Friday, July 18, 2008
Richie Sexson goes where all former Mariners go
As a Seattle sports fan, I'm accustomed to our teams sucking. The Seahawks spent virtually all of my childhood stinking up the Kingdome. The Sonics are taking a legacy of loss to Oklahoma City, although on the bright side they are the sole Seattle team to have won a league championship...when I was an infant in 1979. Despite the fact that at the time most of my attention was devoted to breastfeeding and shitting in my diapers, I know all about the Sonics historic championship season because my mother was considering naming me "Freddie Brown" due to my propensity for jumping around her uterus during the 1978 season in which I was gestating and the Sonics lost the championship to the Washington Bullets. And the Mariners have had one year after another in which they either suck righteously or win enough to get everybody all excited, only to get unceremoniously knocked out of the postseason, usually by the goddamned sonofabitchbastard New York Yankees. Seattle should consider adding "soul-crushing sports teams" to its roster of famous exports like Windows software, Weyerhauser timber, and Starbucks coffee.
This year, the Mariners take the prize for the P-N-Dub's most disgraceful team. The Seahawks had a great draft and I have high hopes that they'll continue to beat the piss out of the rest of the shitshow known as the NFC West this fall. The Sonics are gone. That leaves the Mariners, who are without question the worst team in baseball, which I attribute to karmic reward for their hating on hot lesbian makeout sessions at Safeco Field. They can't hit, can't pitch, and can't win games under any circumstances. Somebody needs to make a cardboard cutout of the team owner and take off a piece of clothing every time they win a game or SOMETHING to motivate them. Well, actually, I doubt that any of the Mariners staff wants to see the CEO of Nintendo naked, but that worked in Major League and at this point anything is worth a try because they suck harder than me after ten scotches in a bar bathroom with a willing honey.
Since the M's don't have a diabolical yet potentially hot naked owner who actually wants them to lose and they don't have Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn, Jake Taylor, Pedro Cerrano, Roger Dorn, or Willie Mays Hayes on their roster, they are trying a different strategy to save their team: trimming the fucking fat. That means getting rid of the overpaid and grossly underperforming marquis players we signed with great fanfare just two short seasons ago, specifically Richie Sexson.
I'm a little disappointed by this because Richie Sexson is 6'8" tall, I get the feeling he's hung like a brontosaurus, and he looks like the type who could fuck my freckles off. Seriously, check out his pants in the above photo...even when dejected due to yet another strikeout, it literally looks like he has a tail tucked between his legs. However, if I think with my head rather than my vagina, he shouldn't let the door hit his bitch ass on the way out. The Mariners signed Sexson to a contract worth $50 million and he's played like he's making the league minimum. The past two years, he's been batting squarely around .200 with like negative fifteen RBIs and a paltry handful of home runs. I can hardly blame the M's management for trying to cut their losses. However, what annoys the hell out of me is the fact that Richie Sexson is going where Gay Rod, Randy Johnson, John Olerud, Tino Martinez, and all departing Mariners always end up: THE FUCKING NEW YORK YANKEES!
Sexson deserves to go play for Satan's own baseball team given his piss-poor performance. However, I hate the fact that the Mariners are practically a farm team for the fucking Yankees. Why do all of our players, no matter how good or bad, depart and (excepting Alex Rodriguez's brief layover in Texas) go straight to the goddamned Bronx? I can only hope that Sexson's slump gets even worse as he dons the pinstripes of the damned and he causes them to plummet to the dregs of the AL East. Or, barring that, Sexson just contributes to the perennial dearth of offense come playoff time the Yankees have experienced the past few postseasons. That's the silver lining I was looking for.
Labels: fuck the Yankees, Mariners, P-N-Dub, ranting, scathing indictments, sportsmen
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Daily "Dushbag": Roger Clemens
Name: William Roger Clemens
DOB: August 4, 1962
Occupation: disgraced steroid-using Major League Baseball pitcher
Hometown: Dayton, Ohio
Current residence: Houston, Texas
Anyone who has ever donned the uniform of the most hateful team in the history of baseball gets no love from me. Clemens did it on two separate occasions, and I'd be willing to bet that if he hadn't been named in that whole Mitchell Report to-do, he'd probably be coming out of fake retirement yet again to sign another absurd contract with the Bronx Bastards. In addition to juicing, cheating on and with his wife, and playing for the Yankees, I now realize Roger Clemens pisses me off for yet another reason: the idiot can't spell.
According to some hilarious e-mails published by The Smoking Gun as part of his favored steroid injector Brian McNamee filing in federal court seeking dismissal of a defamation suit Clemens filed, he not only reminds us of his deeply ingrained narcissism by signing all his e-mails "22" and having an e-mail address including the term "Rocket," he also shows why he chose baseball over parlaying his University of Texas degree into a more scholarly career, starting with his inability to distinguish different forms of the word "there" and to properly spell two words I am intimately acquainted with: "douchebag" and "lawsuits." Not that Brian McNamee's spelling is any better, since he asks Clemens to "keep in trouch" after being told by Clemens to "stay hot" and seeks to "appolagize" for statements made to the press. Granted, I don't expect either the steroid-procuring "trainer" McNamee or Clemens to be world-class masters of the written word, but I would expect that a man who delivers sagacious proverbs like "Don't GET IN A PISSING CONTEST WITH A SKUNK" would have learned that one of the world's greatest pejorative terms is not spelled "dushbag." At the very least, one would expect that he'd realize that the threat of "law suites" doesn't inspire much terror in whatever sports reporter was covering the Clemens-specific aspects of the Mitchell Report.
I really enjoy disliking Roger Clemens. My hatred for him is like a fine wine that improves with aging. As time passes, thanks to Clemens's own actions, I discover all sorts of delicious subtleties which make my disdain so much more eminently satisfying. Stay hot, loser.
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Yankees, sportsmen
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Joba the HATE
A new Dunkin Donuts location opened down the street from me right next to the subway entrance, and this could not be more convenient. I love Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, and stop every morning on my way to lab. Getting my hands on an icy cold cup of D'n'D coffee is always an eagerly anticipated part of my morning, and thinking of it puts a smile on my face and a spring in my step.
You can imagine, therefore, how shocked and horrified I was to walk into Dunkin' Donuts the other morning only to practically run into this monstrosity:
Yes, there is a life-sized cardboard Joba Chamberlain guarding the door to my Dunkin' Donuts. Nothing says "pre-coffee buzzkill" like seeing a goddamned, motherfucking, sonofabitchbastard Yankee offering an iced coffee like Hades with a pomegranate. I realize that I do live in New York City, and thus tolerating Yankees fans is a daily trial I've learned to endure. However, running smack into a six foot image of their overrated porcine pitcher in full pinstriped regalia is an insult I should not have to suffer. When I say that I hate the Yankees, I mean I loathe them to the core of my being. I despise them so much that if Al Qaeda decided to launch a full-on suicide bombing assault against those cocksuckers in the Bronx, I would gladly become a terrorist. I would honestly prefer Dunkin' Donuts appropriating the image of Adolf Hitler for their summer "Bases Loaded" iced drink campaign than Joba Fucking Chamberlain.
Even worse, I went to the Dunkin' Donuts "Bases Loaded" website to see that they've managed to doubly piss me off with their selection of athlete endorsements:
In addition to the detestable Joba Chamberlain's fat ass, they've managed to get one of the fucking Boston Red Sox on their payroll too! Just because I hate the Yankees doesn't mean I love the Red Sox. I hate the Red Sox too! Their fans are just as obnoxious as Yankees fans, if not more so. The damn Red Sox have a payroll larger than the bill for the Iraq war and have won two World Series in the past four years, yet their fans still bitch and moan like they're the most screwed over team in baseball and they're never going to be good enough because of completely baseless superstitions involving Babe Ruth (and if you want to talk about shitty major league baseball teams and the heartache that causes, keep in mind that I am a Mariners fan). I knew I was onto something when I rooted for the Mets in 1986 (although in fairness, that was because I had Ron Darling's baseball card and I thought he was totally hot). The BoSox are the second most abhorrent team in baseball after the Bronx Bombers. They caused me no end of relationship travails in college, when I dated an obsessed Red Sox fanatic for three years. My ex Benzo is a great guy, but I swear to this day I become murderously enraged whenever I so much as hear the name "Pedro Martinez" (and yes, I know he plays for the Mets now, but he'll always be one of my life's sworn enemies after hearing him venerated non-stop by Benzo to the point of talking about Pedro's assisting Benzo's rotisserie league team DURING SEX).
I pray that Dunkin' Donuts ceases making marketing decisions that are almost certainly designed to raise my blood pressure and infuriate me. First, I have to check my seething rage at Rachael Ray's dumb ass wearing her terrorist scarf proclaiming that everything is "delish," and then I have to stay calm in the face of Joba Chamberlain squinting me down with his piggy little eyes and offering Joba and Jonathan Papelbom bobblehead prizes every time I go to get a damn coffee. I can only imagine that my murder spree will begin come fall, when Dunkin' Donuts will, judging by their track record, probably hire the Shitsburgh Stealers to tout Coffee Coolattas via bragging about their (totally bullshit) victory in Super Bowl XL. All I can do is hope for humanity's sake that Dunkin' Donuts doesn't decide to get together with Apple Computers, because either I'll have to go into lifelong seclusion or somehow bring about the apocalypse in order to cope.
Labels: assholes, fuck the Yankees, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments, sportsmen
Friday, June 06, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Safeco Field staff
DOB: July 15, 1999
Occupation: homophobic, civil rights-infringing assholes
Hometown: Seattle, Washington
Current residence: Seattle, Washington
Douchebaggery: Yesterday, CorporateCard shot me an e-mail with a link to this news story about a couple of hot lezzies who got busted by ushers at Safeco Field for making out during a Mariners game. Apparently, people seated nearby didn't like them smooching over Safeco's famous (and fucking delicious) garlic fries, and didn't want to have to explain to their children why two women were kissing (my explanation would be "because they're awesome"), so the ushers told them that they'd have to leave if they didn't keep it platonic. Apart from the squashing of hot girl-on-girl being further evidence supporting my theory that children totally suck, this is bullshit, but it's par for the course when it comes to Safeco Field.
As a native of the glorious P-N-Dub, I have watched the Mariners lose at Safeco many, many, many times. Safeco is a beautiful ballpark, and catching a game there is one of the best things about being in Seattle during the few months that the skies aren't consistently overcast. As I mentioned before, the garlic fries are awesome, as is the icy cold Rainier Beer (AKA "Vitamin R") on tap, as is the view of downtown Seattle, the Olympic Mountains, and the Puget Sound. However, the ushers at Safeco have perennially been famous for their prudish fascism since the Safe opened its doors. I remember in the first couple years after Safeco's opening, some genius Mariners fans decided to start wearing shirts that said "YANKEES SUCK" on them. I think almost everyone in the world who isn't among the hateful legions of Satan worshipers AKA Yankees fans) not only appreciates this sentiment, but agrees with it wholeheartedly. However, Safeco's lame usher staff spotted these shirts, claimed they were "offensive," and made everyone wearing one either take it off, turn it inside out, or get the fuck out of the stadium. At the time of the "Yankees Suck" controversy, I remember being disgusted with what I marked as typical Seattle bullshit. Only in politically-correct Seattle is "suck" considered a vulgarity (and again, when "suck" is paired with the word "Yankees," I consider that phrase a sacred utterance), and only in Seattle is wearing a shirt that's considered not nice by some an ejectable offense. Trust that you could probably walk into Yankee Stadium wearing a hat with a flashing neon sign that says "FUCK THOSE ASSHOLE (insert name of team playing Yankees here)!" and get a damn seating upgrade. I mean, Alex Rodriguez's wife wore a wife beater that said "FUCK YOU" on the back to Yankee Stadium, for God's sake! In Seattle, you'd probably be jailed for those kind of foul-mouthed shenanigans.
After a massive public outcry, Safeco Field officials finally conceded that "Yankees Suck" shirts weren't the end of the world, and without much fanfare stopped their dedicated campaign to stifle anti-(sonofabitchbastard) Yankees sentiment among Mariner fans. However, the ushers at Safeco continue to be totally lame. One time I went to a Mariners game with a bunch of my colleagues at the company I used to work at in Seattle. Being a group of highly professional, unbelievably classy science nerds, we smuggled in a flask of booze to augment our overpriced Vitamin Rs. At some point around the 6th inning, an usher caught us passing it around and confiscated it.
"You can't take our private property!" I hissed at the usher, who was approximately 97 years old. "What the fuck are you going to do if we don't hand it over?"
"Call the police," he replied. We handed it over.
"That's a treasured possession!" protested the flask's owner. "I insist that I get it back after the game! You aren't entitled to keep it!"
"Inquire at the security office after the game," said the usher.
The flask's owner and I drunkenly marched to the security office after the game and demanded the flask back. The security guy was a total dick, and he got out the flask. "Oh, you mean this flask?" he asked.
"Yes," we said. "Return it immediately."
"Well, sorry, I can't," he said, taunting us with it. "You see, it has alcohol in it, and we are obligated not to release any alcoholic substances."
In a move of drunken ballsiness that I probably would never in a million years contemplate doing sober, I snatched it from him and poured out the remaining three swigs of booze in it on the security office floor. I handed it back to him.
"Problem solved," I said. "Now give it back to us. It has sentimental value, and you have no right to confiscate it permanently."
The security guy made some threats about how we had better behave properly at future Mariners games, but gave us the flask. We went to a bar to drink more with our other colleagues/drunks to celebrate our victory over the nefarious Safeco Field gestapo.
Hearing now that Safeco Field's staff is cracking down on hot chicks kissing is hardly surprising. It merely continues the tradition of intolerant lameness that has become the standard. Compounding the ass-suckery that is par for the course at Safeco, management is defending their decision to hate on horny dykes as a response to their behavior, not their sexual orientation. Supposedly, they were kissing, groping, and fondling, which is as gross a violation of Safeco's "family friendly" policy as a "Yankees Suck" t-shirt. I would argue that since the complaining lesbian was a contestant on "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila," kissing, groping, and fondling come to her as naturally as breathing. These are civil rights which Safeco Field has no right to cruelly infringe upon. Besides, the Mariners are as usual underperforming enough to be sitting squarely in last place in the AL West, so it would be nice to be distracted from Felix Hernandez giving up 4 runs to the Red Sox and blowing the game in the 8th inning by some girls getting sexy. Let the lesbians get it on at Mariners games without worrying about whether or not it will confuse idiot children, you homophobic, hating bastards at Safeco Field!
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, destroy all children, fuck the Yankees, hot chicks, lezbollah, Mariners, P-N-Dub, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Jon Lester
DOB: January 7, 1984
Occupation: pitcher for the Boston Red Sox
Hometown: Puyallup, Washington AKA MY HOMETOWN
Current residence: Boston, Assachusetts
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Much as I'm loath to give "Daily Dude" status to any jackass in a Red Sox uniform, I can't sit idly by and not give a shout-out to Jon Lester, current baseball pride of the P-N-Dub. Like me, he was born and raised in beautiful Puyallup, Washington, and also like me, he went to Bellarmine Preparatory School in Tacoma, Washington (LION PRIDE, BABY!). In 2006, he beat lymphoma, in 2007 he pitched the final (winning) game of the World Series, and just this Monday, he pitched a no-hitter against the Royals. He's the first left-handed Red Sox pitcher to do so since 1956, and the 18th pitcher in team history to do so.
Being in such limited company in Red Sox record books is certainly impressive. The Red Sox may as well be a damn geologic formation, their history is so epic. Back when I was dating Benzo, all I ever heard about was bitching and moaning about how somehow the Red Sox got screwed out of this or that X times since 1901 or whenever. In fact, three years of sleeping with a diehard Red Sox-loving native Masshole resulted in my absolutely HATING them. On the rare occasions that Benzo and I fought, it usually had something to do with the Red Sox. The only time he ever hung up on me was when I said "How about those Indians?" after Cleveland knocked the Sox out of the American League divisional playoffs in 1998. Another time that we went to see the Mariners play the Sox at Fenway, he was a bitchy grouch the entire ride back to Northampton after the game because the Mariners had the audacity to win. As far as I'm concerned, the Red Sox are harbingers of NO SEX, and there's nothing hot about that.
However, since Jon Lester is blessing Red Sox Nation with his Puyallup-bred and Bellarmine-honed pitching style, I have to begrudgingly admit that there's at least one stud worthy of my approval in a Boston uniform. It could be a lot worse; he could play for the Yankees, in which case, he'd be beyond redemption. At least this way, those of us born doing the Puyallup can finally have some self-respect and brag about a professional athlete whose name doesn't end in "Huard." Okay, fine, nobody was bragging about them anyway. Except when I wear my dad's old Brock Huard Seahawks jersey to bed, but since I only do that when nobody is around to see, that hardly counts as "bragging."
Labels: Assachusetts, Benzo, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Do the Puyallup, fuck the Yankees, sportsmen
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Pete McEntegart
DOB: 1970?
Occupation: blogorrheist
Hometown: New York, New York
Current residence: New York, New York
Douchebaggery: If there's one thing that really annoys me, it's an unbelievably boring, pointless blog. I realize that my useless bullshit isn't for everyone, and it's not like every single thing I've ever written is completely riveting, but at least I don't bore you all with the mundane details of my life. I will never devote an entry to banal shit like what I ate for breakfast, what music I'm currently listening to, or what book I read most recently. This is known in internets parlance as "blogorrhea," the act of blogging when you have nothing better to write but feel the need to write anyway. When I have nothing to write, I just post links to material I've written on more inspired days and/or pictures of my tits. While this might seem batshit crazy to some, I can feel comfortable knowing that I haven't written anything that the average reader would be angry about having wasted their time reading. I get a fair measure of fat/ugly/slutty/crazy/attention whore criticisms, but one comment I rarely get is that I'm a bad or boring writer, and I feel validated knowing that even if people hate me or my content, at least they read it closely enough to form an opinion about it and keep coming back for more.
That is why few things gall me more when I discover that a major website employs a blogorrheist as a "senior writer" and pays them to do little more than neglect their spell-checker and let their maximum 8 or 9 readers make bad jokes on their behalf. Meet Pete Entegart, a writer at Sports Illustrated who authors a blog called The 10 Spot, which he calls "a unique take on sports news" and which I call "a shameless rip-off of MTV's marketing lingo from their Tuesday night lineup six years ago" (ie: "Next week on The 10 Spot: Ashlee hits a rocky patch with Ryan Cabrera on an all-new Ashlee Simpson Show and things heat up between the housemates on The Real World: Paris.") Most of his material consists of "caption this" or "write your own joke"-type posts involving Isiah Thomas, and ham-handed one-liners he refers to as "Lunchtime Laughs." Most of his "Lunchtime Laughs" seem like material that the writers at "The Daily Show" rejected for being too painfully obvious. Behold some examples:
-Fourteen Congressmen are requesting that President Bush cancel a planned Olympics trip to protest the Chinese government's repressive nature. Fat chance; Bush finds the Olympics inspiring. Sure, it's a massive operation which, after years of preparation, ends in just two weeks.
-A grassroots effort is trying to put Wilt Chamberlain on a postage stamp. Makes sense. What would get licked more often than a Wilt stamp?
-Bill Belichick insisted Tuesday that he's never seen a tape of another team's practice. Really, what kind of chump do we take him for? It's all DVDs these days.
-Brian McNamee is selling signed memorabilia from former client Roger Clemens on eBay. The most coveted item is a piece of gauze with "Rocket" scrawled in dried blood.
Oh, that is indeed comedy GOLD, Pete McEntegart! Watch out, Bill Simmons, because with a knee-slappingly funny sportswriter dishing out hilarity like this, it's only a matter of time before Sports Illustrated and Pete McEntegart put you and ESPN Page 2 out of business once and for all. With talent and wit like Pete's, I can scarcely believe that he doesn't command a larger audience than the same five people who comment prolifically on every masterpiece he publishes. I mean, with the proliferation of stupid motherfuckers in the world, I would have thought that Pete would have a rabid legion of fans extending into the double digits.
After a quick check of the Facebooks, I discovered that McEntegart is single. Undoubtedly many a fierce skank in New York has a tale of her run-in with this balding, fire-crotched stud. I'm sure that his Ron Howard-esque good looks, as well as his success as Sports Illustrated's head blogger-in-charge, have resulted in many, many sexless dates with fat, FUPA-bearing, middle-aged desperate bitches. Sadly for Pete, not even the most hard-up slags on eHarmony want to hit a dude who tries to impress with short-sleeved button-downs culled from a bin at a Big Lots in New Jersey and a repertoire of not-funny one-liners delivered by his handful of marginally literate readers in the comment section of his blog. He seems like the kind of guy who spends a lot of time making sure that the few remaining hairs atop his crown are arranged just so and spends all day trying unsuccessfully to get his co-workers to shoot free throws at the Nerf hoop he has in his cube between regurgitating trite snippets of reader-generated content. The only remotely redeeming or attractive thing I can find about him is that his (obviously autobiographical) Wikipedia page implies that he hates the Yankees.
Not to say that if I wrote a blog for Sports Illustrated it would be much better, as if you restrict me to talking about sports, almost every post I'd write would be related to the Seattle Seahawks, bitterness about the officiating in Super Bowl XL, NFL referee Mike Carey, Ichiro, or competitive eating, but at least I'd come up with my own shit and I wouldn't have to try so damn hard to be funny. Hell, anyone with a first-grade command of English could probably write a more compelling sports humor blog than this involuntarily celibate loser.
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Yankees, ranting, retard rage, sportsmen
Monday, February 11, 2008
Daily Douchebag: Debbie Clemens
DOB: ????
Occupation: designing hideous mom fashion, popping out kids with names starting with K as a monument to her husband's ego, getting juiced
Hometown: ???
Current residence: Houston, Texas
Douchebaggery: I prayed that the first time I caught an eyeful of Roger and Debbie Clemens' nauseating Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition photo spread would also be my last. It was full of things I hated: Roger Clemens, Roger Clemens in a Yankees uniform, Roger Clemens in a Yankees uniform left unbuttoned to showcase Roger's (vomit) manly chest (and isn't the SI swimsuit issue supposed to be something people WANT to jerk off to?), and Roger Clemens's old-ass wife Photoshopped to look like a tranny bodybuilder and posing in a bikini with a big phallic baseball bat. ***SHUDDER***
Unfortunately, I now have to look at this loathsome image on the regular thanks to Brian McNamee's testimony before the congressional committee investigating all the steroids-in-baseball Mitchell report BS. It seems that not only does McNamee have bloody HGH-filled syringes with the Rocket's DNA on them from when he used to work as his personal roid administrator, he also shot up Debbie so that she could pose for this very photo shoot. Debbie was apparently worried that, as a thirty-nine-year-old mother of four demon spawn, there wouldn't be a strong enough version of Photoshop to make her FUPA look toned, so she decided that if recombinant growth hormone was good enough to keep aging fastball pitchers coming back from retirement to further the devil's influence by winning games for those despicable bastards in the Bronx, it was good enough to make her look like some kind of Terminator MILF.
I am unhappy with all this disappointing steroids crap ruining America's game. I have previously detailed my extremely negative opinion of cheaters like Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens (I don't believe his denials--vitamin B12 shots or whatever aren't delivered intranavally, moron), and I have zero sympathy for them. But I frankly have even less sympathy for their dumbass baby mamas grossing everyone out with her chiseled abs of steel HGH and her inordinately offensive "CLEMENS" bikini top. At least I can see why Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds were motivated to do what was called "getting with the program" when the West Beverly track team did it once on an episode of "Beverly Hills, 90210." Cheating aside, trying to increase one's professional performance and longevity is an honorable ambition, but there's no honor in what Debbie Clemens forced us to endure. She is not a sexy lady and has no place with Marisa Miller and the other hot models that usually populate the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition (I say usually because they put Beyonce's busted ass in an even more busted hooker House of Dereon bathing suit on the cover last year). Debbie would have been better off staying home, designing revolting heart- and butterfly-themed purses, and ferrying her little flock of Strikeouts to their various Little League activities rather than posing for stunningly unappealing bikini photographs in a magazine that is designed for masturbation. The fact that she cheated to do it just renders the actions of Debbie Clemens that much more vile and despicable. What a bitch. We hates.
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Yankees, media whores, sluts, sportsmen
Friday, December 14, 2007
Daily Douchebag: MLB players named in the Mitchell Report
Name: Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, Mo Vaughn, Gary Sheffield, Barry Bonds, the brothers Giambi, Miguel Tejada, et al
DOB: varied
Occupation: cheating at America's favorite pasttime
Hometown: various
Current residence: infamy
Douchebaggery: I think it's pretty obvious that the long list of guys named in former Senator George Mitchell's report naming guys linked to purchasing steroids, either via the internets, via Mets trainer/roid dealer Kirk Radomski, or via BALCO lab are candidates for douchebagging simply because of these acts. Nobody like a cheater, and nobody likes 80-something of them, either. I've already declared Barry Bonds a douchebag, which is easy to do since not only is BB seemingly a total asshole, but it's not difficult to imagine him demanding that his mistress scrub at his "cream" or "clear"-induced bacne with Proactiv solution and otherwise being an unrepentant dick about his cheating. Likewise, everybody already knew the Giambis were getting their roid on, as well. However, what was a little more shocking for America to digest were some of the other names on the list. A lot of these guys have given plenty of lip service to the notion that they are men of integrity who would never, never, NEVER even dream of doing such a thing, and yet the Mitchell report has a copy of their checks made out to Radomski for $3200 (and who buys drugs with checks, anyway? I snicker just imagining the look on my dealer's face if I were to break out my checkbook the next time I pick up some tweeds--I mean, JUST KIDDING! I don't do drugs). Not only do I love seeing these assclowns get their comeuppance for being lying hypocrites, but it's especially sweet that so many of them are Yankees and/or former Yankees. To me, reasons to hate the Yankees are like orgasms or sexy boots: you can never really have too many.
Anyway, I thought I'd just mention two of the more prominent dickwads on this list and highlight why they are a bunch of duplicitous losers with no respect for the game they play or the fans who made them millionaires. It's always a good time for a cautionary tale about how asshole losers who lie and cheat their way through life while telling everyone they are fine, upstanding men deserving of respect always get their due. Since yesterday I received a request to call out Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte, I figured I'd focus on them. This is not a challenge for me, since if there's two things I hate, it's hypocritical Christians and New York Yankees, and both of these cocksmokers fit that criteria
Roger Clemens: Also known as "the Rocket," Clemens is one of the most respected diva dickheads in baseball. He's a narcissist who named all of his kids something starting with "K" to reflect his success as a pitcher, and whose modus operandi for upping his contract includes retiring every other year and then deciding to return (usually to the Yankees). Every time he decides to leave retirement YET AGAIN, he always gives a shoutout to the big JC and claims that he came to the extremely difficult decision to make millions of dollars thanks to lots and lots of prayer. Because if there's one thing about Jesus, he loves it when the faithful sheep in his flock stack that paper. That whole "blessed are the poor and meek, they shall inherit the earth" Sermon on the Mount Beatitudes business from the gospel of Matthew was totally done on opposite day, after all. Jesus wants Clemens to get back into a pair of horrible Yankee pinstripes and start chucking fastballs at the heads of opposing batters he doesn't like, because that is how good Christians roll.
Prior to the Mitchell Report, everyone was wondering how Clemens can still bring the heat at age 45. In addition to attributing his physical endurance to Cheese-Sauce CHRAST, the only other substance Clemens ever was caught using was the Icy Hot he smears all over his genitalia to get his game face on. I suppose he would also claim his continued good health is a result his eschewing of the hallowed tradition of chewin' tobacky for gum:
While I'm sure that Clemens passing on the Red Man helped him stay fit enough to wear hideous windbreakers, now we all know how he REALLY kept his arm rocket-caliber all these years: steroids. Per the Mitchell report, Clemens not only was an enthusiastic opponent of Winstrol (because he was too much of a pussy to do the abdominal human growth hormone shots), he insisted on bringing his favorite injector (I mean "personal trainer") from clubhouse to clubhouse with him so as to stay on cycle.
As of right now, Clemens has an attorney who is making all sorts of noise about "slander" and implying that some litigious action will be taken against Major League Baseball for having the audacity to investigate his steroid use. Sha right. Barry Bonds tried to play the slander card, too, and look where it got him: under indictment in federal court. Roger Clemens will be lucky if the worst that happens is they engrave asterisks on all his Cy Young award plaques. On the bright side for his legal remedies, though, at least Roger didn't film a PSA setting a kid straight for injecting testosterone into his ass.
Andy Pettitte: One of MLB's biggest holy rollers, Andy Pettite went so far as to write a book detailing his achievements at being the best Christian ever (although this is mitigated by his playing for the Yankees, who I believe God hates even more than fags). Here's a little excerpt about how Andy committed himself to "purity," and to him this goes beyond merely bagging broads outside of wedlock to encompassing every aspect of one's life:
"I might as well be straight with you. This whole question of purity isn’t about how true love waits until you are married to have sex. You can do that and still miss the point. Purity begins with a commitment to live in a way that honors Jesus Christ, a commitment that spreads over every part of your life."Well, I can see how it would be a dishonor to JC to run around porking baseball groupies like Corbin Bernsen in Major League, but as in Roger Clemens's case, Jesus doesn't mind a HGH shot here and there to help out with a pesky case of elbow tendonitis. In fact, I'm sure Roger introduced Andy to his dealer--I mean his trainer--at church. Here's a couple pictures of Roger and Andy discussing how
Labels: assholes, comeuppance, crime and punishment, Daily Douchebag, Dear God, fuck the Yankees, sportsmen
Monday, October 29, 2007
Daily Douchebag: the Boston Red Sox...AGAIN
DOB: 1901
Hometown: Fenway Park, Boston, Assachusetts
Current residence: Taking a long-desired (by everyone else who isn't an obnoxious Boston fan) break from the spotlight after winning the damn World Series...I hope
Douchebaggery: Last night, instead of a Sunday night football game, the fucking Red Sox swept the World Series and won...again. While I've already awarded the Red Sox the illustrious title of Daily Douchebag once before, now that they've won their second Series in four years, I plan to hate, not congratulate. In spite of the fact that my ex-boyfriend Benzo, upon waking from his post-Sox winning revelry, will no doubt post some comment busting on the Mariners/Seahawks in retaliation for my anti-BoSox position, and in spite of the fact that the only good thing I can think about this victory is "at least the Yankees didn't win it," I don't have any problem saying that I'm already sick of the Red Sox--and any Assachusetts team, for that matter--being good. If the Patriots win the Super Bowl this year, which judging from the way they've been playing so far this season, they have a very, very good chance at doing, the world is going to have an epidemic of insufferably superior Boston fans refusing to shut up for the next year or ninety.
As far as I am concerned, the World Series this year was about as exciting as a Pampered Chef party minus a box of Franzia white zin, so I barely watched it. Last night, I was recovering so hard from the weekend's festivities that I actually had to leave Sunday football EARLY so I could take a nap for the first two-thirds of World Series game 7. I watched "America's Most Smartest Model" (if only to see Andre shout, "And victory again for the Soviets!") instead of most of the game, and just glared at the TV when I saw that the Sox had won. Man, fuck the Red Sox! The thing is, that even though they have won two championships in the past four years, Red Sox fans are STILL going to complain that it took them so damn long to start doing so. They could win the World Series every year for the next ninety years and Sox fans would still complain that somehow they're getting screwed over, most likely by the malicious specter of and/or a spell cast by the late Babe Ruth, or some other paranormal agent of the Yankees.
Speaking of the Yankees, they are acting as unpalatably arrogant as usual. Note the cover of today's New York Post, and see if you notice how much (or more appropriately, how little) they devote to World Series coverage:
Labels: Assachusetts, Benzo, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Yankees, large exclamatory font, NYC, sportsmen
Monday, October 22, 2007
Daily Douchebag: the Boston Red Sox
DOB: 1901
Occupation: being the second most despicable team in Major League Baseball (after the most hateful loser bitches and their archnemeses, the New York Yankees)
Hometown: Fenway Park, Boston, Assachusetts
Current residence: Fenway Park, Boston, Assachusetts
Douchebaggery: Last week, HotLawyer e-mailed me to request that I bust on the BoSox, and I was more than happy to oblige his request. I was hoping to do it after the Cleveland Indians smote their ruin upon the side of Jacobs Field, but fortune ceased to smile upon the Tribe and the Sox came back to win the damn ALCS last night.
I don't hate the Red Sox with the vitriol I reserve for the New York Yankees, but the Red Sox have caused me nothing but trouble with the honeys throughout my life. My ex-boyfriend Benzo and I had a great relationship with each other...EXCEPT when the Red Sox would run into trouble. I would estimate that 90% of the domestic issues we had were somehow related to the Red Sox and their misfortunes. One time Benzo took me to see the Mariners play the Sox at Fenway Park, and the M's won, and Benzo was a total brat about it the entire way back to Northampton. He wasn't even cheered by the fact that "that guy who was the bad guy in Midnight Run" was sitting behind us. Another time, I talked some shit to him about how the Red Sox were eliminated by the Indians in the 1998 playoffs, and Benzo HUNG UP ON ME! That was the only time in three years he ever slammed the phone down on me, and it was particularly unfair, because the Indians had eliminated the Mariners prior to that and Benzo took great glee in rubbing in their loss. Benzo's mood was so directly related to the Red Sox and their fortunes that I was always SOOOOOO thankful when baseball season was over and we could return to our blissful domestic life together sans whining about the Sox's illustrious history of losing.
More recently, I fucked this dude who blew me off via text message for a "date" (ie: beers followed by sex) watching the damn Red Sox! I know full well that his excuse of eating "bad Thai food" was bullshit; he just wanted to pout about the Red Sox losing in peace, as is the habit of all obnoxious Boston fans. Not that I missed out on great sex or anything because of it (it was more than apropos that he went to UMass, as he was truly a Minuteman), but I still blame the Red Sox entirely for having to spend that Friday night being pissed off and not laid. The Red Sox are terrible losers, worse winners, and legendary cockblockers in my experience, and as far as I'm concerned, the world would be a better place without them.
LL Cool Jew and I have been spending the past week abusing the Sox for these and a variety of other transgressions, the number one being Manny Ramirez. Manny Ramirez is an asshole with terrible personal hygiene. He looks like a damn indigent.
Labels: Assachusetts, assholes, Benzo, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Yankees, sportsmen
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Trapped in the Jeter
I was just idly cruising around on the sublime clusterfuck of awesomeness known as the New York Post's website while I was chuckling at the ineptitude of the Boston Red Sox's pitching staff when I came across this shocking headline:
Naturally, I initially scowled viciously as I am wont to do whenever I catch a glimpse of pinstripes and Jeter's effeminate countenance looking smug. I like to make fun of the Red Sox, mainly because I got used to doing so during the three years I dated my ex Benzo and dealing with all of his Sox-related mood disorders, but I HATE the Yankees. Every cell in my body is repulsed by the mere mention of those despicable bastards just a stone's throw across the river from my apartment. I read the article, certain that it would portray Jeter as the asshole I know him to be. I am certain that I'm not the only one who thinks, "Sleep with Jeter...? EWWWWW. Not in a million years, not even if I had the penis that he requires his partner to possess!" I was not disappointed:
And it's not like I'm ragging on Jeter because being gay is bad or anything like that. I am a fan of some occasional hot same-sex action myself, and I could care less if Jeter and Gay-Rod like to teabag each other or not. I just think that Jeter's closet status is like Samson's hair. Once he's out, he'll lose all strength. I mean, he'll lose it worse than getting unceremoniously bounced in the first round of the playoffs. It will expedite the Yankees as a whole organization facing what an overrated travesty of a sports team they are, and paying terribly for their years of bad karma earned just by being the New York Yankees. Come out, already, Jeter...that's the hard part, anyway. Just get it over with.
Naturally, I initially scowled viciously as I am wont to do whenever I catch a glimpse of pinstripes and Jeter's effeminate countenance looking smug. I like to make fun of the Red Sox, mainly because I got used to doing so during the three years I dated my ex Benzo and dealing with all of his Sox-related mood disorders, but I HATE the Yankees. Every cell in my body is repulsed by the mere mention of those despicable bastards just a stone's throw across the river from my apartment. I read the article, certain that it would portray Jeter as the asshole I know him to be. I am certain that I'm not the only one who thinks, "Sleep with Jeter...? EWWWWW. Not in a million years, not even if I had the penis that he requires his partner to possess!" I was not disappointed:
October 16, 2007 -- IF Bronx Bomber Derek Jeter wants to keep his sex life a secret, he should learn to tie up any post-tryst loose ends.Translation: settle your tab with the beard hookers you couldn't get it up for the previous evening. Or, I'm sorry, I mean "tie up any post-tryst loose ends."
Our spy in the lobby of the Shore Club in Miami early Sunday morning spotted "two scantily clad women screaming at the front desk because they had spent the night at Jeter's penthouse and were then charged for parking."
"The girls were wearing what looked like the same clothes they wore the night before - a tight cocktail dress and a mini-skirt. They were making a huge scene because they were asked to pay for parking.
"Obviously, they'd spent the night there," giggled the onlooker, who noted that one of the overnight guests was screaming into the phone, "After last night, he'd better [bleep]ing take care of it!"Yeah, so they'd keep their Restalyne-stuffed DSLs shut about how he asked them to peg him all night long, talk in a deep voice, and answer to "Alex".
After a bit of insistence, "they eventually left happy. I assume he paid for their parking after all," said our snitch.
Tongues in Miami are wagging over Jeter's stint in Miami, where he was spotted Friday night dining at Nobu, then partying it up with Timbaland at Skybar. "They took over the table in the back and drank Grey Goose all night," said a fellow reveler. "Five girls were dancing around him, but he didn't seem interested."Because he and Timbaland were probably planning a vigorous poker game later. Everyone knows Tim's rolling on the DL, big time. Have you ever heard music that screams "gay club jam" (and screams "I am barely literate") more than that "The Way I Are" song? Just ask Justin Timberlake, who is "dating" (wink) lesbian killing machine and Jeter ex-beard Jessica Biel.
Jeter was spotted acting equally detached later that night at Set, where he was "surrounded by throngs of women five rows deep. He was hanging with a guy friend, though, and didn't seem to take much interest in the hordes of ladies."BECAUSE HE IS GAY! GAY! GAY! GAY! HE IS NOT INTERESTED IN THE HORDES OF LADIES! DEREK JETER IS GAY! I've been saying this for years. Come on, Richard Johnson, just come right out and say it!
Evidently, the Yankee captain likes to keep his conquests behind closed doors, because there were no Jeter sightings Saturday night.More like getting cornholed up in his suite all night. Let me guess...a certain sexy third baseman and detestable former Seattle Mariner booked an adjoining Shore Club penthouse?
"I heard he was staying in the penthouse at the Shore Club," said one Miami source. "He checked in solo Friday, but nobody saw him Saturday night . . . and everyone down here talks when big names come to town. Maybe he was holed up in his suite all night?"
Jeter is notorious for his off-field plays - he's been linked to the likes of Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Jordana Brewster, Mariah Carey, Scarlett Johansson, Vanessa Minnillo and Gabrielle Union.Oh, you mean Jeter has dated Beard, Lesbian Beard, Lesbian Beard, Fat Beard, Bisexual Beard, Beard, and Beard? Big deal. Just because, like many closeted fellows before him, Derek Jeter likes to adorn himself with hot chicks doesn't mean that he's not waking with Gay-Rod santorum breath. As far as this chick-amassing strategies track record as a successful ruse, it didn't work for Rock Hudson, and it's not going to work for a big flaming twink like you either, Derek!
Shore Club reps had "no comment," and a Yankee rep did not return calls.
And it's not like I'm ragging on Jeter because being gay is bad or anything like that. I am a fan of some occasional hot same-sex action myself, and I could care less if Jeter and Gay-Rod like to teabag each other or not. I just think that Jeter's closet status is like Samson's hair. Once he's out, he'll lose all strength. I mean, he'll lose it worse than getting unceremoniously bounced in the first round of the playoffs. It will expedite the Yankees as a whole organization facing what an overrated travesty of a sports team they are, and paying terribly for their years of bad karma earned just by being the New York Yankees. Come out, already, Jeter...that's the hard part, anyway. Just get it over with.
Labels: fuck the Yankees, large exclamatory font, NYC, overcompensation, vulgar display of faggotry
Friday, October 05, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Alex Rodriguez
DOB: July 27, 1975
Occupation: third baseman for the accursed New York Yankees (but the picture above is of a younger Gay-Rod, back when he was still noble and uncorrupted by his pinstripes and greed)
Hometown: Washington Heights, New York, New York, the DR, and Miami, Florida
Current residence: New York, New York and the south, south Bronx
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I know that every last Razzyphile is reading this and thinking, "What the hell...? I thought she hated the Yankees and especially hated Gay-Rod. Did she mislabel this post?" No, I did not, and I still hate the Yankees, and I still have a black, necrotic corner of my heart where my feelings for Gay-Rod dwell. However, I have to recognize the one positive thing that the most valuable poker player on the American League DL circuit does every year besides get Jeter off with his extraordinary felching technique: CHOKE BIG TIME IN THE PLAYOFFS!
Last night, I was watching the CW11 local news for some reason, and Lolita the lesbian sportscaster informed viewers that "things weren't looking so good for the Bronx Bombers," which put me in great spirits. I knew that even if I woke sleep-deprived and grouchy as usual, I'd at least see headlines like this in the esteemed New York Post, and that to me is like Christmas:
I know it's only the first game of the postseason, but I praise Alex Rodriguez's shitty performance (okay, it wasn't that bad...he was walked twice...but STILL, no homers or even hits) and encourage him to keep up the good work. Last year, he batted .071 in the playoffs, and so far, it looks like he might even do better than that (and by better, I mean worse). Aim low, Gay-Rod!
I'd also like to give an honorable mention to the Indians fans, who were screaming chants of "OVERRATED!" every time this dipshit went up to bat. With any luck, this series will be akin to the one in Major League, where the Yankees are beat spectacularly when the grizzled veteran catcher Jake Taylor calls his shot and then bunts, allowing Willie Mays Hayes to score and win the game. C.C. Sabathia is no Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn, but I still have faith that the Tribe can follow in the footsteps of their fictional predecessors, and yes, that includes offering prayers to Joe Boo if any of them are having trouble hitting curve balls. Go Indians! You're contenders now!
Labels: assholes, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, fuck the Yankees, sportsmen
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Daily Douchebag: the New York Yankees
DOB: 1901
Occupation: lords of douchebaggery in Major League Baseball
Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland
Current residence: the Bronx, New York
Douchebaggery: Last night the Yankees secured yet another trip to the playoffs, reminding me again how much I hate that fucking team. I hate them so much that every time I see someone running around with a Yankees cap on (especially if it's a chick in a pink Yankees cap), I want to rip it off their heads and trample it. I hate them so much that if I see them I'll punch as many of them as I can square in the nuts before I get hauled away, starting with Jeter and his boyfriend Gay Rod. I hate them so much that I am convinced that in hell, the only sports channel on TV is probably YES, and it plays nonstop footage of Yankees World Series victories. I HATE THE YANKEES, and this has nothing to do with the fact that the Mariners have, as usual, pissed away any slight chance of making it to the playoffs.
The only thing that makes me happy about 2007's trip to the postseason for Satan's pinstriped legions is the fact that if anyone had any doubts as to Alex Rodriguez's dubious sexual orientation, I think the picture above should erase those. Okay, it might be champagne they're pouring all over his gasping, delighted ass for the back cover of the Post, but you know later he's going to be making the same expression at the Yanks circle jerk and bukkake party. I can only pray that Gay Rod and all his "poker buddies" at Yankee Stadium will be too caught up buggering each other in celebration of their bid for yet another AL pennant and yet another World Series victory to actually play decently. You know Gay Rod is going to choke at the plate per usual because he's so distracted by his fond memories of the pre-game salad tossing he gives Jeter as part of their October ritual back in the clubhouse. At least that's a silver lining.
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, fuck the Yankees, sportsmen, vulgar display of faggotry
Friday, August 10, 2007
Daily Douchebag: Derek Jeter
DOB: June 26, 1974
Occupation: shortstop for the bastard-ass Yankees, ladies man, genital scourge of Hollywood
Hometown: Kalamazoo, Michigan via Pequannock Township, New Jersey
Current residence: New York, New York
Douchebaggery: Derek Jeter the Peter-Eater is already a major douchebag based on a simple and obvious fact: he plays for the fucking Yankees. In fact, he's the captain of the damn Yankees. My opinion of the New York Yankees is that they are somewhere between Hitler and the Devil himself in terms of atrocious, despicable, loathsome entities. I hate them and I would not cry if a nuclear bomb landed on the South Bronx today and destroyed Yankee Stadium. Well, I also probably also wouldn't cry because I live just over the Harlem River from there, and any such bomb would also destroy me, but I'd take comfort in knowing that the pinstriped legions of hell were annihilated before my own destruction even if I didn't have time to consider lamentation.
Anyway, when he's not sucking off Alex "Gay-Rod" Rodriguez, looking smug, or hawking annoying products like his perfume "Driven," Jeter likes to run around with a lot of prominent Hollywood beards on his arm. In the past, he's dated Mariah Carey, some Miss Universe from a few years ago, Jessica Biel, and Jessica Alba. It seems he left these ladies with more than just some fond memories about how he couldn't maintain an erection unless they spoke in a deep voice and let him call them "Alex." According to the gossip internets, a disgruntled former assistant of Jessica Alba is telling everyone that he had to fill her regular Valtrex prescription, an unfortunate consequence of her brief dalliance with the second biggest down-low poker player in Major League Baseball next to Gay-Rod himself.
Not that Derek Jeter is the only one spreading herpes all over Hollywood. I think everyone knows about this:
Nor is Jeter the only professional athlete to be freely sharing his genital ulcerations to his swooning fans. There's also dog-torturer Michael Vick, AKA Ron Mexico. Vick apparently gave the herp to some chick he was banging, and she sued his lesion-spattered ass for giving her herpes under cover of the alias "Ron Mexico." This inspired a number of creative customized Dirrty Birds jersey purchases, at least until NFLshop.com got wise and banned any jerseys saying "Ron Mexico" or "Herpes." Too bad, because that shit is funny. I bet by now they've also banned Falcons #7 jerseys saying "Pit Fighter" and "Puppy Murderer":
Anyway, since 21% of the population, including many in his combined industries of professional sports and media whoring have herpes, Derek's not alone in the VIP section of Club Simplex. As far as I'm concerned, that's just another reason for me to dislike him and stay as far away from him as possible, along with Jessica Alba, Jessica Schwarzenegger Biel, Mariah Carey, and all the various celebrity tramps he's flapped his soft penis against the thigh of. My brother Lil' Tevie, who is constantly vacillating between deciding whether Britney Spears circa 2001 or Jessica Alba is hotter, will now have a compelling reason to stop wearing that infernal Yankees cap that he sports sometimes (to the mortified shame of the rest of my family). I've always thought that Jessica Alba looks like her face got stung by a swarm of bees, and she seems like a stuck-up bitch, so Lil' Tevie's going to have to admit that her unholy union with one of Satan Steinbrenner's minions is strike three and declare that bitch out.
The professional sports teams need to get their act together with regard to their players spreading VD around the country. In particular, Steinbrenner needs to tell Jeter to keep his pustule-covered peen safely in his jockstrap and stop subjecting his hetero decoy girlfriends to its viral ravages. He needs to just quarantine himself with his poker buddies who probably all have it too, and quit infecting dumb sluts like Jessica Alba, who is probably giving it to (Brody Jenner/Cisco Adler/Jesse Metcalfe/Brandon Davis/insert name of vacuous D-list actor, musician, or heir here) as I write this. Stop the epidemic!
Labels: celebrities, Daily Douchebag, epidemic geekery, fuck the Yankees, sluts, viruses rule
Monday, July 02, 2007
At least I like Mrs. A-Rod
I hate Alex "Gay Rod" Rodriguez about as much as I hate raisins, ketchup, and cats, which is a LOT. However, after seeing this morning's Post headline, I've decided that I am his wife's newest fan:
I can hardly blame her for throwing up some major league attitude after her down low husband was running around Canada with some new stripper beard. "Fuck you" is also a completely understandable and eminently sensible position to take concerning the New York Yankees. I'm not sure I agree that her shirt qualifies as "XXX" (unless there's some people fucking on the front of it, but I suspect it more likely says "Juicy Couture" on the front which, while annoying, is hardly pornographic), but nonetheless, I admire her spirit. Rock on, Cynthia. Fuck you, Yankee Stadium!
Labels: fuck the Yankees, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, large exclamatory font, NYC
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Give them a Pulitzer already
If you ever disputed that the New York Post is the greatest newspaper in the history of print journalism, you need look no further than today's extremely awesome cover to be proven WRONG. This may be the most sublimely brilliant Post cover of all time:
Furthermore, on the back cover the headline says "BAWL FOUR" and notes that "the Yankees misery continues." In spite of stifling weather and temporary blackouts wreaking havoc with the subway system, it is truly a wonderful day to live in New York City.
Labels: fuck the Yankees, I LOVE IT, large exclamatory font, sluts
Monday, June 04, 2007
The Red Sox faithful redeem themselves
Normally I can't stand Red Sox fans. They're annoying and act like the world is out to get them. Maybe I would have bought that before they won the World Series (and three Super Bowls), but Boston fans still act like they're always getting screwed over and whining about it. I had more problems concerning the Red Sox than anything else with my college boyfriend Benzo. He and I had a great relationship, until the MLB postseason started anyway. He would rip on me mercilessly about the Mariners, but the second I'd try to flip a little of that back his way, he'd freak out. I'd hear a lot of, "Well, you just can't understand what it's like for your team to be around 90 years and never win a World Series!" and "We've had it STOLEN from us" (and if he wants an example of that actually happening to a sports team, I would now refer him to Super Bowl XL). My retorts about "Well, whose fault is it that Bill Buckner can't field a simple grounder?", "I'm glad the Mets won...Ron Darling was hot," and other choice nastiness concerning the 1986 World Series did nothing to stem the tide of Red Sox-related minor spats. The only time he ever hung up a phone on me was when Boston lost the 1998 AL Divisional Series, and after enduring his taunts during the Wild Card playoff regarding the Seattle Mariners, I couldn't resist a little payback. "How about those Cleveland Indians?" I said, and then heard an angry click as he slammed down the phone. Our relationship was much more peaceful once baseball season mercifully ended. I loved Benzo, but I couldn't STAND that constant woe-is-us Red Sox bullshit.
However, the Red Sox fans have a new, special place in my heart, because if there's one thing I hate more than the fellas at Fenway, it's those pinstriped assholes in the Bronx. When I first moved to New York, I tried to keep my negative feelings about the Yankees to myself, because Yankees fans are so ridiculously easy to provoke to violence via disparaging comments about their team. Then, I soon realized that I'm not going to let a bunch of dumb, obnoxious meatheads in Jeter shirts and Yanks caps intimidate me into keeping my anti-Yankee sentiments to myself, and I'm a girl, so it's unlikely that a little mild Yankees trash talk will incur an actual beatdown. Last time I was at Yankee Stadium I got drunk (because it's the most frightening baseball stadium in America in terms of design...I'm not afraid of heights, but my life flashes before my eyes when I'm climbing up to the nosebleed section where I usually sit), and started mouthing off about Jeter being a pussy , Mariano Rivera being a Jesus freak, and A-Rod being a sell-out. I got a lot of dirty looks, but remained unmolested. I now vocally celebrate anything bad that happens to the Yankees, which this year means their entire season.
There is also one Yankee I hate more than any other. He used to be a Mariner, and may be the biggest fucktard in the history of professional baseball. He's also a passive, whiny bitch who is on the down low with Jeter and who invariably bats .005 in the postseason (which this year, the Yankees will be lucky to even get anywhere near, and too bad, because I'll miss Post headlines like "THE CHOKE'S ON US!"). I am talking, of course, about the lowest of the low, the most overpaid former shortstop in baseball, and the scourge of the Bronx: ALEX FUCKING RODRIGUEZ, or Gay-Rod, as I like to call him.
Last week, the best newspaper in New York City had some breaking news about Gay-Rod cheating on his wife, and surprisingly not with a man:
Apparently he was running all over Toronto with this bitch, who is a Playboy reject, an ex-Scores dancer, and currently a stripper at some Canadian titty bar where Gay-Rod made like R. Kelly and was steadily tossing that cash flow. What this chick is not is Gay-Rod's beard wife Cynthia. This has apparently caused a big scandal with Yankees fans, who are used to Gay-Rod being boring and pretentious, not an unrepentant philanderer in the same league as the Giants Tackle known to Post readers as Michael STRAY-han.
This weekend, the Yanks were in Boston, and the Red Sox fans decided to capitalize on the NYC tabloids proclaiming him "STRAY-ROD" and "YANKEE DOODLE RANDY" and thus redeem themselves in my eyes, for a little while anyway. Every time Gay-Rod was up to bat, the fans sitting behind home plate did this:
Those are some hot assholes right there. The Post and Daily News covers this weekend were crowing headlines like "BLONDE BIM-BOSOX" and "MASK HYSTERIA IN BEANTOWN!" If the Red Sox fans continue to be such awesomely unsportsmanlike bad winners, then maybe I can forget what a bunch of crybaby losers they typically are. This is the best thing to come out of Assachusetts in quite some time. Good show, Boston fans.
[RAZZY ASIDE: Benzo, how long will it take you to post some comment dissing the Mariners to revenge your beloved Sox? My prediction is that you'll craft some snotty cracks about the M's pitching staff before noon!]
However, the Red Sox fans have a new, special place in my heart, because if there's one thing I hate more than the fellas at Fenway, it's those pinstriped assholes in the Bronx. When I first moved to New York, I tried to keep my negative feelings about the Yankees to myself, because Yankees fans are so ridiculously easy to provoke to violence via disparaging comments about their team. Then, I soon realized that I'm not going to let a bunch of dumb, obnoxious meatheads in Jeter shirts and Yanks caps intimidate me into keeping my anti-Yankee sentiments to myself, and I'm a girl, so it's unlikely that a little mild Yankees trash talk will incur an actual beatdown. Last time I was at Yankee Stadium I got drunk (because it's the most frightening baseball stadium in America in terms of design...I'm not afraid of heights, but my life flashes before my eyes when I'm climbing up to the nosebleed section where I usually sit), and started mouthing off about Jeter being a pussy , Mariano Rivera being a Jesus freak, and A-Rod being a sell-out. I got a lot of dirty looks, but remained unmolested. I now vocally celebrate anything bad that happens to the Yankees, which this year means their entire season.
There is also one Yankee I hate more than any other. He used to be a Mariner, and may be the biggest fucktard in the history of professional baseball. He's also a passive, whiny bitch who is on the down low with Jeter and who invariably bats .005 in the postseason (which this year, the Yankees will be lucky to even get anywhere near, and too bad, because I'll miss Post headlines like "THE CHOKE'S ON US!"). I am talking, of course, about the lowest of the low, the most overpaid former shortstop in baseball, and the scourge of the Bronx: ALEX FUCKING RODRIGUEZ, or Gay-Rod, as I like to call him.
Last week, the best newspaper in New York City had some breaking news about Gay-Rod cheating on his wife, and surprisingly not with a man:
This weekend, the Yanks were in Boston, and the Red Sox fans decided to capitalize on the NYC tabloids proclaiming him "STRAY-ROD" and "YANKEE DOODLE RANDY" and thus redeem themselves in my eyes, for a little while anyway. Every time Gay-Rod was up to bat, the fans sitting behind home plate did this:
[RAZZY ASIDE: Benzo, how long will it take you to post some comment dissing the Mariners to revenge your beloved Sox? My prediction is that you'll craft some snotty cracks about the M's pitching staff before noon!]
Labels: Assachusetts, assholes, comeuppance, fuck the Yankees, I LOVE IT, large exclamatory font, vengeance is sweet
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Million dollar scabies
Recently the woman who refused to shave Britney's head has been dragging the hair around to "Entertainment Tonight" and any other media outfit that will allow those biohazardous synthetic tresses on set. It seems she spied a golden opportunity and tried to sell this crap on eBay. eBay, adhering to their policy not to allow auctions selling biological or chemical weapons of mass destruction, pulled the listing. Undaunted, the entrepreneurial owner of the alleged hair set up a website to sell it for the low, low price of one MILLION dollars.
While I'm all for capitalism and I'm not hating on this salon owner for aspiring to be counted among what Destiny's Child calls "all the mamas with profit dollas", if this sells fora cool million a hundred thousand ten grand one C-note 5 bucks, I'll be astounded yet again by the sheer idiocy of the average American consumer. How exactly could you make any money off this shit except by selling it to a monumentally stupid buyer after convincing them it's a winning business venture? Unfortunately, there probably IS some trashy moron out there who just won Powerball or something that will plunk down an obscene sum of cash for this worthless crap which MAY be an infectious hazard. God bless America.
I was hoping that my favorite city paper, the NY Post, would have an awesome exclamatory front page headline about this bullshit "opportunity." Instead, it seems they've chosen to focus on the busted selection of wigs she's chosen to sport since getting the Smith College first-year womyn's studies major/G.I. Jane coif, although they neglect to mention that this look was shamelessly stolen from Deputy Johnson on "Reno 911!".
On a totally unrelated note, the Post and Daily News are BOTH all over how Pay-Rod and Derek Jeter broke up. The Post got it wrong because the headline SHOULD be "A-ROD COMES OUT".
I defy anyone (JerseyGirl) passionately arguing against the fact that these two were trading reach-arounds up until Jeter's brief showmance with Jessica Biel to say so now. Not only are they not friends anymore, but what Pay-Rod specifically said was, "You go from sleeping over at someone's house five nights a week, and then you don't sleep over anymore." He should have added, "And then your boyfriend--I mean, teammate--is on Perez Hilton playing football on some Puerto Rican beach with that hot-assed bitch who used to be on '7th Heaven'. I've learned that when someone says, 'I'll never leave you, Alex' they are A FILTHY LIAR! Wait...I miss you, Derek. I'll never find anything as special as what we once had. Call me!" This is otherwise known as BREAKING UP. Apparently, they hit a rough patch (AKA last post-season, when the only balls Gay-Rod was hitting with his bat were Jeter's) and had a bit of a lovers' spat. Now Jeter is sending Gay-Rod to voicemail and slutting around Hollywood to inspire jealousy. Man, I hope the Yankees suck this year on account of gay drama involving the shortstop and third baseman. Better yet, I hope one of them buys Britney's hair to give the other as a peace offering, and then they both die from the as-yet-undescribed super-virulent strain of the clap it carries. That would kick so much ass.
This is it, the opportunity of a lifetime. You can be the proud owner of Britney Spears’ hair, extensions, the Omega clipper used to cut it all off and even the can of Red Bull she was drinking at the time. You also get her blue Bic Lighter and this valuable domain and website to use for publicity purposes. This is the Ultimate Britney Spears Experience! It is a piece of history that can not be duplicated!It might be the "opportunity of a lifetime" for the salon owner to unload a permanently nit-contaminated set of clippers, but that's it. I would also argue that the "Ultimate Britney Spears experience" would be doing a shit-ton of ecstasy and having a lesbian orgy with a platoon of washed-up Vegas hookers in a pig trough filled with Cheetos, but I guess that's a little tougher to orchestrate and sell. In case that sales pitch didn't convince you that the cheap extensions Brit sheared off, along with a Red Bull can that actually touched her herpetic lips, a lighter, and the EXTREMELY valuable domain "buybritneyshair.com" are worth your hard-earned MILLION DOLLARS, take a gander at the goods themselves.
A portion of the proceeds will be donated to various charities. The winner will have the choice to remain anonymous or to use this for publicity purposes.
If you are SERIOUS about purchasing please do the following:
Please send an email to buybritneyshair@yahoo.com and include your name, company name (if applicable), email, phone number, and address. We will contact you A.S.A.P. Any submissions that do not include ALL of the required information will be discarded.
While I'm all for capitalism and I'm not hating on this salon owner for aspiring to be counted among what Destiny's Child calls "all the mamas with profit dollas", if this sells for
I was hoping that my favorite city paper, the NY Post, would have an awesome exclamatory front page headline about this bullshit "opportunity." Instead, it seems they've chosen to focus on the busted selection of wigs she's chosen to sport since getting the Smith College first-year womyn's studies major/G.I. Jane coif, although they neglect to mention that this look was shamelessly stolen from Deputy Johnson on "Reno 911!".
On a totally unrelated note, the Post and Daily News are BOTH all over how Pay-Rod and Derek Jeter broke up. The Post got it wrong because the headline SHOULD be "A-ROD COMES OUT".
Labels: Britney Spears, capitalism, celebrities, fuck the Yankees, gross, large exclamatory font, oh the horror, pro-apocalyptic zeitgeist, ridiculous absurdity, vulgar display of faggotry
Monday, October 16, 2006
A recent dream ALMOST comes true. Almost.
When discussing the death of Yankees pitcher Cory Lidle making like Mohammed Atta except less determined, more inept, and with far less carnage last week, I mentioned that "if only A-Rod and Jeter would take up some type of dangerous and life-threatening hobby, my day will have been made." Apparently A-Rod already had: private ownership of a Gulfstream G3 piloted by someone with skills tantamount to Cory Lidle's flight instructor's.
I've hated Alex Rodriguez ever since he blew off the Mariners because the Rangers gave him a ridiculous contract. I didn't blame him for following the money, as I'm totally cool with capitalism. However, I thought that leaving to play for a loser team like the Rangers was a bad idea, if only because George W. Bush used to own a share of them and rocks their logo gear on the regs. Well, and the RANGERS SUCK, and A-Rod was too much of a pussy to admit that. Instead, he would say a bunch of incredible bullshit about how the Rangers were a solid team and he was making this decision because he loves to play baseball, and not because he was getting a quarter of a billion dollars to go to Arlington. I strongly dislike people who would rather say a bunch of overtly insincere bullshit rather than just say, "Hey, I'm a greedy asshole, and I wanted to make $250 million dollars just because some rich, desperate idiots in Texas are willing to pay me that." If you're an asshole, have some self-respect and just admit it, for fuck's sake! Spend your time and your signing bonus fucking expensive hookers, drinking Louis XIII, buying diamond-encrusted jockstraps, rolling around on rugs made out of baby seal, and anything else stupid and ostentatious NOT related to building an obviously false image with your PR rep or whoever. Anyway, after tucking his shit firmly between his legs for the sake of PR, A-Rod went from bad to infinitely worse by signing with THE FUCKING YANKEES. That pretty much sealed my eternal grudge against Alex Rodriguez, and in my mind makes him entirely deserving of death by freak plane crash, or at least an embarrassing anal perforation-induced trip to the ER involving Derek Jeter and a most unfortunate gerbil.
I thought the former was going to happen earlier this week when I read the exciting headline: "A-Rod in Plane Crash." However, despite the promising moment when A-Rod's private jet skidded out of control on the tarmac at Bob Hope's Rich People Airport, my fantasies of Pay Rod getting his karmic untimely death comeuppance for being a sanctimonious corporate whore to George Steinbrenner were destroyed by a wall of crushable concrete blocks. Crap.
Although chances are nothing plane crashy ever happen to A-Rod again, I can at least hope that he suffers something like this...
...except instead of being attacked by a fellow baseball player, A-Rod gets his eyes gouged out by a rabid badger wearing shinguards, a chest protector, and a catcher's mask. Seriously, would that not completely rule???
I've hated Alex Rodriguez ever since he blew off the Mariners because the Rangers gave him a ridiculous contract. I didn't blame him for following the money, as I'm totally cool with capitalism. However, I thought that leaving to play for a loser team like the Rangers was a bad idea, if only because George W. Bush used to own a share of them and rocks their logo gear on the regs. Well, and the RANGERS SUCK, and A-Rod was too much of a pussy to admit that. Instead, he would say a bunch of incredible bullshit about how the Rangers were a solid team and he was making this decision because he loves to play baseball, and not because he was getting a quarter of a billion dollars to go to Arlington. I strongly dislike people who would rather say a bunch of overtly insincere bullshit rather than just say, "Hey, I'm a greedy asshole, and I wanted to make $250 million dollars just because some rich, desperate idiots in Texas are willing to pay me that." If you're an asshole, have some self-respect and just admit it, for fuck's sake! Spend your time and your signing bonus fucking expensive hookers, drinking Louis XIII, buying diamond-encrusted jockstraps, rolling around on rugs made out of baby seal, and anything else stupid and ostentatious NOT related to building an obviously false image with your PR rep or whoever. Anyway, after tucking his shit firmly between his legs for the sake of PR, A-Rod went from bad to infinitely worse by signing with THE FUCKING YANKEES. That pretty much sealed my eternal grudge against Alex Rodriguez, and in my mind makes him entirely deserving of death by freak plane crash, or at least an embarrassing anal perforation-induced trip to the ER involving Derek Jeter and a most unfortunate gerbil.
I thought the former was going to happen earlier this week when I read the exciting headline: "A-Rod in Plane Crash." However, despite the promising moment when A-Rod's private jet skidded out of control on the tarmac at Bob Hope's Rich People Airport, my fantasies of Pay Rod getting his karmic untimely death comeuppance for being a sanctimonious corporate whore to George Steinbrenner were destroyed by a wall of crushable concrete blocks. Crap.
Although chances are nothing plane crashy ever happen to A-Rod again, I can at least hope that he suffers something like this...
Labels: celebrities, fuck the Yankees, large exclamatory font, Mariners, NYC
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Al Qaeda? No, it's just a Bronx bomber.
Usually, the words "a plane crashed into the side of a high rise building in New York" lead most New Yorkers to think "terror" and not "rich professional athlete's tricked-out Cessna had fuel pump problems." I was relieved that yesterday's headline about this was not the bad news that Osama Bin Laden has orchestrated another attack on the Big Apple, but actually the good news that the ever-loathsome Yankees are short a starting pitcher:
I'm sure people are probably going to think it's really mean to make fun of someone who died in a plane crash, but whatever. I HATE the Yankees, and I think anyone else who roots for an American League team that isn't from New York feels the same way (I'm a Mariners fan, obviously). In my dream world, the Yankees' entire starting lineup dies in a plane crash. Better yet, the Yankees' entire starting lineup winds up in one of the Saw movies, except in real life. Because of my blind and consuming hatred of all things Yankee, when one of them dies by accident or otherwise, I consider it a cause for celebration rather than mourning, especially when the deceased was famous for being a slovenly asshole (not that this is any different than any other Yankee). Fellow pitcher (and former Seattle Mariner) Arthur Rhodes had this to say about him:
Despite this, of course the New York tabloids are already trying to be laudatory and respectful, while at the same time coming up with headlines like "'Bomber' pilot crashes plane", although the Post left this off the front page in favor of a more sentimental montage of the crash, a plane, and a photo of Cory Lidle looking sad because he's dead. The Daily News kept the cover simple, but inside the article compares Lidle's death to 9/11. Are you fucking kidding me???
Anyway, at the risk of being killed by mobs of Yankee fans when I venture outside, I'm going to say that dying in a plane crash is Cory Lidle's karmic reward for agreeing to pitch for Satan's pinstriped minions. Now, if only A-Rod and Jeter would take up some type of dangerous and potentially life-threatening hobby, my day will have been made.
I'm sure people are probably going to think it's really mean to make fun of someone who died in a plane crash, but whatever. I HATE the Yankees, and I think anyone else who roots for an American League team that isn't from New York feels the same way (I'm a Mariners fan, obviously). In my dream world, the Yankees' entire starting lineup dies in a plane crash. Better yet, the Yankees' entire starting lineup winds up in one of the Saw movies, except in real life. Because of my blind and consuming hatred of all things Yankee, when one of them dies by accident or otherwise, I consider it a cause for celebration rather than mourning, especially when the deceased was famous for being a slovenly asshole (not that this is any different than any other Yankee). Fellow pitcher (and former Seattle Mariner) Arthur Rhodes had this to say about him:
"He's a scab. When he started, he would go 5 1/3 innings and the bullpen would have to win the game for him. The only thing Cory Lidle wants to do is fly in his plane and gamble."After that, Rhodes goes off on how Lidle worked as a replacement player when baseball players were striking in the mid-90s (hence the scab reference), and how instead of lifting weights he sat in the clubhouse eating ice cream. Lazy fucker. I guess flying his plane was the gamble that finally finished his picket line-crossing ass off.
Despite this, of course the New York tabloids are already trying to be laudatory and respectful, while at the same time coming up with headlines like "'Bomber' pilot crashes plane", although the Post left this off the front page in favor of a more sentimental montage of the crash, a plane, and a photo of Cory Lidle looking sad because he's dead. The Daily News kept the cover simple, but inside the article compares Lidle's death to 9/11. Are you fucking kidding me???
Anyway, at the risk of being killed by mobs of Yankee fans when I venture outside, I'm going to say that dying in a plane crash is Cory Lidle's karmic reward for agreeing to pitch for Satan's pinstriped minions. Now, if only A-Rod and Jeter would take up some type of dangerous and potentially life-threatening hobby, my day will have been made.
Labels: assholes, fuck the Yankees, large exclamatory font, NYC
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