As I have said before, I am a “home town” sports fan, basically meaning that I like the Colts and that’s about it. However, with the writer’s strike going on, and not having cable, there was NOTHING on last night on the five stations that come in at my apartment (if you must know, Fox, NBC, ABC, CBS, and MTV Tres). So my husband and I watched a bit of the Orange Bowl. Wow. There was prime mocking territory there people. Who knew?
My first thing to mock was the gentleman pictured here. I have two comments: where do you find that size shirt? And why don’t they make larger sunglasses and watches for men of this size? He should have worn those clown sunglasses you can buy at the Dollar Store, and borrowed Flava Flav’s clock bling.
Secondly, and most importantly, I heard something hilarious last night. The announcer, who was commenting on the performance of KU’s center/quarterback duo said, and I quote, “he should strap himself to him, and ride him all night.” Without a word, my hubby and I turned to each other and he said “you must mock dock this immediately”, which is why we are married. My only thought is that this sports caster must have had Tom Brady on his mind.
I think boxing is like, the gayest dumbest sport ever. And this photo of two fighters nipple to nipple in boxer shorts with creepy old men standing by smiling? I would classify this as evidence of its gayness.
Channing Crowder, Miami Dolphins Linebacker, is apparently NOT an expert on geography. He recently had this to say:
“I couldn’t find London on a map if they didn’t have the names of the countries. I swear to God. I don’t know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I learned that. I know (Washington Redskins linebacker) London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That’s the closest thing I know to London. He’s black, so I’m sure he’s not from London. I’m sure that’s a coincidental name.”
This is a University of Florida graduate, people. Who are the school administrators who allowed this joker to have a college degree? The same ones that allowed Miss South Carolina to graduate from high school?
Gators tote bag? Cell phone sideclipped to jeans? ”T-Bone” tattoo? Face paint? Total turn ons. But words can’t adequately describe the height of my arousal at the sight of this masterpiece of a mullet. Someone start me a cold shower.
So I don’t consider myself a sports buff…I really only like to watch the “home teams” if you will. So, last night I actually tuned in to Monday Night Football to watch the Indianapolis Colts destroy yet another team. I was distracted, however, by the fools that were commentating the event. Now, I don’t know these gentlemens’ names, nor do I care. I could just not get over how much of a man-crush these fellows had for Tom Brady.
Tom Brady wasn’t even playing last night…but they brought up his name 10 to 15 times a minute. It was like they were three eighth grade girls sitting in their pajamas, writing the name of Tom Brady in their notebooks over and over…writing their first names with Brady as their last name…dreaming and giggling about Tommy and his tight butt. It was ridiculous. Here is a sample of the dialogue from last night…or at least how I remember it:
“Manning throws to Harrison…speaking of throwing…you know who throws, like, AMAZING? Tom Brady. He seriously could throw me anywhere he wants.”
“Oh I know. Manning has impressive stats tonights, but GAWD, did you see Tom Brady yesterday? He was looking H….O….T….HOT!”
“Sanders with the tackle…what a great defense Indianapolis has. You know what would make it better? Tom Brady. I’m not even sure what that means, but geeze…I can’t get that guy off my mind!”
“We would like to welcome Russell Crowe to the box. Hi Russell…so tell me, if you could play any football player in a movie who would it………………..it would be Tom Brady, right? I KNEW it!”
Often thought to hunt alone, the Wolf, or canus wolfoloppus, is seen here displaying the traditional predatorial hunting techniques of the plushy. As the prey revels in its solitude, frolicking through the evergreen terrain, the Wolf appears, startling the prey… forcing it to stop, staring death in the cold, 4 inch, sewn-on eyes. The prey then changes course, flushed in to the gaping jaws of the pack.
Only in the wild can these primal instincts be witnessed…
Last week, I rented the movie “Babe”… boy was I in the wrong section… and I noticed that those animals, lacking opposable thumbs are forced to eat very crudely, jamming their faces into the trough, unaware of the social mores established throughout the feces-laden barnyard. (Which if I had gotten the movie I intended to get… could have used the same review.)
As for this little fellow, he seems to idolize the simplicity of the animal kingdom all the while giving Dr. Atkins and Jenny Craig the clearest view of his middle-finger… and cholesterol scores.
See you in cardiac hell, Kirstie Alley!
Injury-prone David Beckham had to retire from a Wednesday game against a Mexican team after he collided with an opposing player. Contrary to what you might think happened given the picture above, the owie ended up being a sprained KNEE, and not a sprained wee-wee.
I’m still looking for a report on whether these two became extricated from one another. I’ll keep you posted.
This past weekend, the Little League Word Series championship was played between the U.S team from Georgia and the team from Japan. The U.S. team won with a walk off home run, keeping title here in the grand ole US of A. Way to go, all of you 12 -year-olds…
Now freaking run… life is all downhill from this point. Your fathers have pushed you as hard as they can. Trust me when I tell you that each of your dad’s, step-dads, big brothers or neighbor Steve’s that just want to “help a young boy” (Forgive me Father for I have s… maybe you aren’t the right one to talk to about this, father)…anyway…they are all reliving their pasts through you trying to heal the years of pain that their own failures have caused.
I used to throw pitch after pitch, take swing after swing, take hours of fungo… giving away my early teens to be the best little leaguer I could be… but here is the secret….
When you are a grown-up, you can just go buy the trophies… now I am the World Champion of everything!
Now…. go smoke some cigarettes and steal an orange Push-up from Tex’s grocery on the corner and enjoy the last few days of summer that you have.
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Chode. Douchebag. Simp. Floppy-fisted Turdwrangler. Really… any of these titles will work for any taint-sniffer who would challenge a plushy, ginormous-headed mascot to a breakdance dance-off.
So, here is Stamper, the nimble and spry elephant mascot of the Oakland A’s, being challenged to a dance-off by this douche. I have very little to say. However, if you have ever wanted to bask in the glory of your buddy’s awesomeness douchebaggery but just didn’t know how… watch the tool in the red shirt really let Stamper know who’s boss [insert Tony Danza joke here] when his buddy is done dancing.
By the way did I mention that Stamper is a gigantic carpet elephant?
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