, December 10, 2007
Daily Douchebag: the New England Patriots
DOB: established 1960, but really became hateworthy upon Bill Belichick taking the reins in 2000
Occupation: cheating, running up the score, being bad sportsmen, popularizing vagrant chic in terms of cutoff-sleeve sweatshirts
Hometown: Boston, Assachusetts
Current residence: Foxborough, Assachusetts
Douchebaggery: I know the Pats are winning and winning and winning and they're unstoppable and Randy Moss is amazing and they're setting all sorts of records and blah blah blah, but I just can't help sipping on my Patriots-flavored Haterade. Actually, fuck sipping...I'm CHUGGING it for the Pats. I just don't like them. I hate Tom Brady's ass-shaped chin and rugged good looks. I hate Belichick's terse press conference manner and resistance to pulling Jim Mora, Sr.-esque hilarious tirades (although at least I can console myself knowing he won't be spliced into a Coors Light commercial anytime soon). I hate the way they run up the score against shitty teams just to be assholes and just to help out certain people (named NeisMan) in my Fantasy league who have an all-Patriots team and who I am playing in our Fantasy playoffs next week. The Patriots are assholes and I just HATE THEM!
I didn't realize how deeply I hate the Patriots until yesterday, when I was at my usual football bar watching what I deemed the Asshole Bowl: the New England Cheaters versus the Shitsburgh Stealers. I found that I was actually rooting for the Stealers. For those of you not familiar with my football loyalties, I am a Seahawks fan, and like all Seahawks fans who suffered through the horror of February 6, 2006 AKA "Black Sunday" AKA Super Bowl XL, I loathe the Pittsburgh Steelers with every ounce of energy I have. I call them the "Stealers" because they straight up STOLE THE GODDAMNED SUPER BOWL via some obvious shady pact with the officials and possibly the devil. Roethlisberger was given a touchdown that he did NOT score, and the officials wouldn't stop making up bullshit offensive pass interference penalties against the Seahawks while flagrantly ignoring horse-collar tackles and face mask infractions committed by the Stealers. It was a dark day in the P-N-Dub, and one which I will never forget, and I have already described my (extremely bitter, angry, and pissed off) feelings about this at length in previous blog postings.
Considering that every time I cross paths with a Stealers fans, I want to throw paint on their Bettis jerseys and throttle them with their Terrible Towels, it's saying a lot that I was cheering when they scored (which was rarely). I always love to see the Stealers lose, and it was thus shocking to me that I was sad about this. I thought to myself, "My God, I really hate the Patriots."
I am not alone. The internets are full of like-minded people. There is a (totally awesome) website devoted to being INEPT (I hate the New England PaTriots):
There is a group on fannation.com hating the Patriots and questioning Tom Brady's sexuality (although I'd say his whole supermodel-fucking thing does argue for his being hetero):
There is a 1300+ member-strong group on Facebook:
Since JC isn't doing the job, I'll just hope against all hope that my prediction for the Patriots' first loss comes true. I always look for a silver lining, and I think that will come in two weeks in the form of the Miami Dolphins. Yes, you read that right...I predict that the Miami Water Dogs will get their first win of the season by taking out the Hatriots. Before you express audible scorn for this prediction, let me remind you that the 1972 Dolphins were the only team in the Super Bowl era to go undefeated. The 2007 Dolphins have not won a game, and rather than mark the 35th anniversary of their triumphant undefeated season with a winless one, they will get their shit together to take out New England in one of the greatest David versus Goliath victories in NFL history. It's going to be one of the greatest football stories of all time, because nobody is going to be expecting it. Nobody but RAZZY.org readers, that is! Just wait and enjoy watching the Patriots learn some humility from the worst team in pro football. And in the meantime, you can all enjoy bitchy comments that my ex-boyfriend Benzo is sure to leave juxtaposing tired boasting about Belichick's genius and the Red Sox World Series victory with weak insults about the NFC West being an easy division.
Labels: Assachusetts, assholes, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Pats, NFL football, Seahawks
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
