"Big Foot, The Lochness Monster, and Anthony Johnson's Neck"

There are some mysteries of the Earth that will never be solved. Bigfoot, The Lochness Monster, and The Bermuda Triangle to name a few. But none of these mystery creatures is as allusive as an Anthony Johnson neck sighting. Apparently, somewhere below that pumpkin atop a pillow, lies a rarely seen neck. Personally, I have my own doubts, but the evidence below suggests otherwise. You can form your own opinions.

"And here's to you Mrs. Robinson, Good ol' Marvin has gone away"

The saddened beat of Marvin Harrison’s farewell drum echoed down Meridian Street, past Union Station, past the homeless dinner club at White Castle, and out into the rest of the city at approximately 5:34 p.m. yesterday. I’ll admit that I knew the release of Marvin was inevitable. As a Colts fan, I obviously will forever be grateful to Marv. In fact, he rocked the mustache even better than Tom Selleck. But I also understand that this is a business and we had to look at Marvin as a product. Basically, we were an experienced pimp designating an all-star prostitute to “hand jobs only”. Although the bitch had been our best seller for a long time, her nipples had begun to look like melted Hershey Kisses and her 6th illegitimate child had triggered the beginning of a FUPA. We had to do what was best for out business’s future. However, it is the way that Marvin immediately rejected our offer, as if he wanted to be out of town that pisses me off. Quite frankly, I’ll never understand the difference between 13 million dollars and 10 million dollars. Especially when your team has been one of the most successful franchises of the decade and your career’s 15% statistic inflation has been a direct result of your country pimp, pasty white ass quarterback. But there also seems to be more lying beneath Harrison‘s quiet persona. Over the course of last summer’s stories of Marvin starring in his own ghetto version of Dukes of Hazzard, a slow revelation of the mysteriously quiet man beneath the royal blue and white #88 jersey crept out from under his rug. First, the news about the shooting accusations. I found it nearly impossible to imagine Marvin running the streets of Killadelphia like his accusers led us to believe, but nonetheless I dismissed the news as a once-in-a-lifetime thing, let alone probably a complete farce. However, more and more creepy details about the gracefully aging receiver leaked from the internet and media like the hair pie of an octagenarian. Slowly, but a steady flow nonetheless. Prior events that were most likely originally dismissed as a result of Marvin’s peaceful reputation around the league suddenly rose to the future. Personally, the last 8 months have been a churning concoction of bitter Walmart brand Tequilla and sweet Honey Brown lager in my mouth. Although I want to believe that Marvin had his own personal reasons for rejecting our requests to lowering or restructuring his contract, part of me is thinking that it was a complete asshole move on his part that will result in a personal rude awakening next January when he finds himself catching 58 balls for 725 yards on a 5-11, pile of feces, ball club. And like I said, I will always hold Marvin’s contributions and memories dear to my heart. Hell, I’ll still wear his jersey on game days when I’m taking my first dump of the day (a tradition of mine). But I can’t lie. Part of me will smirk when I see his ass sitting on the end of a crappy team’s bench, dreaming about Sir Peyton’s large TD-tossing cock. In a farewell tribute to our own football version of American Psycho, here is a list of my top 5 all-time Marvin Harrison moments.

5. “Autograph Choker”

Apparently during a Pro Bowl trip to Honolulu a group of teenage kids repeatedly asked Marvin for an autograph. The result? Two men, later joined by Harrison, attacked the boys. Is it just me or are the quiet ones always the crazy ones? That is probably why at least once a week I look out my window half expecting to see the creepy, silent kid that sat next to me in Ceramics class in high school holding a knife.

4. “Marvin plays a game of Just the Tip.”

Marvin’s second touchdown catch in Foxboro in 2007 was one of the greatest catches of all time. With the pass nearly 2/3 of the way already there, Marvin turns around and tips the end of the ball, twice, away from his opponent, towards the sideline, and still managed to come down with the ball.

3. “Momma See, Momma Do”

This isn’t an altercation. Too be honest, most of the crap on the internet is probably only one side of the story. However, Marvin’s mother actually picks out his shirts, matches them with a tie, ties the tie around the shirt, and actually UPS ships these shirts overnight to him. He claims he is lazy and a “bad Matcher”.

2. “Greatest Comeback of All-Time”

Colts 38 Bucs 35
October 6, 2003

Trailing by 21 points with only three and a half minutes remaining in the game, the Colts capped off the greatest comeback in Monday Night Football history. Marvin caught 11 balls for 172 yards and two scores, but his best catch was the 52 yard completion to the 5 yard line that set up the tying score.

1. “NY Jets Ball Boy”

Apparently prior to the Colts 0-41 ass slapping at the Meadowlands, a ball boy catching and returning punts for NY tossed a ball back that got a little too close to Harrison. Marvin must have thought that the 5’3’’, 135 pound 14 year old was a danger to his safety and took matters into his own hands. He lifted the boy above the ground by his shirt collar, while demanding that he admit he threw the ball at him on purpose.

Oh Marvin……….I’ll miss you like an ex-pothead misses the taste of Papa Johns.

Dwight Howard Takes A Big Smelly Dump Before Every Game

I wonder if opponents have ever thought about spiking his Gatorade with anti-diarrhea medications.....



Dwight's dirty ritual got me thinking about what other athletes might do before every game. For instance, I once heard that Steve Nash must handle a minimum of 4 sets of pre-pubescent testicles before each home game.



Below is a list of the 3 strangest pre-game rituals?

3. Moises Alou,

Unlike most ball players, never liked to wear batting gloves. He claimed that they took away from his connection to the ball and feel. However, not protecting his hands for a 162 game season began to do some serious damage. Moises combated his callus and blister problem by urinating on his hands before every game. I seriously hope that chewing on his fingernails wasn't another one of his habits.

2. Darryl Strawberry

This ritual isn't strange. It is just fucking awesome. Darryl Strawberry used to use his love stick on a groupie before every game and sometimes during them.

Although he doesn't name names, Strawberry relates how team members picked out girls from the stands for quickies. He once watched a pitcher march a frisky fan to a private room for oral sex: "I was jealous. When I saw her heading back to her seat, I gave her a sign. She smiled, turned right back around, and met me in that same little room . . . I had to be quick and run back out on the field."

Another time, "I was in the clubhouse, having one last quickie with this cute little Florida girl. Charlie Samuels, the equipment manager, came in and caught us. He just stood there shaking his head while I finished up."

Who said equipment managers didn't get perks?

1. Bruce Gardiner, Ottawa Senators

This dude used to dunk his hockey stick in a used toilet before every game.

"Walmart Sucks Swollen Testicle Sweat"

Dear Walmart,

I hate you. I hate your service. I hate your employees and I hate all the baby-slapping shoppers and door greeters that stink like a pack of Pall Malls was set on fire. You also lie. Your new advertisements promise customers a pleasant shopping experience, highlighted by an increase in cashiers that will make the checkout lines less crowded. Well, that bullshit is the equivalence of me promising to start wearing boxers instead of T-Whites. It ain’t gonna happen. I like em high and tight. It’s a security thing.

How the hell does a trillion dollar company, which is already skimping its employees and providers on the pay scale, not think to have enough cashiers to properly serve the cattle farm of customers that swarm the aisles? They probably don't even need to use heat during the Winter, because all those pot bellies and FUPA owners create enough warmth. I have never been thru a checkout line at Walmart that was not at least 8 people deep. It is bad enough when I am just trying to buy some toothpaste and dog food and the Amy Winehouse look-alike just cut me in line because she’s late to her next prostitution appointment. It is already bad enough that I have to suffer through the leaking armpit stench drifting from the heavy breathing lady behind me, which I’m also 75% sure is letting a few farts slip thru her jiggly butt cheeks. But the absolute worse thing about this grocery hell hole is that it usually takes me 15 minutes to make it down aisle 11, because the non-handicapped obese man, abusing his electric shopping cart privileges, refuses to let me pass him.

From this day forward, I am taking a stand. I will be sacrificing the 35 cents I could save on cereal in exchange for a peaceful shopping experience at the Kroger down the road. I know it won’t affect Sam Walton’s wallet a damn bit, but it will be one less child slap I see and a lot less FUPA-gazing, while waiting a half an hour in line. This is the end of our turmoiled relationship.

Sincerely,

Dr. H

When Will Rap Music Just Shoot Itself?

I have to admit, I went through the typical “suburban white boy thinks he’s cool and wears XXL Jerseys, baggy pants, and listens to Bone Thugs N’ Harmony” phase. Sadly, most 12 year old boys do. Now maybe I woke up one too many times on the bathroom floor in my underwear during college, but if my memory serves me correctly, rap music USED to be good. Even now, although I’m not a current subscriber to Vibe Magazine and you’ll never catch me making a N.E.R.D hand symbol in a picture, you’ll still find some Dr. Dre, Eminem, and Wutang in my car. However, it seems that today’s rap music is just plain, dumb. Whenever I accidentally stop the dial on Hot 96.3 on the FM radio, I swear to god it sounds like two large autistic men are shouting streams of consiousness, while Helen Keller plays with the soundboard. It seems that all of the good ideas for rap choruses have been used, so rappers have resorted to just saying a few words over and over. I demand to have these guys tell me why they insist about telling me what they do in their “White T” and what the hell a “chickenhead” is. I think they have a formula to making a hit song. They must close their eyes and when they open them, write down the first two things they saw. Next, add a background beat and one guy angrily shouts the two words they had just wrote down, while the other guy yells a rotation of “YEH!”, “Uh-huh!”, and “What?!”. Now I know it sounds like an incredibly complex system that is sure to produce meaningful and touching songs, but you can actually try to make your own number one rap song at home.

I close my eyes. I open my eyes. I see a remote control and my dog. Now add the bass.

“Control yo Dog! Control yo Dog! Control yo Dog! Control yo Dog!”

My phone rings. Its Russell Simmons. Apparently “Control yo Dog” just went platinum.

I’m not sure if the recent decline in hip-hop music is because I am becoming an old white fart that doesn’t understand it or if all of the good ideas for songs have been used. But I truly think it is the declining IQ’s of our nation that is leading to the horrible, incoherent babbling that finds its way to MTV. I saw Little Wayne do an interview the other day and I contemplated whether or not it would be fair to bring a child into this world in the future. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but it was something about holdin’ it down and makin’ it rain. The weird part though was that he was straining to say every word like he was slowly dieing or very constipated. Anyways, here is my list of quite possibly the 5 dumbest human beings on the face of the earth. And I wish all these dudes would quit asking everybody, “You know what I’m saying?” No! I don’t fucking know what you’re saying. You sound retarded.

5. Lil John
First off, can anyone think of a damn rap name that doesn't involve "Lil"? Secondly, can you imagine this guy trying to play Scrabble?

4. Ying Yang Twins
Holy Shit. They would have been the number one dumbass, but since there are two of them, I had to only put half the blame on each of them. Whistle Why You Twork? C’mon. The Whisper Song? This one I actually like listening to, because it is just funny listening to two grown men whispering about “beatin’ that pussy up”, while the other guy keeps repeating “wait til you see my dick. Wait til you see my dick, bitch!”.










3. Ja Rule
Need Proof?

Watch this insightful interview.



2. 50 Cent
I seriously can understand more Russians than this guy. I don’t speak Russian.

He sure makes an ugly lady......












1. Lil Wayne.
Good God Almighty. The epitome of ignorant.

"Mary Jane Pepsi? Please Hippie Parents Don't do it."

Someone at work today was talking about what they would name their children. Everyone began listing names they approved of, but one person had a funny anecdote. Apparently a common ritual of some dirty hippies, the ones typically smelling of a concoction of burning incense, Camel Lights, and body odor is to name their first born child after what the mom and dad were doing at the time the mother went into labor. In fact, a couple in Florida actually named their daughter Mary Jane Pepsi, because the mom was sipping a Pepsi and daddy was smoking a doobie. Well, actually it wasn’t clear which one was doing which activity, but I have to pray that the pregnant one wasn’t the one sucking down joints. That might be one way of creating a very unique name for your kid, but if you decide to go through with this “hippie naming system”, your child better be ready to face the consequences.

Here is a list of 5 situations that would work horribly for the hippie name game. We’ll just assume that all of these couples share the last name, Jenkins.

1. Dad is in the bathroom taking a dump and Mom is in the kitchen cooking dinner.
Name: Poop Cook Jenkins

2. Dad’s leg is being humped by the dog, while mom is watching a documentary on Asia.
Name: Asian Humper Jenkins

3. Dad is talking to his mother on the phone, while mom is turning on their gas burners in the kitchen.
Name: Mom Gas Jenkins

Ewwwwww……Mom gas sucks.

4. Dad drinking milk and mom is cooking chicken breasts.
Name: Breast Milk Jenkins

5. Dad is scratching his back, while mom is eating a can of mixed nuts.
Name: Scratching Nuts Jenkins

So, please hippie parents to be. Do your future children a huge favor and ditch the “hippie baby name game”. Because one day, cute little Scratching Nuts Jones will be a grown adult and he’s gonna have a hard time getting a job. Or making a friend. Or getting married. Or anything else, except marketing Gold Bond or starring in porn films. Actually, that life doesn’t sound to bad after all……

"High Times and Grocery Shopping"

So I finally got around to seeing “Pineapple Express” this weekend and my mind started to wonder like Helen Keller trying to play laser tag. Back to the good ol’ days in college when inflatable pools in the front yard were acceptable in the neighborhood and grocery shopping was sometimes an adventure in itself. In fact, going to the grocery store could become a very dangerous and difficult mission if you got "in the mood" before embarking on your grocery expedition. This my friends is an epic tale about a man, a plan, excess meat, The Asian Lady, and an awkward moment with a hunting magazine.

“I wonder if I I had the opportunity to suture my weiner inside Eva Longoria’s vagina for 3 months if I would do it. I mean, it'd be cool to have sex with her for that long, but where would I pee?”.

Sadly, this is what I was thinking about on my way to the grocery store that fateful Sunday afternoon. As most of you know, your mind tends to think irregular and bizarre thoughts when it is “in the mood”. All I'll say is that this particular December afternoon, my mind was pretty dazed and confused. Hazy or even "smokey" you could say.

My overly excited dog stuck his head out the window, staring at everything like it had morphed into a giant set of boobs.“Stir Me Up” softly echoed in the vehicle, while I turned into the Kroger parking lot to do my first “check the scene” lap. This is something I typically do when I’m “in the mood” to make sure I am aware of my surroundings. That way I don’t flip out if a circus clown happens to be handing out balloons at the entrance. Unexpected circumstances are very very bad. And I say first, because sometimes there can be three or even four “surveillance laps”, depending on how into the "mood" I am.

I finally find a spot and park my car, check three times to make sure my car is actually in park, turn off the car and unknowingly leave my keys in the ignition. Doors unlocked of course. As I’m walking towards the store, an elderly, Asian lady gives me a smile. But she gave me the kind of smile that is just long enough to make me feel uncomfortable and convince myself that I might know her. Two seconds later and approximately one second too late, I stutter, “Thank You.”……

Thank you? Really? At this moment I saw a "little" school bus at the corner pick up a group of children and I seriously contemplated joining them. Why the fuck did I just tell that lady “Thank You”? How hard is it to just keep looking forward and move along? And if you have to creep her out, at least remember to say “hello”.

After berating myself for thanking a strange Asian lady for smiling at me, I direct my attention back to the grocery store entrance. However, I make it about 30 steps inside the building, when I am stunned. I surveyed the layout of the parking lot before going in, but I couldn’t have seen the disaster awaiting me inside. There before me stood at least a half dozen girl scouts asking me to buy their goodies. I completely panic and I can feel the hateful wrath of the queen mother girl scout burning a hole in the back of my head with her laser eyeballs. I tell them I will buy some on the way out, which I completely had no intention of doing so, and step away. Funny though. As I turned around, I noticed the mother scout was actually a pleasant older lady that just smiled and said thank you. I guess her eyes weren’t hate lasers afterall.

I paced up and down aisle three five to six times, trying to remember what my purpose of being at the store was. But after an unexpected stop at the Lunchables display, I found the meat aisle and scoured the lineup of beef. You know when you see a dad at a pizza place that is waaayyyyy too excited to be there? It's probably because it is the poor guy's first enjoyable night that he gets to enjoy a couple Bud Lights and slices of pepperoni pizza pie, because he hates his wife and job. When you see this guy, you swear to god that the guy is convinced that breadsticks are the fountain of youth. Well, that was me. I was so fucking excited that I creep out the young lady next to me by muttering too loudly, “Beef, It’s what’s for dinner” under by breath and giggled to myself like a retard that shit his pants. I can’t decide on whether to go with the New York strips, the pork chops, or the cheese filled bratwursts. I buy all of them. Remember, I am only going to be cooking tonight for two people, but, as usual, the thought of running out of food is too much of a potential disaster to risk. I You have to understand that I do the same thing every damn time I’m out to eat, by purposely ordering more than I can consume, so I have some to take home with me for a "midnight snack". Basically, I'm kind of like a squirrel. But with OCD problems, centering around food addictions, while maintaining a larger set of testicles.

I'm sorry. Damn Hellen Keller playing laser tag again. Back to the adventure. With a cart of meat, I grab a few potatoes casually from produce without any troubles and make a right-hand turn, heading home to the check-out line. However, ominous trouble lurked around the corner and disaster ensued. Not a giant women with karate skills attempting to rape me. Not a conversation about politics with JaMarcus Russell. Worse. I saw a neighbor of mine heading my way. Usually this wouldn’t be a problem. Hell for 99.9% of the people in the store, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But I’m “in the mood” and I have no fucking idea of what this particular neighbor’s name is. So I make the most logical move I can think of. I take a quick dive into the magazine stands and grab the very first magazine I can get to. Just when I think I’m gonna be cool, I hear a familiar voice say, “I didn’t know you were into hunting, man?” Oh shit he found me. After giving him a strange “Heeeyyy you”, I looked down at the magazine I had grabbed and my nuts shrunk like overly-chewed pieces of bubble gum. “Hunting Magazine”. I’ve never shot a damn thing in my life. Not even a beebee gun. Now this neighbor thinks I'm Yosemite Sam. Good God. Now he’s going to be constantly asking me to go on hunting trips and think I am a rude prick, because I don’t ever go. In reality it is because I truthfully don’t know a god damn thing about hunting OR fishing. Problem is, how the hell do you tell someone that you grabbed a magazine to read so your neighbor wouldn’t bother you?I can’t, so I just mutter something about “bucs” and “bang bang". Things get really weird. He starts telling me about this new rifle he got and I try to act like I’m interested, but I can’t figure out what parts of his sentences are the parts where I need to act interested. I sounded like my dad trying to rap, not understanding when to put emphasis on certain words. The brief conversation is horribly awkward, but the good news is that at least he probably won’t be asking me to go on hunting trips because he thinks I ‘m a creepy son of a bitch. The agonizing exchange of words with the mysterious neighbor ends with him outreaching his fist to give me “dog”, while I mistake it for a typical handshake and make matters even worse. Who the hell knew 40 year old men like to give “dog”? The hunters part ways and I thankfully get thru the checkout line with out any problems other than a completely unnecessary gummy worm purchase.

Shit. I see the immensely intimidating girl scout clan awaiting me at my passage to freedom. I suddenly feel like a runaway slave, riding the underground railroad to Michigan. Only this time, slaves do not exist and racial equality is at an all-time high. And instead of angry confederate soldiers, I am dealing with 9 and 10 year old girl scouts. So even though it is 5 below outside and my car is parked on the far East side of the building, I meander away, slowly ambling my big feet towards the exit at the far West side of the store. I can’t believe that a half dozen school girls have forced me to walk an extra quarter-mile in the cold. Next time, I swear to god, I’ll but two boxes of Samoas and get out of there. As I walk the trail through the parking lot, I reach for my keys, but I can‘t find them. My heart sinks and I try to figure out where I could have dropped them. I head back inside, this time ready to face the consequences. I angrily stomp past the girl scouts, passing horrible gas in their vicinity as I stroll by. The next 10 minutes are spent scouring the aisles of the grocery store, completely unsure of where my demented path of grocery trails had led me. Everyone I saw must have thought I had a shoe fetish, because I kept catching myself looking up from the floor to confused people. After finishing my unsuccessful and awkward victory lap through the store, I cross the dangerous plains of girl scout country and walk in a shadow of shame to my vehicle. First I tripped on the curb. Then I ran into the grocery cart attendent after he went left, I went left and he went right and I went right. It looked like Bob Sanders trying to take down LaDanian Tomlinson in the open field. Finally, I reach my car and find my keys still in the ignition of my car. I fire it up, turn on some Stevie Wonder in celebration and begin my journey home. The mission wasn’t easy, but it was well worth the juicy steak and the sour cream drenched baked potato I’ll be savoring in an hour.

Oh fuck, I forgot the charcoal.

"The One Time Ball Room Dancing Might Be Interesting: Putang Show Edition

They were attempting the legendary "Camel Toe-gina Spin".

"Top Ten Changes Needed In Sports"

So a plastic water bottle sits in a landfill for 250 years. Big deal. World pollution is one thing, but there are a plethora of important issues to deal with in America. Like sports. Sports are great. This we know. However, there are some possible changes that I think could substantially increase our viewing pleasure. Below is my list of the top ten potential changes to sports for the year 2010.

10. I would consider watching bowling on Sunday afternoons in late February, during the NBA All-Star Break, after 7 or more High Life’s, when I have misplaced the remote control and ESPN is still on the television from late last night. I would. But only if they would allow other bowlers on the other 30 lanes at the alley while the professionals are bowling. It’d be awesome to have the title match right in the middle of Cosmic Bowling. That’d be a true test of skill.

9. Heckling from fans should be encouraged on the PGA Tour. Think about it. Hell, I’m an ex-high school golfer, yet I still thinks it sucks that the gallery must remain silent during each shot. If they were really that good, Kenny Perry should be able to make a 10 foot putt while Joe Nobody yells at him that he had sex with his wife.

8. The NHL should allow each team to have an extra person of their choice on the ice at all times. However, this extra person is only allowed to wear tennis shoes and isn't allowed to wear pants. He also is not allowed to have a hockey stick, but can pick up the puck and try to throw it into the net.

7. Every single sport in America should be forced to only have dogs catching Frisbees as its halftime show. Who doesn’t love watching those fucking dogs catch those fucking Frisbees?

6. All NFL stadiums should be equipped with headphones in each seat. All players on the field should be equipped with small microphones. That way, spectators can put the headphones on and tune in to whichever player that want to listen to during the game. They’d also probably have to raise the minimum spectator age to 18, because Mommy doesn’t want little Jimmy to ask her what a "Dirty Sanchez" is and why Albert Haynesworth just told Joseph Addai he did it to his mother.

5. There should be a tailgate zone in every Major League ballpark. I’m sure no one follows Mississippi State baseball, but they have an idea that is brilliant. Basically, they have a place in the stadium called “Noble Field’s Left Field Lounge”. For 10 bucks, you get admission into the game AND permission to bring coolers and grills into the area to tailgate before, throughout, and after the game as you please. An idea this perfect could even fill seats at a Marlins game.

4. Soccer should be outlawed in America. The rest of the world can riot all they want, but we need to realize that soccer is not going to make it in this country. I’m going to sit my kid down the first time he asks to sign up for soccer, just as a typical parent sits down their teenager the first time they find a joint in their sock drawer, and tell him that soccer is for big faggots.

3. I was going to say that a Dollar Menu at ball parks would be awesome, but minutes ago as I was pushing out a dump that resembled a cajun-marinated pork loin, I was reading an article in ESPN’s magazine. Apparently, nearly all MLB ballparks will be actually instituting a dollar menu, beginning this season. The items on the menu might be smaller, but it sure beats spending 5 bucks on a hot dog when you’re already trying to get drunk on 7 dollar beers.

2. This one has nothing to do at all with sports, but It just happened and I had to tell someone. As I am writing this list, I see a commercial on television about Sears sofa and upholstery cleaning. They claimed they could get any stain out of any piece of furniture. Now everyone knows I love nothing better than fucking with companies over the phone, so I gave em’ a call. I did my best angry dad voice and explained to service agent Lisa that my damn teenage daughter is a huge fucking whore and there is enough man juice on my couch now to make a pitcher. She did her best to not sound disgusted, and after I used the word “spunk” 11 more times, she actually told me should could still set me up for an estimate sometime this week. People will do anything for business during this recession.

1. Pllllleeeeeaaaassssse Take the World Series of Poker off of ESPN. Seriously folks, can you imagine if MLB had a World Series every single week? I just don’t understand it. Do they just do it again every week until every indoor-sunglass-wearing turd gets a ring? Every week you see them hyping up another “World Series”. Besides, it is a fucking game of cards. It belongs on the Game Show Network (A very underrated network, by the way), but not on ESPN. But then again, who am I kidding? ESPN also insists on showing dogs catching frisbees and I already told you that those moments should be strictly used for halftime performances at sporting venues.

"Top 5 Confessions: Unlikely Women That Warm My Loins"

Every guy wants to crack an egg on Eva Mendez's turd-cutter and make some "sexual breakfast". Jennifer Aniston could cook popcorn in my pants. And everyone already knows that Megan Fox's vagina is a hotter camoddity than gold in today's economy. But I wanted to dig deeper, so I decided to make a quick list of the "underdogs". You know, the ladies that go under the radar and undeservedly are neglected when it comes to masturbation material. So without further wait, this is the list of the sexy second places.

5. Jennifer Carpenter.
This is somewhat of a wild card. I'll admit, she definitely has a slight "butchiness" to her. But she also has an incredible "I'm a big slut that wants you to do me on the hood of my squad car" look to her. The television sister of my favorite character, this bitch makes "Dexter" that much better.






4. Stephanie Rice.
Most people remember Michael Phelps' amazing performances from last year's Olympics, but I have another vision branded into my memory. Stephanie Rice. An Australian swimmer, she was also recently signed as the new Davenport underwear model. I hope she doesn't leave streak marks.










3. Mary Louise Parker.
Any guy that has watched "Weeds" knows what I'm talking about. I'd fluff that mom-gina any day of the week.

2. Kate Mare.
Hands down, the hottest daughter of a dead NFL team owner I have ever seen. I never saw Brokeback Mountain, but apparently that is the only movie she's been in that anyone's heard of. However, "googling" her name was enough justice for me.

1. Diane Lane.
Although it is a known fact that Diane is somewhere in her 40's, this lane is one that is not driven down enough. Flat out, the hottest mom I have ever jerked the chicken to......Well, except for my dog Madison's mother. That was one fine bitch. Anyways, watching Ms. Lane ride that foreign dude like a 10-speed through a cornfield in "Unfaithful" was awesome.......except for the shots of the tan guy's ass.

Top Ten Feb. 9, 2009

I have to admit. I'm still an immature kid at heart. Hell, I still grab a blue raspberry slushy and a box of Nerds nearly everyday before work. I still watch cartoons. I still find farts as the funniest things I have ever heard in my entire life. Still, as much as you try to fight the aging process, things change. This is my list of the best things I miss about being a kid.

“Top Ten Things I Miss About Being a Kid”

10. Two words: Sonic Six. When I saw that blue and white beauty with the windshield and the gear shifter, I experienced my second orgasm. The first one was after I insisted to my mother that it was a bad idea to get my Bantam Football League physical from a female doctor.

9. Simplicity. I’m no alcoholic or crack addict, but remember when all you needed for a good time on a Friday night was T.G.I.F, a Domino’s pizza, and a pitcher of red Kool-Aid? Munching on pizza and watching Boy Meets World with a big red moustache was as good as it got.

8. Little League Baseball. I seriously believe that making “turd replicas” out of the mud in the dugout was the best time of my life.

7. Toilet Papering. This came during the latter half of my youth, but boy did I catch on quick. I’m not gonna say why or how, but a certain guy in a certain neighborhood got “Hose Man” written in shaving cream on his driveway every Halloween, reminding him of who his daddy was.

6. “Dating”. Remember when dating only consisted of a peck on the cheek and a note during class? Yes, our dicks might have suffered, but at least we didn’t have to waste our money on expensive dinners and worthless in-depth conversations that are only initiated with the intention to check out what is inside her pants.

5. L.A. Gears. They’re now known as LA Queers, but I used to love rockin’ a fresh pair of Gears with the big fat laces to school.

4. Summer. There is a reason that every day I day dream about becoming a teacher and spending 3 months a year watching Saturday morning cartoons in my underwear, three inches from the television, with my butt in the air and milk from my Lucky Charms dripping down my chin…….Well, actually that still sounds like a typical Saturday morning for me now, but it’d be nice to do it every morning for three consecutive months.

3. Colts games. This might seem strange, but there was just something great about sitting in the empty upper deck with my dad, watching Jack Trudeau lead the poops into defeat. Yes we sucked, but it was “our” team. Tickets were practically given away and there was an awesome sense of camaraderie among those that actually showed up for games. I can’t ever recall sitting behind a Carmel housewife in her brand new Peyton Manning jersey, Colts earrings, belt and hat that matches her new Colts purse, screaming for the home team. For one, she has no idea what the fuck she is watching and is only into the Colts because she thinks it is a “fun thing to do and its trendy”. 10 years from now when we inevitably come back to Earth, that lady will be at the mall on game day.

2. Sports were simply sports. I’m as big a Pacers fan as you’ll find, but as a fantasy nut job, I hate the fact that my loins heat up when Raymond Felton drains back-to-back treys against the gold and blue. It shouldn’t be like this, but at least I’m not lying to myself. I am who I am. And that is one sick fantasy sports son of a bitch.

1. Recess. The world would be a much happier place if 30 minutes a day, we were all allowed to chase girls around the playground and pee down the tunnel slide.

"Barney Cranks that Soldier Boy.......Super Soak that Hoe Purple, Barn Barn!"

I can't remember who showed me this clip. I think it was Michael Glenn " The Baker's Friend", but I'm not sure. Anyways, this clip isn't monumental. This clip is not the best YouTube video ever. It is not physically amazing. It is not sexual or even impressive. However, this clip makes me giggle every fucking time. Enjoy.

Some People Have Crack Addictions, I have a Trading Problem.

An intervention is needed would be an understatement. I am a very sick man. I need help, and I don't know what to do. I am a fantasy sports "Trading Junkie". Although I've always found trading adult ball players to imaginary teams that they don't even know exist, my problem reached its pinnacle last night. I was sitting on the couch at my dad's house, watching the Pacers game, while him and his wife prepared dinner. At the moment, I was perfectly content, simply enjoying an ice cold Michelob, watching the Pacers take down the Jameer Nelson-less Magic. Then it hit me. The trading urge needed its fix and I knew there was no way to stop it. Next thing I know, I'm hiding in the bathroom, on the phone, trying to tell a guy that Jarret Jack's minutes have increased as of late, trying to pry away Rashard Lewis and Al Thornton for Caron Butler and Jack. He didn't bite right away, but two more secret bathroom business calls later, Rashard Lewis and Thornton were mine and I was sending Butler and Rip Hamilton packing. I flushed the toilet to seem like I was doing the deed and went back to the table, dipped the last bite of my New York strip in the A-1 soaked potatoes, and smiled contently......Tonight was a good night.

It didn't hit me what I had actually done until I returned home to check the night's stats of my players. Holy Shit. Now that Butler wasn't a member of "Yao's Boner May Okur", I had done the unthinkable. I currently had a team that did not include ONE fucking player I orginally drafted. It would be hard enough to set out before the year with these intentions and pull off this feat, but I had done it accidentally. Before the ALl-Star break nonetheless. Like I said, I am a sick, sick man. Below is a list of all my trading endeavors from this season thus far and two rosters. One that I originally drafted before the season and the other one is my roster as of today.

Trade: Tony Parker, Carlos Boozer, and Tayshaun Prince for Paul Pierce, Mehmet Okur, Bayless

Trade: Nene Hilario for Jermaine O'Neal and Spencer Hawes

Trade: Devin Harris, Paul Pierce, Jermaine O'Neal for Yao Ming, Vince Carter, and Jason Terry

Trade: Brad Miller, Ramon Sessions, Margues Daniels for Al Harrington and Andre Iguadola

Trade: Carmelo Anthony, Kevin Love for Baron Davis

Trade: Jason Terry, Al Harrington, Andres Bargnani for Jameer Nelson, Michael Redd, Brook Lopez

Trade: Brook Lopez for John Salmons

Trade: John Salmons, Ray Allen, Shawn Marion, Daequan Cook for Rodney Stuckey, Prince, Tony Parker, and Luis Scola

Trade: Tony Parker, Jameer Nelson, Ron Artest for Raymond Felton, Rasheed Wallace, and Russell Westbrook

Trade: Russell Westbrook, Michael Redd, Vince Carter, Tayshaun Prince, and Mike Conley for Deron Williams, Shawn Marion, John Salmons, Mike Dunleavy, and Daequan Cook

Trade: Shawn Marion and Rasheed Wallace for Pau Gasol

Trade: Mike Dunleavy, John Salmons, and Baron Davis for Andre Miller, Jason Richardson, Rip Hamilton

Trade: Rip Hamilton and Caron Butler for Rashard Lewis and Al Thornton









Originally Drafted Team
"Yao's Boner May Okur"

PG: Devin Harris
SG: Ray Allen
G: Tony Parker
SF: Caron Butler
PF: Carlos Boozer
F: Carmelo Anthony
C: Brad Miller
Util: Ray Allen
Util: Tayshaun Prince



Current Team
"Yao's Boner May Okur"

PG: Deron Williams
SG: Jason Richardson
G: Andre Miller
SF: Rashard Lewis
PF: Mehmet Okur
F: Paul Gasol
C: Yao Ming
Util: Rodney Stuckey
Util: Al Thornton

No bench players are the same as well. Like I said. Holy. Shit. Holy. Shit.

Please. If anybody knows of a good Fantasy Trading Addiction support group, let me know. Well, now I'm off to research Yao Ming's home/away rebounding splits to see if I can exchange him for a can of urine soaked peanuts and a Jack Trudeau jersey.

Dr. H Talks Fantasy Baseball With "The Rex" While Discussing Indecent Proposal Ideas for Midgets.

Joining us today we have a big surprise. Not quite as special as the surprise I found in my underwear after lunch this afternoon, but very close. He is a fantasy sports nerd extraordinaire and world-renowned fantasy sports writer for RotoExperts.com. His articles have been published on SportsIllustrated.com and one time wrote a testimonial for the Jenna Jameson Realistic Vagina Mold for Playboy Magazine. Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like you to meet Christopher "The Rex" Ryan.

Dr. H: "Chris, How ya doing today fuckface?"

Rex: "Three-fourths of a way through a twelve pack, high as an astronaut, and the Hoosiers just notched their first conference victory...how do you think I'm feeling? Also, I just got done ritualistically cutting myself so as to release the "naughties" from my insides. Let's talk baseball."

Dr. H: "Tipsy, eh? Well I'd like to say I wasn't currently fondling myself underneath the table, but I am. Anyways, let's dive right into things. It is common knowledge around the fantasy baseball world that you have a very deep, almost creepy admiration for David Wright. In fact, I have always questioned why you have two David Wright Fatheads on your ceiling, directly above your bed. Moving on though, Mr. Wright has not done much wrong since his breakthrough into the Stud Club. I mean, not only is he IN the Stud Club, but he has a lifetime VIP pass and is greeted at the bar with a blowjob from the hot bartender in the referee outfit upon entrance. Except on Tuesdays of course. Big Mike is the bartender on Tuesdays. Anyways, he reminds me A LOT of a certain up and coming, Rookie of the Year, for the Tampa Bay Rays. Any comparisons between the Evan Longoria and David Wright and how similar do you think their final career stats will compare?"

Rex: "I'll be honest, I wanted to hate Mr. Longoria for one reason, and one reason alone; jealousy. His idealically cut gib, his strapping demeanor, the way his swing can spontaneously elicit an orgasm from even the most hardened baseball man reminds me so much of my beloved David that it scares me. The fact that they both play third base has
only heightened my hope that Evan becomes embroiled in a performance-enhancing scandal or has his leg severed in an unfortunate break-dancing episode. I have, however, come to accept the fact that there's enough room atop the fantasy baseball hierarchy for both. As for as career numbers go, Wright will reign supreme. When all is said and done, the "Metropolitan Metrosexual" will go down as one of, if not the greatest, all-around players to inhabit the hot corner, while I see Longoria's star burning brighter, but for a much shorter period of time."


Dr. H: "By suggesting a "much shorter period", are you trying to ensue that Evan has a vagina? But moving on, let's talk pitching. We all have dated a crazy broad at one time or another. We stay with them only because they are hot, but their rampant mood swings eventually drive us off a cliff, wiener in our hands, swearing off sex for the next month. In fantasy terms, Carlos Zambrano is one of these hot, crazy bitches. His potential and track record is very appealing, but he always seems to blow up out of nowhere and do something stupid, like giving up 5 runs in the bottom of the 6th to the Florida Marlins. Now as a Carlos owner last year, what was your experience like and how do you see the Mr. Z Experiment panning out this year?"

Rex: "Let me lay a scenario out for you, my good doctor. Say you're involved with a gal that gives you everything you need. She's an above-average cook, enjoys the same movies and music that you do, and isn't shy about sucking "Captain Pendergrast" on a regular basis. She holds a reliable, steady-paying, non-slutifying job that enables you to sustain a comfortable -- if not uneventful -- existence. The only downside is that once a year, at a seemingly random time, she climbs on top of your shared roof and clobbers the fuck out of it with a sledgehammer and then declares that she's staying with her mother until you "fix the damn holes." Would it be worth it? I say yes. And that, my friend, is what it's like to own Carlos Zambrano. And yes, I'm keeping him this year."

Dr. H: "I don't know, roof repairs can be very expensive. Just last week, I found out the hard way that home owner's insurance is pretty damn expensive with All State. The only reason I chose them in the first place was because I was hoping to meet the president from "24", but apparently he's just a paid spokesperson. But changing things up, who's your favorite porn star and what baseball player would she played ball?

Rex: "Isabella Soprano, hands down. And I'd liken her to John Kruk in his prime; dirty, willing to do it all, slightly chubby, and appealing as fuck. "

Pic of Isabella http://i208.photobucket.com/albums/bb114/jlove52/isabellasopraon.jpg

Dr. H: "Who is your absolute "I'll never touch that stupid motherfucker as long as I play fantasy baseball" guy?"

Rex: "The quick answer would be Pat Burrell, but I'm kinda digging his D.H. role in Tampa this year, so I'll go with the King of the Spazoids himself, Carlos Quentin."

Dr. H: "What pitcher do you see being a great value this year?"

Rex: "Rich Hill. He won't be drafted in even the deepest of leagues, but his nasty 12-to-6 hook may be the best in baseball, and assuming he's able to re-learn what the strikezone is, there's plenty of space waiting for him in the Baltimore rotation. If you're looking for a legitimate major leaguer, Ricky Nolasco makes my balls quiver like a pre-adolescent teenager grasping his first boob."

Dr. H: "Hitter?"

Rex: "Shit fool, You know I like to play my sleepers close to the vest, but since you're so damn insistent (and since I'm now fully through the 12-pack), I'll play ball. Fred Lewis has caught my attention. He's slotted to be batting fifth in the Giants lineup and is a sure bet to steal 20-plus bases while flirting with a .300 average. I've been trying to keep the "black Corey Hart" under wraps, but once again, the booze has sold me out."

Dr. H: "Who wins the NL pennant?"

Rex: "The Cubs. Of course."

Dr. H: "AL?"

Rex: "The fully insane Hank Steinbrenner and his billion-dollar Yankees."

Dr. H: "World Series?"

C'mon, you really think I'm going to jinx Lou and the Crew? I plead the fifth.

Dr. H: "Which Williams' sister is hotter?"

Rex: "I don't know their names, but I like the black one. The more pertinent question to me is which former major leaguer named Williams looks like Eddie Munster on steroids? I vote for Matt."

Dr. H: "Got you on that one!"

Rex: "What did you get me on?"

Dr. H: "Well, thank you for joining us, Rex. I know you mentioned to me earlier that you were late for a National Rifles Association rally and I've got Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles waiting for me on the DVR, so I'll let you get out of here. Thanks for joining us. Go GUNS!"

Rex: "Bang, bang, bitch."

This interview took place at the lovely Dave and Teddy's Special Surprise Strip Club in beautiful Dungtown, Kentucky. Thanks guys for all the hospitality.....and the shrimp cocktails, butts, and boobs.