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
Friday, August 29, 2008
TGIAlmost NFL SEASON!!!
The last couple days I've been battling an annoying cold, and so have been taking it easy. I'm used to colds, as they are an occupational hazard of being in the rhinovirus business, but that doesn't mean I enjoy being stuck in my hovel of an apartment nursing one. To distract myself from feeling crummy, I decided to rely on my most treasured remedy for boredom and discontent: sweet, sweet television. There wasn't much on, so I spent my time flipping back and forth between the Jets and Giants games.
Preseason football never does much for me. It's mildly useful for deciding which eleventh round picks to make in my fantasy draft, but otherwise, watching the commentators scramble for background on the likes of Erik Ainge (he was an All-American in high school and Danny Ainge is his uncle!) and Mario Manningham (he smoked pot in college and scored a pitiful 6 on his Wonderlic exam) in lieu of actual stats is pretty boring. I tried hard to glean some useful information from these games, and this is what I got:
- Holy shit, LaMont Jordan plays for the Pats now? I was so disgusted with this asshole that I had hoped he'd be forgotten in the purgatory of Oakland for time eternal. Every year that fool is ranked as a top running back, and every year he averages around 15 yards per game with a measly one or two touchdowns all season. I know this from personal experience, since I wasted an early fantasy draft pick on LaMont Jordan two years ago and his woeful underperformance along with a string of unlucky quarterback injuries singlehandedly sunk my team to second-worst in the league. I think at one point that year I was so frustrated with his consistent lack of production that I actually benched him in favor of Correll Buckhalter, and it doesn't get much more pathetic or desperate than that. Oakland's stadium, the Black Hole, is aptly named with regard to the Raiders LaMont Jordan-reliant running game (and, actually, their entire offense). I can only hope that he brings some of that entirely overrated ass-suckery to poison the loathsome Patriots.
- David Carr is awesome as a preseason quarterback who will see no playing time unless Eli "Fetal Alcohol Syndrome" Manning is grievously injured. Since FAS doesn't have to worry about losing his mental sharpness to if he gets banged up on account of not having much to begin with, he'll have to suffer some sort of Theismann-esque injury for Carr to take the field again and bring the offense that made me forget the Texans even existed.
- The Giants have a tackle named Guy Whimper, which is quite possibly the least intimidating football name I've ever heard. I guess as long as the NFL can accommodate players with inordinately awesome names like Mack Strong, they can bring in the polar opposite too. Not surprisingly, Guy Whimper lasted only a couple of plays before being carted back to the locker room with turf toe.
- Watching New England's third string and practice squad guys lose in the preseason is infinitely less satisfying than watching their starters lose in the Super Bowl.
- Jet Favre manages to annoy me even when he's just standing on the sidelines, as the Associated Press puts it, "arms folded, jersey slightly untucked, and safe from harm." He truly deserves a spot in the hall of fame, as he's managed to accomplish what few others have: he can piss me off without doing anything at all.
- Jets commentators can still find approximately 45 minutes worth of play-by-play regarding the nothing that Brett Favre is engaged in. "You see a cagey veteran like Favre really knows how to watch the game with a critical eye" and "He's really made the transition well into that green Jets uniform" (as opposed to the dramatically different Packers green uniform) were among the deft observations made last night by Greg Buttle during the broadcast.
- PRESEASON FOOTBALL–ESPECIALLY IN WEEK 4–IS FUCKING BORING NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY TO LIKE IT OR HOW MUCH YOU LIKE FOOTBALL IN GENERAL!
Once I got too bored to continue, I decided to go to the trusty internets and read about football instead. The cherry on top of my relatively boring night of trying to care about the deepest recesses of the Jets and Giants rosters was seeing ESPN's predictions concerning the 2008 Seahawks:
YES!!! Once again, the Hawks are heralded to take a division title! Okay, so it IS the NFC West, which is probably the most cream puff division in the entire National Football League, but I am always excited to see a Seattle sports team get a positive preseason write-up from non-Seattle media. I always like hearing phrases like "the Seahawks should feast on a weak division in Mike Holmgren's final year" and "This is Mike Holmgren's final year as Seahawks coach...expect him to go out in style." Certainly seeing the Seahawks characterized as "always consistent" and "one of the finer teams in the NFC" is a considerable improvement upon recent preseason predictions for other Seattle sports teams ("Mariners poised for disappointment" and "Sonics move to Oklahoma City.") Besides, winning is still winning, even if it's only against the dregs of the NFL better known as the 49ers and the Cardinals. I also wholeheartedly endorse any instance of (Tacoma native) Marcus Trufant being featured as the face of the Seahawks.
The next nine days are going to fucking CRAWL by. September 7th cannot come fast enough.
Labels: I LOVE IT, NFL football, Seahawks, sportsmen, TV
Monday, August 18, 2008
Daily Douchebag: lame Olympic sports
DOB: various
Occupation: stealing NBC TV time from sports I actually care about and/or Bela Karolyi hating on China
Hometown: various
Current residence: Beijing, China
Douchebaggery: I haven't shut up about the Olympics, partly because I just like writing shamelessly jingoistic trash talk about how America rules and China sucks, and partly because I enjoy the spectacle of world-class athletes demonstrating their abilities in the world's premier international sporting competition. Unfortunately, some of the specific sports involved don't really do it for me. While I'm always good for a few ardent cries of "U! S! A!" and diplomatic sentiments like "That's what you get for hating freedom, you pinko human rights violators!" and "SUCK ON IT, FOREIGNERS!," I find that my nationalistic chauvinism loses a little steam while trying to get excited about shit like archery or judo.
I certainly respect the fact that the abilities of the athletes competing in these sports are light years beyond mine, and I don't mean to diminish their prowess at their sports. Obviously if I were to attempt to outfence the Olympic rapier team I'd be summarily stabbed. However, a lot of these sports are a total snorefest to watch. I get so bored that I even forget to root obnoxiously for America, and that's when I know it's time to change the channel and watch a rerun of "Project Runway" or get a little hot Mark Schlereth action on "Inside the NFL."
Archery: If this sport included more Lord of the Rings-type stuff, like dudes climbing up the sides of massive elephants to shoot entire squadrons of wild-eyed Haradrim from the southlands prior to taking out the elephant itself and sliding down its trunk while it collapses in its death throes as a final display of showmanship and finesse, I'd be more into it. Unfortunately, Olympic archery is just a bunch of balding dudes standing around shooting at a target. They don't even do that arrow-splitting thing that Robin Hood used to pull off. Unless archery is changed to involve either something like that, elves from Middle Earth, or Ted Nugent stalking a bunch of elk around some remote Michigan forest, I want no part of it.
Canoeing/Flatwater Kayaking: The only thing more lame than doing competitive rowing is doing it in a CANOE. Unless your name is Meriwether Lewis or William Clark, I am not going to be impressed by any feats of canoeing. Call me when you get involved with a real sport that Boy Scouts don't get merit badges for learning.
Equestrian: Having long gotten over the horse-craziness many girls experience during their prepubescent years, I could give a fuck about how well bitches in jodhpurs can trot a horse around a stable. They need to add a rodeo event or an actual RACE or something to spice up the snorefest that is dressage.
Fencing: I'd normally love anything that involves sabers and swordfighting, because those things remind me of pirates. Unfortunately, fencing doesn't involve wearing plumed hats, carrying a blunderbuss for show, or doing any sort of swashbuckling. Instead, fencing appears to be about wearing an outfit that looks like a cross between Hannibal Lecter's anti-cannibalism muzzle and Bender from "Futurama," and they always stop people from actually stabbing each other. That kind of takes all the fun out of swordfighting, if you ask me.
Judo: It's like wrestling, except MORE boring. I don't care if this is a martial art; two seconds of judo make me wish I were at a tax seminar.
Marathon: On Saturday, I went out drinking, and while I waited for my companion in this laudable pursuit to arrive, I was watching the Olympics on the bar TV. The women's marathon was on. I got bored after about thirty seconds, when I realized there was still another three fucking hours of endurance running. I appreciate the physical feat of running 26.2 miles in just a few short hours, but that shit is not fun to watch. Showing the last minute of the race and briefing me about anyone who threw up or died en route to the finish line is perfectly adequate marathon coverage as far as I'm concerned. I got so bored with what LL Cool Jew referred to as "SNORE...running in panties." I turned my attention to the preseason Jets-Redskins game, which wasn't so much a football game as a testament to how many of the (pitiful) Jets fans in attendance already forked over cash for "Jet Favre" jerseys. You know you're in trouble when two of your favorite sporting events are on TV (Olympics and NFL football), and the overriding thought in your mind is "I hope the camera pans over to the Redskins bench so I can feast my eyes on Seahawks legend Jim Zorn."
Rhythmic gymnastics: I am staunchly opposed to any "sport" that involves ribbon twirling. The only reason to watch gymsnatchtits is watching freakishly built children perform feats of agility and athleticism that seem physically impossible. Replacing said impressive gymnastic moves with balls and sashes defeats the entire purpose.
Rowing: This should be fun, because it's a race, but I always hated crew people. My high school ex-girlfriend rowed crew, and not only was she a really shitty girlfriend, I hung out with her "crew people" in college once. They ROYALLY sucked on account of attending Harvard, and being snobs about being on the fucking Harvard sculling team or whatever. The best part of that night was watching my ex-girlfriend puke into a Harvard Coop bag while getting shafted by the dumb bitch she was drunk dialing. Karmic reward is sweet, but crew is not. The Smith crew lesbians weren't any better. They were always whining about those of us engaged in the sports of alcoholism and revelry about how they had to get up at 5 a.m. for practice. I would tell them to either fuck off and go stay at their girlfriends' lame dorm where people drink a nip peach schnapps once a month (and that's on a crazy month) and are generally more silent than a room full of deaf-mutes, or tell them they should have thought about the fact they were in college before they joined the crew team. Sometimes I'd blow a lungful of Parliament Light smoke in their faces because I'm an asshole like that. Crew sucks.
Sailing: I guess the WASPs who don't get into tennis have to have some sport to compete in. Nonetheless, I can't get behind any "sport" that involves wearing Nautica clothes and topsiders.
Soccer: Soccer (which I refuse to and will NEVER refer to as "football") is the stupidest sport on earth, and it is a testament to America's greatness that most of us here in the United States of Asskickery could give two shits about it. Who needs to get with a sport that is every European's favorite thing? Europe blows.
Shooting: I love guns, so I SHOULD like shooting. However, it's not only a bunch of shooting at targets rather than game trophies, terrorists, or mutant aliens, the commentators always get really hung up on how to do use guns safely. I can sum that up in one sentence: IT'S CALLED A SAFETY, morons. Don't point the gun at your competitor when that's off, and voila! Safe gun use. Get over it.
Tae kwon do: Wait, they DON'T actually beat the shit out of each other during a tae kwon do contest? I thought they were supposed to "sweep the leg" and "put him in a body bag," all the while having "no mercy." At least that's what I learned from the Kobra Kai dojo. Unfortunately, real Olympic karate or whatever doesn't involve anything like that, or any ass-kicking at all. It's more about shit like "form." Who cares?
Wrestling: I normally like latently homoerotic sports in which grown, usually aggressively heterosexual men writhe around in singlets, but unless there is trash-talking and some member of the McMahon family involved, I get bored quickly. In "serious" Olympic wrestling, there isn't a whole lot of trash talking save that Swedish guy who renounced his bronze medal and stormed off, and there is virtually NO entrance music. In fact, the only time I've cared about an Olympic wrestler is in this context.
Oh, it's true, it's true. The only reason I cared about Kurt Angle's Olympic gold was they gave him ample cause to continually replay his awesome entrance music circa 2001 and throw a hissy fit about fans who chanted "you suck!" to it in spite of his ascending the medal podium in Atlanta. I mean, come on, his name is Kurt Angle, and what the heck...he won a gold medal and it's around his neck! Olympic wrestling should have more of that hotness.
Labels: Daily Douchebag, NFL football, Olympics, sportsmen
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Bela Karolyi
Name: Béla Károlyi
DOB: September 13, 1942
Occupation: retired Olympic gymsnatchtits coach, NBC analyst,
Hometown: Cluj-Napoca, Romania
Current residence: Houston, Texas
Bela Karolyi on vault judging: 'a total reep off...my heart is breeking for alicia sacaramonee. How you can do this? I am getting eemotional.'LL Cool Jew must already have boarded her flight, because she didn't get back to me. However, JerseyGirl texted me out of nowhere instead:
JerseyGirl: Omg behind the scenes of the hills, justin bobby is smokinWhile an intoxicated catfight between Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag–ESPECIALLY if the dirty and despicable yet hate-fuckably hot Justin Bobby is somehow involved–sounds compelling, I kept watching the Olympics. I care more about listening to Bela Karolyi excoriate the pro-China, age-faking, score-fixing factions in Olympic gymsnatchtits judging than whether or not Heidi and Spencer leaked LC's interminably boring sex tape because LC was generally a bitch of a roommate and fake best friend. Bela Karolyi is indeed awesome, and he's the hotness, and he's basically every other conjurable superlative.
Razzy: Lol. M watchn olympics but will switch over at commercial
JerseyGirl: Lc and heidi come face to face in season 4 in a drunken fight. It looks amazing. Btdubs bela karolyi–daily dude i wanna hit him
Razzy: zomg bela is awesome
JerseyGirl: Hes the hotness
I don't even care if Bela Karolyi built champion gymnasts in the past with a deft combination of starvation, self-esteem deconstruction, and verbal abuse. I love Bela. I would consider it an honor, a privilege, and a pleasure to be berated by him. I'm sad that gymsnatchtit competition is almost over, because I will miss watching him roar nonsensically in either exuberance or rage at Bob Costas about Team USA versus Team China. Bela doesn't give a fuck, and thinks nothing of call China "arrogant cheaters" or calling the Chinese and Russian judges "inexcusable" and "abominable" on international TV from Beijing, probably while the Olympics thought police hover around dying to pull the plug. In fact, he peppers excited shouts of "GOOD GIRL!" praising the gymnasts of Team USA with his rants about the Olympic powers that be, all the while waving his hands and shaking his fists like he's making a propaganda speech on behalf of his own local politburo in the People's Republic of Bela Karolyi Awesomeness.
In case you have been living under a rock or you're one of those losers who doesn't watch TV and thus haven't yet witnessed Bela in action, feast your eyes. He's like a Transylvanian bear on crack with a giant, industrial broom mustache, and he rules harder than Nicolae Ceaucescu back in the days before Bela defected to the good old U.S. of A.
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot dudes, JerseyGirl, LL Cool Jew, Olympics, sportsmen, The Hills
Friday, August 15, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Nastia Liukin
DOB: October 30, 1989
Occupation: Olympic women's all-around gold medalist
Hometown: Plano, Texas via Moscow, Russia
Current residence: the gold medal podium, Beijing, China
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: This bitch needs no introduction. My current barely legal crush Nastia took home Olympic gold last night to my utter delight. I was worried for a minute that the 12-year-old Chinese bitch was going to overtake Nastia thanks to some bullshit scoring decisions but finally those pinko cheaters got their comeuppance. I knew those ugly pink barrettes all of Team China seems to favor with their Maoist red uniforms would eventually be their undoing. They need to take some style tips from Nastia and realize that the pink-red combo is only acceptable at your medal ceremony.
I love Nastia because not only does she have the best name in the world, she really is the American dream. Like many who have fled from behind the Iron Curtain, her family settled in Texas, became ex-Stalinist white trash, and perpetuated their gymsnatchtits dynasty. Bred from two world class Soviet gymnasts, she has spent her entire life training to rule everyone's faces off at these Olympics. Her family's story is a true immigrant success story and I'm pretty sure that if she were alive to see it, Emma Lazarus would be shouting "U! S! A! U! S! A!" about the Liukins.
I also applaud Nastia for somehow managing to avoid getting the frightening prepubescent body that many gymnasts in the Bela Karolyi school of competitive eating disorders, and actually has some T&A. Okay, she has A cups, but in her profession that's the equivalent of a Dolly Parton-sized rack. Alright, and admittedly her face is a little wonky too, but she's still my favorite hot piece of trash on Team USA. Even if, as my friend Morrissey'sHair noted yesterday, Alicia Sacramone "has that nasty, New England slut look about her, like she just rolled out of Danvers, Mass looking for a quick bang" and scores points with me by punching out Brown frat boys, I still have to declare my allegiance to Nastia. She might seem like a stuck-up bitch sometimes (Bob Costas refers to this as her "elegance"), but I know how that quiet type does it. Those quiet ones who act like they shit L'Occitane face lotion are usually the dirtiest pervs on the planet, and I'm willing to bet Nastia is no exception. For all those people who are like, "You're gross, Razzy, she's a child!" Well, she's 18, straight-up legal in every state, and I'm ONLY eleven years her senior. I've certainly banged people a decade or more my senior, and look where it's gotten me! I could teach Nastia a thing or two about living up to all the jokes pertaining to her first name, as well as show her a new meaning for her Hollywood debut, Jeff Bridges's magnum opus Stick It!
I'm so excited about Nastia's gold medal that I don't even feel cranky enough to douchebag anybody today. YAY for Nastia! USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, Olympics, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Misty May-Treanor
DOB: July 30, 1977
Occupation: U.S. Olympic beach volleyball player
Hometown: Costa Mesa, California
Current residence: Chaoyang Park Beach Volleyball Grounds, Beijing, China
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I have never cared much for volleyball, indoor or outdoor. As much as I should be able to get behind any sport that requires either kneepads or bikinis, I usually find it pretty boring. This may be due to my childhood years of sucking harder than a homeless woman in Tacoma with no meth at CYO volleyball due to my mediocre talent at the sport (and calling my abilities "mediocre" is being generous). However, when Olympics time rolls around, I get into beach volleyball. There is one reason for my interest, and her name is Misty May-Treanor.
Not only is this chick totally awesome at beach volleyball (I mean, I guess...she and her partner Kerri Walsh always win and are defending their gold medal), but she also is totally hot. Her prowess at the sport is impressive, but more impressive is what she did the other day when President Bush showed up to watch team May-Treanor/Walsh gear up to kick some foreigner ass. After showing her skills off for Dubya, she decided to keep with beach volleyball tradition and offer her ass for him to tap. "Mr. President...want to?" she asked.
In yet another of the many discredits to President Bush's name, he declined and just ran his hand across her lower back. Nonetheless, I have to give props to Misty for trying. Not everyone can claim that they tried to get the (inept) leader of the free world to spank them. She can rest assured that in four years, President McCain will probably be glad to give that hard posterior a firm smack. Even though Bush isn't being a very good American, thank God Misty May-Treanor is making up for it by standing up for one of our most hallowed traditions: slapping a hot chick's fine ass. She is a true patriot and an exemplary representative of the most freedom-loving nation in all the world. I think she's also going to win a gold medal or something, too. Go Misty May-Treanor! USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, Olympics, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
Monday, August 11, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Michael Phelps
DOB: June 30, 1985
Occupation: king of the swimming pool
Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland
Current residence: Olympic Village, Beijing, China
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I normally find Michael Phelps annoying. He seems like the kind of guy who gives people a lot of "I'm Michael Phelps, fellate me" attitude when the camera's off. Sure, he has the reputation of being a really nice guy, but I'm not buying it. People said that about Apolo Anton Ohno, too, and I can tell that guy is likewise a grade A prick to be around. It's always the supposedly really nice people who are actually cocks in their personal lives. I also hate that Michael Phelps looks like the bastard child that Archie Manning abandoned at birth.
So, for the next two weeks I'm changing my usual "sha, Michael Phelps" attitude to a "GO KICK SOME FOREIGN ASS, MICHAEL PHELPS!" attitude. USA! U! S! A!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Olympics, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
Daily Douchebag: Alain Bernard
DOB: May 1, 1983
Occupation: Olympic swimmer, un-backing-up shit talker
Hometown: Aubagne, France
Current residence: the ignonimy of defeat, Beijing, China
Douchebaggery: I have spent so much time rooting against China that I've forgotten that there are plenty of other countries whose asses I'd like America to summarily kick, as well. One of the leaders among my most-hated foreign nations is France. Apart from producing some solid wine, cheese, pepper steak, baguettes, inspiration for my boy Chopin to compose some of his greatest piano works, and part of the backdrop for my favorite Hemingway novel, France leads Europe in the garnering of my disdain. I can't stand the snotty, entitled attitude that the French are famous for, and nothing brings out my inner uncouth asshole redneck American like a Frenchman waxing on about how culturally superior his country is. One time, back when I lived in Seattle, I was at this pretentious bar with a couple of my coworkers and was making fun of how another colleague used to show off his high school French–or at least his over-the-top French accent–whenever he called one of our collaborators in France.
"And zen, Docteur So-and-So, yeu will spectratype ze T cells, oui? J'adore yeur deft analeesees of our samples, cheri," I was saying, while my coworkers laughed. The guy sitting next to us at the bar overheard, and butted in.
"I am Française," he said bitchily. "Zis ees exactly why we zink Americaines are steupeed eediots." He gave me a look like, "DAMN, I just owned you, Americaine swine!" Bad idea.
"Oh, really? Well, if you don't like it, none of us will stop you from going back to France. In fact, that would be preferable, since that way we won't have to endure your rude butting in to our conversation."
The French guy just glared at me and rolled his eyes. I wasn't having it. Time to break out my favorite anti-French insult. It's clichéd, but like blue jeans, Coca-Cola, or blow jobs, it never goes out of style.
"Don't give me that 'oh, you crude American' eye roll, Pierre. If it weren't for us, your ass would be speaking German right now." At that point the French guy decided he'd had enough, and promptly began ignoring us. I started telling obnoxious French jokes loudly to my coworker friends, who were enjoying the whole spectacle. "Why are French tanks equipped with rearview mirrors? So they can see the battle," I said. French guy settled his tab and left shortly thereafter. I win again and as usual!
Anyway, very few things satisfy me more than putting an overconfident Frenchman in his place, and I'm glad the U.S. men's Olympic swimming team could do just that. Apparently, one of the few things France is good at besides insufferable condescension is men's swimming. As I would expect from an athlete originating in the country where the word "douche" originated, one of the guys from Team France decided to dismissively shit-talk Team USA's prospects in the 4x100 m relay. "The Americans?" said French swimmer Alain Bernard. "We're going to smash them. That's what we came here for." That's some serious dick-swinging being done by a lead singer-of-Coldplay-looking man who has to rely on a shark tattoo to butch himself up.
Alain should have taken some lessons from other incidences of "we will crush you" shit-talking that backfired hard. Once Roy Williams of the Detroit Lions foolishly vowed to crush the Chicago Bears after they opened the season losing 9-6 to the Seahawks, after adding, "it was stupid how close we were to putting forty points on the board." The vaunted 2006 Lions went on to lose 34-6 to Chicago. In another incident, then-Seahawks tight-end Jerramy Stevens made some comments prior to Super Bowl XL, saying, "It's going to be a sad day when (Jerome Bettis) doesn't walk off the field with that trophy." To this day, I blame Jerramy Stevens's hubris almost as much as I blame Bill Leavy's heavily Steeler-biased officiating for a day that lives in infamy with 12th Men everywhere. There are countless instances of some player firing off his mouth and then getting spanked for it when it matters, and if Alain Bernard weren't so busy looking down his elitist French nose at Team USA, he might have considered that prior to giving our guys some motivation.
Not only did Team USA take the gold in the 4x100 relay, they completely owned Alain Bernard and his compatriots in the process. It appeared that going into the final 100 meters, France was winning. Luckily Jason Lezak wasn't about to let Alain Bernard or the French-held world record in this event get in his way. He made up America's lost time and kicked Alain Bernard's ass in the final 50 meters and set a world record for relay split swimming in the process. To add extra sweetness to the victory, the record Lezak broke was Bernard's. Suck on that, Alain Bernard and France. USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Labels: assholes, Daily Douchebag, Olympics, overcompensation, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
Monday, July 21, 2008
We'll put a boot in China's ass, it's the American way
I'm getting pretty stoked for the Olympics, and I just read an article from Sunday's Telegraph that reminded me why. Entitled "Battle for gold offers China first chance to 'defeat' America," the piece describes how China is gearing up to kick our freedom-loving asses this August in Beijing:
China's emerging rivalry with America as a global superpower will move into the sporting arena next month as its Olympic athletes strive to oust their US counterparts from the top of the medals table for the first time.Oh, it's ON, bitches! I loved growing up during Cold War Olympics because it was so fun to root against the Russians. Even though I was nine when the Summer Olympics were held in Seoul in 1988 and I was more concerned with my lesbian scientist Barbies and riding my bike than studying the nuances of our drama with the U.S.S.R., I knew that as an American I had to feel one way: LET'S KICK SOME COMMIE ASS!
In a showdown reminiscent of the Cold War-era battles for Olympian dominance, China has put unprecedented effort into ensuring that Beijing 2008 will be a sporting triumph as well as a logistical one.
With their athletes already dominant in events such as gymnastics, table tennis and martial arts, Chinese sporting chiefs have spent the past few years focusing on disciplines where Americans have traditionally excelled, including swimming, basketball and athletics.
China's attempt to end America's run of supremacy at the last three Games will add an East-West frisson not seen since the demise of the Soviet Union, which topped the medals board eight times in the post-war period. While the rest of the world's eyes will be on the heroics of the individual contestants, Chinese officials will pay closest attention to the total medal tally. Some expect America to take an early lead with the many swimming events in the first few days – but be squeezed by China as other disciplines kick in.
Darryl Seibel, a spokesman for the US Olympic Committee, said: "We expect this to be one of the most competitive Olympics in recent history. That is down to a combination of China's investment in its Olympic programme, Russia's decision to do the same and the policy of some nations like Britain, which are targeting specific medals in sports that are important to them. China has to be considered the favourite. Every host nation receives a huge boost."
It didn't matter to me then that all I knew about the Soviet Union was that they had bread lines, thought police, lots of tanks, weird-looking churches, something evil called the KGB, MIG fighter jets that guys from Top Gun shoot down, and a cold-ass part of the country called Siberia. Oh, and they displayed Lenin's body like the damn Declaration of Independence (gross), weren't free, and hated America. All of that sounded pretty bad to me, so I was glad to ignore that pussified Sting "I bet the Russians love their children too" garbage and root against those pinko cocksuckers in any and all Olympic sporting contests. Besides, channeling major philosophical, political, and historical disagreements into an international sports contest is a hell of a lot more fun and constructive than nuclear war.
Since the Soviet Union's collapse, we haven't had any really good national rivals to hate on during the games of the whatever Olympiad, and that's disappointing to me. It's just no fun to hate on the Russians since we stopped fearing that they might annihilate us with 400 kiloton Sloika warheads at any moment. As far as our enemies abroad are concerned, I can't get too excited about hating on Iran or North Korea's Olympic team, because I have yet to see any of their athletes at the Olympics. In fact, Wikipedia tells me that Iran last mounted the podium with Olympic gold at the Melbourne summer games in 1956. Sadly for all of us freedom-loving patriots looking for an enemy, Al Qaeda doesn't have an Olympic team. Even if they were a sovereign nation and thus permitted to compete, I would wager that they wouldn't be much of a threat anyway, since making crazy videos of anti-western rhetori-babble for Al-Jazeera, airline hijacking, and illegal arms trading aren't Olympic events.
Therefore, I'm glad China has stepped in to fill the void of vicious international rival. Finally I've found something that I can see eye to eye with the annoyingly disruptive, hypocritical, patently stupid Free Tibet protestors on: hating on China hard. It's too bad all those losers are boycotting the Olympics, because I would think that watching Michael Phelps smote some Chinese ruin on the side of the swimming pool would be a truly satisfying way of dealing out some karmic reward for their shoddy human rights record. This year, China may have been focusing on traditionally American-dominated sports, but we are not only going to kick their ass at swimming, we're going to kick their ass at traditional Chinese-dominated sports like women's gymnastics too! Sure, America may be up to its tits in Chinese loans to cover the Iraq War, but that will make it even more satisfying when Shawn Johnson and Nastia Liukin open a can of gymnastic supremacy all over the People's Republic. I'm glad we finally have some real rivals to hate for once at the Olympics, because it will make it that much more sweet when we stomp their asses with nationalistic pride not seen since Gorbachev was running shit at the Kremlin.
And if China wants to know what happens when a Communist superpower tries to get the better of the U.S. of A, I would advise them to watch a little movie called RED DAWN:
That's right, China...WOLVERINES! USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
That's right, China...WOLVERINES! USA! U! S! A! U! S! A!
Labels: I LOVE IT, international intrigue, Olympics, sportsmen, United States of Asskickery
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
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the Minnesota Vikings
DOB: September 27, 1960
Occupation: evil scheming against the Green Bay Packers
Hometown: Minneapolis, Minnesota
Current residence: Minneapolis, Minnesota
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I was getting really sick of hearing about text messages Brett Favre was sending the Packers' general manager and his "itch" to play and his whining that he was pressured to retire. I'm sick of Brett Favre and I think he should spend his remaining years driving around on his John Deere in Mississippi and not bothering anybody rather than throwing interceptions and sending John Madden into paroxysms of sanguine man love. I really don't want to hear him bitching about how mean the Packers are for not releasing him and not guaranteeing him a starting position. However, I perked up when I read that Brett Favre may have illegally been chit-chatting about a possible contract with the Minnesota Vikings and the Packers are now PISSED.
Brett Favre is still technically on the Packers' roster, which means that he's not allowed to covertly talk about playing for the Vikes (or any other NFL team, for that matter) with members of their coaching staff. The Packers apparently believe that this was a clever ploy by the Vikings to cause chaos and drama among the Cheeseheads while they are trying to build a Favre-free offense around the unremarkable Aaron Rodgers, and they're grievance-filing mad about it. The NFL has launched an investigation into the tampering charges brought by the Packers. The Vikings aren't commenting, except to say that Tarvaris Jackson is still their starting quarterback and coach Brad Childress thinks the whole thing is a "soap opera."
If the Packers' charges are true, though, then I give the Vikings mad props for coming up with a scheme worthy of an Aaron Spelling drama to fuck with their NFC divisional rivals. Who knew that Brad Childress was an evil plotter as well as a freakish Major Dad doppelganger? I actually thought he was kind of dumb, since half the Vikings roster hates on him to the media whenever possible and he seems determined to underuse Adrian Peterson. I guess his failures to earn the respect of his players and consistently make successful offensive play calls are symptomatic of his devoting most of his time to execute sneaky cabals exploiting the Packers' Favre-related vulnerabilities. He should just move to Melrose Place and change his name to Amanda Woodward already. I have newfound respect for the Minnesota Vikings for their backroom Brett Favre-mediated trickery. Go Vikes!
Labels: Daily Dude I Want to Hit, I LOVE IT, NFL football, 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
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the U.S. Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team
DOB: 1988-1994
Occupation: kicking some Chinese gymnastics team ass (and the rest of the world's too) in Beijing come August!
Hometown: everywhere from Des Moines, Iowa to Moscow, Russia
Current residence: wherever Marta Karolyi is running her Olympics team training camp
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Sunday night, LL Cool Jew and I were watching the U.S. Olympics Trials in women's gymnastics. LL Cool Jew is Olympics-crazy, so I can always count on her to do some interstate trial watching via text message. Since girls–including me–seem to invariably have an innate interest in gymnastics, I figured that she would be watching this for sure and I wasn't wrong. In fact, the only thing that kept her from the whole thing was some wedding shower she had to attend.
Razzy: R u watchn the olympic trials?In addition to being excited about the appearance of the excessively energetic Bela Karolyi and feeling sufficiently gross for having dirty lesbian fantasies about a 16-year-old, I am really looking forward to watching our national gymnastics team kick some international ass come August. I did some internets research on the ladies, and surmised that LL Cool Jew's prediction of Olympic glory for our gymnasts is very, very possible. I also checked Wikipedia and discovered that Nastia Liukin is actually 18, so I'm marginally less of a creep. Shawn Johnson, bitch though I think she is behind closed doors, apparently does the most technically difficult, complicated gymnastics moves in the sport. Nastia Liukin has won four all-around world championships. Alicia Sacramone has seven various world championship medals under her leotard belt, and Chellsie Memmel also has an all-around world championship, and has two separate moves named after her. These bitches are totally fierce and they are going to kick ass. Plus, as LL Cool Jew pointed out, they do not look as emaciated as gymnasts typically do. All these ladies have at least A cups (which for a gymnast is an unbelievable rack) and many of them have fine, round asses. I do not feel as disturbed as I normally do watching elite gymnasts running around in their leotards, because they actually appear to have gone through puberty and don't look like super athletic versions of Gollum.
LL Cool Jew: dude! just got hm from shittastic bridal showr. takn th dogs out thn change thn trials! s th gymnastics on yet?
Razzy: Yes! Gymsnatchtits on now!
LL Cool Jew: did u know this yrs wmns gymnastics team may b th strongest ever?? shawn johnson, nastia liukin n chellsie memmel r the 1s 2 watch!
Razzy: Shawn johnson just won a trip 2 beijing!
LL Cool Jew: o shit! i'll b on th couch in 5
LL Cool Jew: shit! is it over??
Razzy: Almost. Some loser prancn 2 tocatta and fugue
Razzy: Dude i wld have a kells jam 4 my floor routine
LL Cool Jew: just turned it on. dont they look less deprived n hungry as gymnasts usually r?
Razzy: Yes! They all have t & a.
Razzy: I miss bela karolyis crazy ass on the gymnasty scene
Razzy: Shawn johnson s such a bitch. I can tell.
LL Cool Jew: u r so mean! she was gracious. n dont worry abt misn bela, his wifes th coach now. he'll b around
Razzy: I m such a hater but m telln u: sj s a nightmare when the cameras r off
LL Cool Jew: omg have u seen alicia scarmone. she is my girlfriend dude
Razzy: S that ths blonde ho?
Razzy: Her taste n music sux hard
LL Cool Jew: kinda dark blond. blue leotard. h o t.
Razzy: Floor exercise music blows
Razzy: Ths music s like carnaval meets a rave n the basement of emerson house. Lame
LL Cool Jew: i thnk th us womens gymnastics team is th daily dude. shawn johnson n nastia l. r th no. 1 & 2 gymnsts n th world! we will dominate! u! s! a!
LL Cool Jew: vault n esp balance beam r th best (and most dangerous)
Razzy: Balance beam blows my mind
LL Cool Jew: i know! th level of difficulty is such that its hard 2 fathom what yr seeing s evn possible
LL Cool Jew: o! n ths chelsea memml was the 2003 world champion but got injurd n cdnt go 2 athens n now shes makn her big comeback!
LL Cool Jew: watch: sj on wheaties box *with a quickness*
Razzy: Trust. I thnk nastia s hot n has a hot ass name
LL Cool Jew: her eyes are wonky. her name s scary.
LL Cool Jew: they hate each other
Razzy: Shes a terror n the sack. Shes nastia!
Razzy: Id hit it w nastia liukin
LL Cool Jew: shes 16
Razzy: Alicia sacramone is hot. Id hit that 2
LL Cool Jew: and shes 20! but i saw her first
LL Cool Jew: nastia s 16. alicia s 20.
Razzy: 16? My bad. Again, cue the bump n grind remix
Razzy: Ill look up nastia n 2 years
LL Cool Jew: alicia sacarmone has lesbish body language
Razzy: Shes no stranger to a clam bake 4 sure
Razzy: Yes! Bela!
LL Cool Jew: theres bela
Apparently, the next day, LL Cool Jew got into it with her mother about our gymnastics team. LL Cool Jew's mom is a kung fu master who used to work as a bodyguard for the Black Panthers in the 70s, and her radical leanings apparently stunt her patriotism somewhat. In spite of the fact that I know LL Cool Jew's mom watches the Olympics, she apparently roots for foreigners "on principle."