Friday, December 27, 2013

When They Turn 21.... What Do You Do?

We were just finishing up Christmas dinner at my Dad's house on South Loring Street.  It was oh, about 3 bells or so and Laurette's raisin sauce had not yet kicked in.  The first of a fahkin' billion contractions kicked Kim in the belly and it was off to the hospital... But it was not until the wee hours of the 27th when the boy joined the party.  32 hours of labor pains, a boat load of happy drugs and one "Get some gum, your breath stinks" later, our first born stepped out of the darkness and said "Hey Mom.  Hey Dad.  Thanks for having me.  And welcome to the first day of my awesomeness."

Today, that fukker is 21 and ready to belly up with his brand new ID and order himself a beer like he's some kind of big shot.  Yep, the mensch who once aspired to be average (no sense in setting goals too high, right Bub?) is an adult.  Not an 18 year old adult who can vote and fight for his country, but a 21 year old adult who can buy his daddy a cold one!!!!

Your kids are your kids... how you spend time with them is a floating scale that offers no set rules.  So ya gotta fahkin' wing it!  It's pretty easy when they are young.  You learn quickly that pureed carrots taste better as a choo choo train.  You play lots of games and you lose every one of them on purpose.  Lie to them about Santa and giant rabbits and tooth fairies (and the Browns if you're in Cleveland).  "Making a stinky" is perfectly fine.  "Pinching off a shit" you just cannot say.  Over time, tho, it gets a little more fuzzy.  At some point, it is important to start winning some of those games.  Losing builds character.  You don't get a friggin' trophy just for playing.  Losing makes you appreciate hard work and dedication.  Being gifted wins your whole life makes you a Democrat.  Not to mention, later on, that little fukker who could not bounce a basketball without it hitting his foot will bury your ass in one on one.  We also have to figure out when the right time is to start introducing swear words into the household.  Some parents still refuse to swear around their children.  Those parents are fukkin' pussies.  It's like one day, you are watching a purple dinosaur get creepy with little ones and the next day you are couching it, watching Clay Morrow sing the praises of sweet sweet pussy during a prison bible study.  It's like that line you said you would never cross was never even there.  But it is kinda cool that my boy and I share many of the same interests... Michigan football, Monty Python movies and especially those two interests that belong to Kate Upton.  (insert gratuitous Kate Upton photo here)



So, my son, as you continue on your journey through life, today is a milestone.  You are 21.  You will be forging your own path and defining your own success.  Dr. Seuss talked about the Places You'll Go.. but Dr. Seuss was twisted left on opiates and also wrote about a giant Elephant named Horton and a couple of Things named 1 and 2.  So don't listen to him.  Listen to me... your wise old Dad....

When I reach the days of diapers and dentures and donkey balls, do not put me in a nursing home.  Remember that you owe me.  And remember....  always wipe front to back.  Don't want no dingleberries on my donkey balls.   Love you dude!!!   See you tonight!  I'll have a Bud bottle.

8 months... on vacation with the Bretons

No sense in waiting... Hooters is ALWAYS a good idea.

Sophomore at Alvirne

Junior at Westfield State University

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

'Twas The Home Invasion Before Christmas

So anyhooz, it was Christmas Eve, right. And all around my house, 
the whole fahkin’ family was snoozin’, includin’ the mice.
The stockings were Scotch-taped to the fake fireplace in the pahlah,
Hopin’ Santa will fill those bitches with deodorant and Pez.
The kids were in their beds pretending to sleep, 
Bitchin’ about sugar plums and wishing they had gummies and Dew.
My wife in her sweats and me in my Angry Bird boxers, 
Had thought about some holiday matress dancing,
But those kids were still awake. So we went the fuk to sleep.
Then some racket outside startled me from bed, and I pooped a little.
I grabbed my 30 aught 6 Springfield and looked outside to see 
who would eat lead for fukkin’ with my inflatable Santa.
I pulled up the blinds and knocked out the screen 
And it was like gawdam daylight out there cuz of all the snow.
When what to my bloodshot eyes did I see,
But eight friggin’ rein-deer pulling a sleigh through the gawdam sky!
With a fat guy driving, no doubt it was the same guy I saw at the mall yesterday.
These sumbitches were coming fast too and I heard him call them by name,
It was something like Now Dopey! Now Happy! Now Peter and Sly,
On Big Frank! On Two Nuts! On White Bread and Rye!
To the top of my fukkin’ roof those bastahds went 
With all kinds of toys and shit in that sleigh. 
They tore up my shingles with each little hoof. 
I ducked back inside just in time to see that fat fuk 
come crashing down the chimney.
Dressed all in fur, he was a PETA nightmare. And he was covered in soot.
His eyes kinda twinkled and he had dimples that could hold shots of Jack. 
His cheeks and his nose were all red and his Red Sox beard was in full effect.
Smokin’ a pipe, I think it was the doochie. 
Then he laughed and that friggin’ stomach shook like jelly. 
He turned around and looked me up and down. 
With a twist of his head and a wink of his eye, I swear he was friggin’ hittin’ on me. 
I told him to get the fuk out of my house. I charged him with a softball bat. 
Dude laid his finger aside his nose  and damn if he didn’t just 
Fly up the chimney like fahkin’ magic. 
Got back in his sleigh and turned tail like a pussy. 
I heard him yell as he flew away, for all ears to hear –  
Merry Christmas, yah hahd on!  I stole all your beer.


Monday, December 23, 2013

Patsies Recap: Quoth The Raven, "My Ass Hurts."

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door....
.... only this and nothing more...
than Tommy fukkin' Brady grinnin' like a two dollar whore
and Lagerette Blount doing the Ray Lewis dance after a score!
Those fukkers!" quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

In Baltimore yesterday, THIS HAPPENED
The best thing about yesterday's twat swat of the Baltimore Ravens was that it made the entirety of NFL, ahem, "experts" look like total dicks.  Specifically, that mushmouth of a douche nozzle Shannon Sharpe looked all the asshole in his Ravens purple bowtie and I loved every fahkin' minute of his misery!  In case ya missed it, all the ESPNers and CBSers picked the defending chumps to smack down the depleted Patsies in Baltimore yesterday (except for Ditka, who likely learned a little bit while he was in Nashua last week).  And this morning, every one of them is dining on scrambled eggs and crowshit!  If ya wanna guarantee a Patriot win, just get out there and tell TMFB and Hoodie that they have no fukkin' chance.  Put it all over television and the internet.  And then watch and weep!



Joey Flaccid was a shipwreck yesterday in the face of a Patriot blitz scheme that we haven't seen in, oh I don't know... FOREVAH!!!  Something must have climbed up Belichick's balloon knot yesterday because I haven't seen the Pats pressure a quarterback like that since Seymour and Vrabel and Bruschi were turning passers into mud puddles back in da day!  Maybe it was Flacco's injured leg.  Maybe it was the "expert" predictions.  Or maybe it was "just because."  Either way, Flacco was under attack all day long!

After hoisting the Lombardi in February, Ozzie Newsome opened up the wallet and paid Joe Cool a shit ton of cash.  In exchange, Ozzie had to dump everyone else worth a dime: and now he has the 30th ranked quarterback in the NFL with a bum leg and skid marks on his girdle, and his Ravens are on the outside looking in at the playoff picture.  All that being said, the stats from yesterday do not match the score...  the Ravens had more yards, more plays, more first downs and more dumb old fukkin' tight ends picking them than the Patriots.  But the Ravens also turned it over more than a cat in heat, including a fumble six and a pick six in the last two minutes.  Guess the home team was feeling the Christmas spirit... thanks for the gifts, bitches!

Was yesterday flashback to replacement officials or what?  That may have been the worst collection of idiots and dimwads gathered together in stripes since the Packers/Seahawks game of 2012.  Bad calls.  Changed calls.  Phantom pass interference calls.  When have we ever seen defensive holding in the backfield??  Well, because they picked up the flag, we still haven't seen that.  But I wanna know what the fuk made that official throw his flag.  Truth be told, the Pats were given a gift on that first quarter PI call that put them on the one yard line for their first score.  But that balanced out later when PI was called on a clearly uncatchable ball for the Ravens that gave them their only score.

The Pats had clinched the division before kickoff, thanks to the Dolphins being shut out by the Bills in the 1:00 game.  So it would be hats and t-shirts no matter what.  But it was made much better with a win of their own.

And today, we give you the FIFTH STRAIGHT DIVISION TITLE VICTORY DANCE...

Cue the music... and shake the booty evermore!!

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Let's Go To The Friggin' Mall!!!

It looks like it's gonna be a trip to the mall for the last Sunday before Christmas for some last minute shit and a beer or two at American Joe's.  Oh, and some chowdah in a bread bowl!!!  Can you sense my excitement?  A few strolls past Vicky Secret's mannequins ought to make me forget all about the parking lot rage into which I'm about to dive head first!

Mariah is here this morning, a few days early, to stuff your stocking!  Good Gawd, y'all!!   I think she's packin' more than two turtle doves in there!   Now THAT'S how to represent the Twofer Twosday alum in fine wikkid big fashion!



So this is Christmas...  and here's my Christmas Gif for you.... damn, I miss summer!


Saturday, December 21, 2013

Santa Is A Douche! It Had To Be Said.

Well... it looks like there is little doubt now.  I am on the gawdam naughty list!  For the last few weeks, I was not sure if I was with the goody two shoes or with that little prick who made Tommy eat a bug.  But the events of last night sealed the deal... Podunk is gettin' coal and reindeer shit for Christmas.   Ya know how I found out??  One puhticulah Christmas wish of mine for yeeyas has been to wear Beyonce's ass for a hat.  That's all.  Not even for a long time.  For just like a couple of seconds or so while she sings All The Single Ladies.  Turns out the oh so voluptuous Mrs. Zee was at the Walmaht in Tewksbury last night handing out gift cahds to customahs decked out in Duck Dynasty tshirts and badly fitting yoga pants.  She was just a few effin' miles away and NOBODY TOLD ME!!

Obviously, this guy has no appreciation for the finer things in life...like Beyonce's ass!
I would have made a prouder showing on behalf of bald dudes, buddy!
Fahk you Santa, you fahkin' sugah cookie eatin' tub of phony goodness!  Just because someone specializes in celebrity racks one day a week, you decide he cannot go exploring on Beyonce's moon?  - I am doing charitable work here, ya know; a regular Boobation Ahhmy bringing happiness and pants tents to tens of thousands of good people.  But then again, maybe you are really a Dumocrat who thinks Christmas is a celebration of the miraculous Hawaiian birth of a certain big eared dicknose and you don't like my political rants!  The thing about you, Kringle, is that you think you can just decide who gets the good shit and who gets a frozen North Pole up the pooper?  Based on what?  Checkin' a list?  Checkin' it twice?  Looking ovah some bullshit reports from a terrorizing gang of tattle-tale elves on shelves?  Dude, you don't know shit!

Have you any idea how many Christmas mornings you have destroyed?  Jolly old elf, my ass!  Kids all around the world wake up every year looking for that one special gift.  Yet you only come through for the rich families with big chimneys.  You run a gawdam sweat shop up there in your high and mighty castle.  Those elves work 364 days a year, around the clock, and yet all you shell out for pay is some sugar plums and a bag of fukkin' gum drops!  These guys need money, man!  At least give them some dollar bills so they can spend their time off making it rain on midget strippers instead of dancing with a scarecrow on a yellow brick road.

The Santa you never hear about....
I love how you play it off like you are some do-gooder who loves children so much that you give up an entire night of your busy candy eating schedule just to fly around the world delivering smiles and joy to all the girls and boys.  I am callling bullshit on that too... I saw the movie.  How you could give a shit less about Elf Practice and how you treated Rudolph in that cave, you prick.  Just cuz he was a little different than the others, you took a holiday shit on his feelings and threw a shot at his father Donner while you were at it.  Oh, but when you needed the little fukker and his glowing nose, it was suck up city, wasn't it?

I've also seen you at the mall, terrorizing the boogers out of little kids all while you smile and give out a hearty Ho Ho Ho... mean prick!  As far as all those times a kid has pissed on your lap, let there be no question that you deserved every fahkin' drop!!

Evidence is in... he's a douche!
So who ya gonna destroy this year, fuckface?  Is little Tyler gonna get that puppy or is it gonna be a Snoopy pez dispenser and a remote control car that doesn't steer?  And I suppose Sally Sue is shit outta luck this year and no iPhone 5 for her.  Instead, it's gonna be socks and earbuds for the heart broken young lady, ain't it?  Oh, but young Mr. Gates is gonna get a fukkin' Beamer with leather seats, ain't he?  Nice job, Claus!  Dick!

By the way, why don't you ever drink the whole glass of milk?  That's fukkin' rude!


Friday, December 20, 2013

Duck Dynasty Guy Is Half Right, Ya Know.

Dear Head Dicks at A&E:

What the fuck did you think would happen?  Fahchrisake, you wanted to get into REALITY TELEVISION and now you are taint deep in a vat of shit stew, ain't ya?  It's a bearded family of duck huntin' hillbillies from Louisiana who preach the gospel of J. Harold Christ himself.  The Robertsons are card carryin' basket passin' members of the White's Ferry Road Church of Christ.  It was a matter of fukkin' time before one of those dudes spoke his or her mind about something.  Yet, because you have the balls of a titmouse, you felt you should suspend Phil because he told the people of GQ that he ain't a big fan of homosexuality?  Sir, you lost your right to express shock and surprise the moment you started making money on this family.

In closing, go fuck yourself.

Sincerely,
Podunk B. Pist


This may not be the popular spin on this story, but I'm giving it anyway.  This is NOT an argument about homosexuality to me.  This is an argument about having the right to express our beliefs without worry of persecution.  I am not gonna tell you that I agree with Phil's assessment of homosexuality being a sin.  But I will tell you that there is NOTHING wrong with him speaking his mind.  But forget that for a moment.  Why don't you just look at the words Phil said, without the politically correct slant of the pussified left...

"Everything is blurred on what's right and what's wrong… Sin becomes fine. Start with homosexual behavior and just morph out from there. Bestiality, sleeping around with this woman and that woman and that woman and those men."  Robertson also added, "It seems like, to me, a vagina—as a man—would be more desirable than a man's anus. That's just me. I'm just thinking: There's more there! She's got more to offer. I mean, come on, dudes! You know what I'm saying? But hey, sin: It's not logical, my man. It's just not logical." 

All the guy has said is that he believes homosexuality is a sin.  That's his belief (and the belief of millions of devout Christians around the world - he ain't alone here).  And he also said that he finds a woman's vagina more desirable than a man's anus.  What?  He cannot say that?  I gotta say... Guy's gotta fukkin' point there.  I'm with him on that.  Does that mean I will get suspended from my job??

Robertson responded to initial criticism saying, "I myself am a product of the 60s; I centered my life around sex, drugs and rock and roll until I hit rock bottom and accepted Jesus as my Savior. My mission today is to go forth and tell people about why I follow Christ and also what the Bible teaches, and part of that teaching is that women and men are meant to be together. However, I would never treat anyone with disrespect just because they are different from me. We are all created by the Almighty and like Him, I love all of humanity. We would all be better off if we loved God and loved each other."

Phil has his beliefs.  And while those beliefs are quite strong, it is obvious it does not translate into action and he has not treated anyone disrespectfully.  Until he does, then give the guy a friggin' break!

Listen, just like Phil has every right to express his values and beliefs to whoever wants to listen, A&E has every right to suspend him from camera time to distance themselves from his words.  All I'm saying is that they have no right to be surprised.  Unless they have not been watching their own television show.

I gotta tell you that the most shocking part of this entire story is that this fukker was being interviewed by GQ!!  What the duck is that???  

Monday, December 16, 2013

Patsies ReCRAP: 4th and 5 Assholes? Really?

With seven seconds to go from the 'phins 20 yahd line, he reached up his poop hoop once more, but this time, instead of a blue and silver horseshoe, TMFB only came out with muddy fingers.  When some no-name bitch off the bagger line at the Piggly Wiggly picked that pass in the endzone with no ticks on the dick clock, there would be no last second vishy swah for the Patsies in South Beach yesterday.  No division clinching dance party on the majestic aqua marine Dolphin logo at midfield.  And alas, no supah model wife shakin' her whoopie pie in victory for all of my loyal readers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Editah's Side Bah:  By the way Mr. Bagger turned Supah Hero, I get it - it was a game winning pick against the top team in the division.  And I get that as recently as last Wednesday, you were a dingleberry clinging on to the practice squad in Frisco.  But tears???  Really brother???   Dude, the only reason you were in the game is because the Dolphins may have the biggest gaggle of gals playing corner in the whole NFL.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay... back to the recrap!  We shoulda known things were not gonna go as planned when the Pats took a 10-0 lead on Hooman's magic catch early in the second quarter.  These guys need to play from behind.  Because when they are up on a team and forcing that team into passing the ball, their shitful secondary shines through like a reindeer's nose on a foggy night.  It was proven on the Dolphins final drive of the first half when Arrington was on the sidelines with a pussy cramp and Marques Cole subbed in and promptly whiffed on Mike Wallace while Stevie Gregory took his typical bad angle and the two of them allowed the formerly dead 60 Minutes host a walk into the endzone.  And then it showed once again in the second half as Ryan Tannenbaum lit up the Patsies defense like a holiday connifer.



Brady actually had a pretty decent day, in my perfectly correct opinion.  Not outstanding, but certainly good enough to come home a winnah.  Dude was in sync with Minitron and DLDola.  The Pasty White Boys combined for 23 catches and 260 something yahds.  Shit, Brady threw to those two guys 33 times out of his 54 pass attempts.  But with all that, the importance of Honky Tonk BaGronkadonk was way fahkin' evident in those last 4 plays from the 18 yard line.  If he's there, they score.  Pretty simple.  Suffice it to say, throwing to Oompa Loompas on a shortened field is a whole lot more difficult than finding a fukkin' Bumble open on the end line (unless he is being bear-hugged in front of a bad official).

Patriot Nation needs to accept the fact that what you see from this hobbled edition of Hoodie's team is what you are gonna get going forward.  The notion that they are this close to the #1 seed with all of these freakin' injuries is reegawdamdiculous in its own right.  Guess Solder got another knock to the grape and he sat out the second half yesterday.  What they have managed to do is remarkable when you look at other riddled teams in the league... read Atlanta Falcons and Green Bay Packers.  Atlanta lost some serious weapons early on and nosedived from a #2 seed last year to a cellah dwellah in line for the top pick.  The Pack lost Discount Doublecheck a month ago and have been a shit storm ever since.  (The only reason they won yesterday is because they were facing Tony Blomo in December - i.e. a guaranteed win)

The Patriots lost yesterday because their defense is horrendous.  No other reason.  The offense was stellar at times, although they did go whisky dick at the end of two long drives that really could have been the difference between a Gisele dance and a TMFB press conference shitty bomb.  These may be the worst collection of linebackers this side of Dallas.  Officer Hightower cannot cover a pimple with a bandaid!  Nor can Jamie Collins or Dane Fletcher.  And that's all you got at the LB spot.  With Talib nursing a bum hip, he has not been the same.  However, we did not see him much yesterday which tells me he did a pretty good fukkin' job defending.  Wallace was being defended by, GASP, Arrington much of the day.  So there ya go.  Still, the Pats had the game in hand.  All they had to do was snuff a bubble screen on 4th and 5 with 2 minutes to go.  But instead, Fletcher and Hightower overpursued the edge and Dennard was kicked out, which gave Charles Clay just enough room to gain SIX FUKKIN YAHDS!!!  That game winning drive got a head start, too.  That's because Gostowski could not keep his kickoff in bounds!  Fahcrisake Ski, the field is 53 friggin' yahds wide!!!  You were kicking off into the seats most of the game.  So what the fuk???  How do you find the sidelines at that particular time???    Aarghhhhhhh!   (Hey, but at least our long snappah did not bounce ball off the nose of the holdah, LOOZAHS!!   -  come on, I need something!)

I bet you did not know that, along with Gisele's cave dance and the Bruin Bear Dance that are played in victory, there is also the much lesser utilized Boston Loser Dance.  Behold....    and sorry!

Friday, December 13, 2013

SOA: Spoiling The Finale Like a Boss. (Hey, I Waited)

Season 6 is in the books and that fahkin' Kurt Sutter had me standing up in my living room saying "Holy Wut Da Fuk!" once again.  I may be spoiling it for you alleged fans who have yet to watch the season endah to this year's SAMCRO twistapalooza!  But then again, if you have not made the time to soak in the finale, what kind of fan are you?

The kiss no SAMCRO brother ever wants.....  Mr. Mayhem sends his love.
Let me get this out of the way first:  Tara is dead.  Roosevelt too.  Nero is goin' hood and Juice is more fukked up than he was that time he swung from a chain.  Gemma is a twat and Unser is a fool.  Brown and Yellow are gettin' chummy in a war against Black and White.  Jax is goin' to prison (is he?).  Bobby's gonna be Prez (or is he?).  Abel cannot act worth a shit and Wendy has great boobs for a smack junky.

Gotta just keep givin' it up to Sutter for his wizardry with a storyline.  Ain't no predicting who is gonna bite it and when.  It was one thing to watch Momma Teller go all Samurai Deli on the back of Tara's head with a carving fork.  I was still trying to soak that shit in when Juice popped a round in Roosevelt's ear and made me poop a little bit.  What the fuk?  Now how was THAT gonna play out?  Would Juice, knowing he may have a date with Mr. Mayhem, just off himself and give that scar chested bitch a way to wiggle out of this?  I didn't think he would kill Gemma - Katey Sagal is Sutter's real life wife and I cannot imagine him putting his own lady out of work.  But when they showed Gemma looking to Unser for support and Juice hiding all evidence of the killing, it seems that next season will revolve around this unlikely trio of dipshits trying to figure out how to keep this all quiet.

Gotta say, maybe even a bigger surprise than Gemma offing Tara was Jax's sudden forgiveness of his wife and his willingness to go to jail for 25 years in exchange for her immunity so that she can "be a good mother and protect our sons" without living a life of fear.  I don't think many people saw that coming.  I know I didn't.  I also do not see him actually following up on his end of the deal now that Tara is dead.  The ending certainly made it seem that Jax will be blamed for killing Tara and Roosevelt.  But I cannot really see that happening either.  The gun on the floor will be proven to NOT be the gun that killed Roosevelt.  So... I ask again... HOW THE FAHK IS THIS GONNA PLAY OUT NEXT YEAR???

Gotta believe Jax will not be in jail.  Otherwise there would have been no point in spending two episodes setting up this unavoidable conflict between Jax and Nero.  Sutter committed several twists to put that relationship in a place that promises to be all fahked up when the curtains rise next September.  Not to mention, Jax is gonna be all sorts of psychotic after finding Tara the way he did.  Coupled with Opie's death two seasons ago, this will surely push this sumbitch over the edge.

With the series coming to a conclusion next year, Sutter will have no restraints to story lines and character development.  Without having to set up for a Season 8, 7 may just be his best work yet.

By the way... have I mentioned my new appreciation of Wendy???


Thursday, December 12, 2013

Christmas: It's All Bout Family. Functional Or Not!

We are taint deep into the Christmas season and I haven't even had a chance to run out and pick up seven swans a swimming for my true love.  Guess I better get off the schnide.  Or even better, I think I'll just stick with the nine ladies lap dancing.  Huh?  That's not how it goes?  Yeah, well my way makes the song a whole lot fukkin' better.  I'd just skip all the friggin' birds (did everyone get feathery fowl for Christmas back then, fachrissake?) and replace them with things like tubas, rickshaws and boobs a bouncing!  Seriously... I know I have asked this before... but what kind of true love gets somebody a couple of turtle doves and a six pack of geese shittin' out eggs?  If it was real true love, you'd be gettin' shit like an XBox One, Patriots season tickets and a belt buckle bottle opener.

Christmas really is a strange time of year for me.  I mean, I struggle with the whole notion of the immaculate conception, an understanding Joseph (who, if that happened these days, would be on Maury Povich doing the paternity test dance) and three camel jockeys from Asia following a star to a small town in Israel just to give the kid some baby oil and dried sap.  And I don't know how the dots got connected to a fat elf in a red suit bringing toy trains and crying dolls to boys and girls.  But then again, I guess that's being sacrilege.

I ain't sacrilege.  I love Christmas.  I love the togetherness that the season brings.  I love giving gifts and I really love getting gifts.  I love plugging in a string of lights to find out that they ALL work.  I love getting photo cards in the mail of friends' kids that I haven't seen since the days of coming to cookouts in carseats.  How are they in fukkin' college now?  I didn't know they made carseats that big.  I love "Merry Christmas Bedford Falls!", "You'll shoot yer eye out."  and "The shitter's full."   I love the fat glutton Ghost of Christmas Present - dude can eat!  But the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come makes me pee a little bit.  I dig the Miser Brothers and Yukon's Bumble.  I even like that little bitch on 34th Street.

And most of all, I love listening to the songs.  I love the carols about the bright star, virgin birth and holy night and I love the silly songs about rooftops and reindeer and Italian donkeys.  Yep, even the Italian donkey.  And I really love the rock and roll Christmas songs about Christmas Wrapping and Father Christmas gettin' robbed by the Kinks.  But the best songs to  me are the songs about family.  Whether it be Johnny Cash singing That Christmasy Feeling or The Oak Ridge Boys "Thank God For Kids" or Bryan Adams singing "Something About Christmas Time," these are the songs to which we can all relate.  Unless of course you are a tight ass who is offended by the C-word.

There seems to be a run these days on Christmas songs about dysfunctional families and for some reason, I think I love them best!  This trend, I think, started when Elmo and Patsy sang about Grandpa and Cousin Mel drinking beers and their Grandma stumbling home cocked on eggnog only to get run over by a wayward Blitzen.  The dysfunctional holiday then gathered some steam with Bob Rivers' Twelve Pains of Christmas ("She's a witch.  I hate her").  This leads me to the two songs that are now sitting second and third on my list of favorite holiday tunes this year (A Boob Job For Christmas will forever be number 1, people).

How do you not spend the rest of the day with this song stuck in your head?  Robert Earl Keene has his thumb on the pulse of fukked up families and puts it all to music in Merry Christmas From The Family.

Favorite verse:

Carve the turkey, put the ball game on.  

Make Bloody Mary's cuz we all want one.  
Send somebody to the Stop 'n Go.  
We need some celery and a can of fake snow.  
A bag of lemons and some Diet Sprites.  
A box of tampons and some Salem Lights.  
Hallelujah, everybody say cheese!


And then there is this song by one of my favorite bands of all time.  The Dropkicks are fast approaching Skynyrd status in my book and they have cut this gem of a holiday tune.

Favorite verse:
My Mom likes to cook, push our buttons and prod.  
My brother just brought home another big broad.  
The eye rolls and whispers come loud from the kitchen.
I'd come home more often if they'd only quit bitchin'.
My dad, on the other hand's a selfish old sod.  
Drinks whisky alone with my miserable dog, 
who won't run or fetch and he couldn't care less.  
He defiled by teddy bear and left me the mess."


Hope you enjoyed!!!

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Reilly Smith Is Da Nutz!!

I know, I know... the GIFs I post here are usually, by rule, a hypnotic repetition of bouncing bosomness!  And there is nothing wrong with that.  HOWEVER, sometimes a GIF is so gawdam cool, it warrants its own post.   In case you missed it because you were doing a little SOA pregame tailgating, the Beez and Iggy went to Calgary to see some old friends.  And Reilly Fukkin' Smith stole the show with this pissah goal.

Who knew Smitty would be the gem in the Seguin for Eriksson trade?   Not me.


Monday, December 9, 2013

Beez Recap: It Must Be Bear Hunting Season!!

Jeezus H. Donkey Turds!  What the fuk is going on these days in Bruin Town?  Guys just fahkin' head hunting like maniacs against the Beez and gettin' away with it.  Guess I missed this memo.

Memorandum

To:  The Entirety of the National Hockey League, exempting Boston Bruins

From:  The Gods of Hockey, MaryKate Sedin, Phyllis Kessel and Sindy Crosby, et al

Priority:  HIGH

Date:  12/01 in the 2013th year of our Lord Stanley

Re:  Big Bad Bruins

Let it be known from this point going forward that all players donning skates and helmets for the Hockey Club of Boston (i.e. Boston Broonz) are hereby proclaimed as enemy combatants and shall henceforth be treated as such.  Please make every effort to rip their fukkin' heads off or paint the boards with their faces.  Ne'er shall ye let a free knee pass without fukkin' one of them up big time.  Our goal in this mission is to concuss the whole fukkin' city if possible.  Go forth and decimate.



The latest evidence of this crusade came last night when Dion Phaneuf (pronounced FUKKIN ASSHOLE) drilled rookie Kevan Miller between the numbers and wrecked his ass face first into the boards.  Miller is a tough sumbitch because he played on and notched a biscuit in the basket.  So phuck off Phaneuf!

In the meantime, the Beez played last night without Rask (resting), Quader, Kelly, Eriksson and Boychuk.  And Ginger Dougie went down in the first period not to return.  Yet, somehow, the Bruins still whacked the Maple Queefs in the vadge.  Sodahead, Bergy, Iggy and Kroogah also potted the puck in the win while Kessel was his usual minus 2.  Have I said how much I love hockey?

You know who else likes hockey??   Kate Upton.  That's who.


Sunday, December 8, 2013

Patsies Recap: Middle Bunt!!

It's called Middle Bunt.  And it kicked Cleveland in the gonads!

Well, that was a 58 minute bag of suck today at the Rayzah.  And yet somehow, TMFB got off the taint and willed the fahkin' Patsies to their 10th win of the year, sans Gronkapotamus.  Oh, they certainly got by with a little help from the zebras, by the way.  Hey listen....after the Jets and Panthers horse shit this year, I'll take a ticky tack pass interference call every day of the gawdam week.  Whiny bitch Paul Kruger was quoted in the locker room after the game that he felt they "were kinda robbed at the end."  Tell ya what Krug.... recover the onside kick like a real football team would and your Brownies wouldn't have that problem.

Tenspeed Vereen was the difference maker today in the second half.  At one point, Brady called his number 7 plays in a row, including a 6 yahd scampah late at the end of the third quarter to bring the Patsies to within 8.  And he was about the only ray of sunshine on an otherwise shitiful day that saw the defense make Jason Campbell look like Danny the Dick Marino.  Jeezus, are there any worse linebackers in pass coverage than the crew wearing the flying Elvis?  Tight end Jordan Who The Fuk's That Cameron was targeted 9 times today.  Guess how many catches.... NINE!!!  That's because the likes of Hightower, Spikes and Jamie Collins were sniffin' fart wind all gawdam day.  Cameron was more open than a Kardashian's legs at a dunk contest.

Of course the Patsies deserved to lose this game.  But don't tell those sumbitches that.  Much like the Denver game, seats started emptying and channels started changing when the Brownies went up by 12 with two minutes to go.  And then it was time for Tommy Boy to wakedafukup and for the offense to haul ass.  Still not possible right?  I mean they were gonna have to get a quick touchdown, recover an onside kick and get another friggin' touchdown.  In two minutes.  I had conceded the contest and resigned myself to the fact that I would have to watch Gisele do her bikini magic not out of victory, but rather out of my love of the dance.  Cuz I'm a fukkin' artsy type.

Thanks to an unnecessary roughness penalty on Minitron's touchdown with 1:09 to go to get back to within 5, the Pats got to kick off from the fitty yahd line.  And it was then that Hoodie and his special teams coach unveiled the "MIDDLE BUNT"...  and it was a thing of gawdam beauty as G-ski ran alongside his dribbled kick for 10 yards like he was walking his dog.  And just like that, the Pats had the friggin' ball!!  Two plays later, bing, bang, phanton pass interference call, BOOM and the fukkers were suddenly winning!

But with 35 seconds on the clock, there was still a chance for the Brownies to boot a game winning field goal.  And the prevent defense did their usual stink thing.  Thankfully, Cundiff did not have near the leg to make that 57 yarder at the end and the Patsies had their 10th win in the most improbable of fashions.  Whatevah....  JUST WIN BITCH!   I ain't apologizing for a bad call by the refs at the end (cuz it was).  The Pats were in that situation because they just never stop playing.  Ever.  The Browns could have ended this game well before that PI call by playing some defense in the final two minutes.  But they didn't.  Cuz they suck.

Now for Gronk... I saw the hit.  Thought it was fine.  Unfortunate.  But fine.  Then I saw TJ Ward's post game interview and I KNOW it was fine.  That kid impressed me with his humility in talking about the hit.  So I'm all good with it.  He is giving up 80 pounds to Gronk.  There is only one way to take him down.  And that's what he did.  But Jeezus... Gronk just cannot catch a break.  This will be his legacy.  Could have been the greatest tight end to have ever played.  But will likely have a career shortened by injuries and be better known for his Yo Soy Fiesta and his pinata penis.  DAMMIT!


All this in hand, let's be honest, Patriot nation.  Things are not good.  The Pats are looking at being a one and done team in the playoffs.  There ain't no way that defense will win a playoff game.  And with Gronk likely done for the season, there ain't no way Mr. Mulligan is stepping in to replace tight end production.  Hey, but winning is still fun.  So we shall enjoy it yet again.  Let's dance......

Here is our My God How Do We Keep Winning Like This - Hey, Tom's Wife Is Shaking Her Tits Again Victory Dance.

Beez Win. Thorty Goes Apeshit, Looks For Christmas Vacation

Holy shit!  I ain't about to justify the way he handled it.  And to his credit, Shawn Thornton is not making excuses himself and rather owning his stupidity.  So I will rationalize a little bit about what pushed Thorty over the cliff of decorum and into a place where we could never imagine seeing our beloved enforcer.   Anyone familiar with hockey and specifically the Beez, knows that Shawn Thornton has always been about the code.  He drops his gloves only within the parameters of the unwritten rules.  To even call him a goon would be an injustice, because the guy can skate and handle his stick well enough to have scored 10 goals in one season and is on pace to do the same this year.  So what the fuk happened that resulted in Thorty going all apeshit and pummel Brooks Orpik into fukkin' queer street after he took him down to the ice during a stoppage in play?

As seems to be the case these days, many teams take exception to the Bruins physical type of play.  They beat the fukkin' balls out of opposing teams by finishing their hits and putting heads on swivels for 60 minutes.  The Sabers and Canadians have even altered their gawdam rosters to try to match the Beez in toughness.  During last year's Eastern Conference Finals, the aforementioned Penguin bitches were transparent in their game plan to knock the senses out of the Beez rather than play hockey.  Youtube search Matt Cooke Brad Marchand Playoff Goal and you will see what I'm fahkin' talkin' about.

It was obvious last night that the Penz were out to send a message to the Broonz.  It started immediately when Orpik laid out Loui Eriksson and knocked him out of the game with a pretty nasty and borderline cheap shoulder to the head hit.  Eriksson was concussed and did not return.  Thorty took exception because, in his mind, Orpik violated the code.  Ya don't take runs on skill players.  If you wanna be a tough guy, take on the other tough guys.  Orpik is much like Thornton.  He is there to fight first, play hockey later.  Asshole has never scored more than 2 goals in a season.  So why would an "enforcer" be skating the first shift of the game?  Maybe Dan Bylsma could answer that question.  He seems to be a wise hockey sage anyhoo because he called the Orpik hit on Eriksson a "good hockey hit"... fuckface thinks a shoulder to the head is a good hit.  Either way, Thornton tried to handle it the "right way" when he came out and tried challenging Orpik to drop gloves.  But the pussy just turtled up, unwilling to back up his own actions against someone his equal.  Thorty ended up with a roughing penalty because of it.

Later in the period, when James Neal kneed a fallen Brad Marchand in the head in an obviously intentional douchebag move, that was it for Thornton.  He fukkin' snapped and saw a chance to get his whacks in on Orpik, who was challenging Gregory Campbell in the ensuing scrum of Neal's kneeing penalty.  Guess he had had enough of seeing Pittsburgh players targeting the heads of the Bruins.  So he took Orpik to the ice and cleaned his clock with two solid punches to the jaw.  Orpik went la la land and was stretchered off the ice.  Fukker should have just fought Thornton in the first place.  After the game, Thornton had this to say:

"I feel awful. It wasn't my intention," Thornton said. "I know Brooksy and have gotten to know him over the last seven years. I skated with him in the summer, through the lockout and texted him a couple of times. I feel awful. It's definitely not what I want anyone to see.... It's always my job, I guess, to defend my teammates. But I prided myself for a long time to stay within the lines. It's hard for me to talk about right now. I can't say 'I'm sorry' enough."
I got ya some gifs to check out in case you were watching Ohio State shit down their legs instead of the Bruins game.

Here is what Bylsma calls a good hockey hit.

Try telling me that Neal did not mean to do this.  He's an NHL skater
and can turn on a fukkin dime if he needed to.

Orpik ain't gonna escape this time.

Say what you will about the Bruins physical style of play... but for the most part, they play tough BUT CLEAN!  That is born out in the numbers where the Bruins have the seventh FEWEST minor penalties this year and ZERO game misconducts thus far.

The rivalry for sure is reaching a boiling point.  Three serious injuries last night (Chris Kelly had his ankle broken by a slash from Pascal Dupuis in the second period that was not called) and one coulda been.  Marchand is reportedly okay and will not miss any time.  No thanks to James Neal.

Bottom line here is that Thornton fukked up.  He went all douchey and sucker punched another player.  And he knows it.  And he feels badly for it.  Hey, how would he know Orpik had such a glass jaw?  To be sure, he will be suspended a shit ton of games.  I'm predicting more than 10 games.  The NHL cannot have that kind of vigilante justice.  Neal will also surely be suspended a few game checks for his prick move.

On the other hand, HOWZABOUT THAT ENDING!!!  Krejci and Big Zee came up with huge Sher-woods in their shorts with two goals in the final minute and 30 seconds to send the Penz home a loser once again.  Chara's goal came with just 13 seconds left in regulation and was a blistahd slappah from the middle of the face off circles and landed squarely on the dicks of the visitors.

Friday, December 6, 2013

Really??? No Christmas In Texas??? WTF!

Just when it looked like the war on Christmas was turning back in favor of everybody with a ceramic baby Jesus in a popsicle stick manger, the Lone Star State, of all places, just dropped trou and cut a corn loaf on the Magi and gave Christians a Texas sized Fuk Y'all!

Last week, the Governor of Rhode Still Not An Island grew a set of cojones and called it a CHRISTMAS TREE.  Back in June, the state of Texas, with the final signature from Governor Rick Perry, signed into law the Merry Christmas Bill, which frees any public school from legal recourse if they were to use Christmas or Hanukkah symbols in school.

But a collection of pussies running an elementary school in Frisco, TX just up and banned Christmas altogether.  Per the PTA organizing a, ahem, "WINTER PARTY" for Nichols Elementary School, boys and girls will not be able to make any reference to Christmas or any other religious holiday at the party.  They've also banned Christmas trees.  And for the first time that I have ever heard, these douche bags have also outlawed the colors Red and Green!!!   Yah, I shit you not!!  Now they are not letting kids where certain fukkin' colors!  GAWDAMIT!!!!

Play this out for a minute... what is gonna happen when two third graders are sitting together at a table with their hands sticky from winter candy canes start talking about their Christmas lists?  Seriously... it's fukkin December and that is ALL that is on a kid's mind this time of year.  You know they are both hoping for the new Skylanders startup kit and are excited to think about Santa placing it under their winter tree.  Are the fukkin' teachers gonna kick the kids out of the party???  If little Beasley shows up in a fukkin' Houston Rockets hat, will he be turned away at the door?  This is what happens when assholes are allowed to run things... chaos and mayhem.

On a related note, let's check the weather in Mexico.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Ellsbury Is A Yankee. And I Guess I Don't Care.

Maybe it's the victorious and luscious scent of duck boat fumes that has given Sawx Nation a lasting contact high.  It has for this particular fan, anyway.  You see, I have absolutely no feelings about Jacoby Ribsbury packing up and shipping his speedy ass off to the Bronx.  I'm not wikkid pissed about it and I don't sense many Hose fans are kavetching over his departure.  Now... don't get me wrong.  This fukker is good and even fahkin' awesome at times.  He's gonna be a bitch to play against for 19 games and will likely steal more a hurricane looter against the likes of Davey Ross and AJ Prickface.  He's probably gonna go yahd a shit ton of times over the whiffle ball fence in right field, too.  Normally, when a dude leaves the friendly confines at Yawkey Way for the Land of 27 Rings on 161st Street, it renders him an evil sumbitch that can stir up more hatred and vitriol than if he had had a threesome with your wife and your dog.  But I don't feel it this time.  I think that the Empire is in such pitiful straits these days that seeing them ink yet another long term contract actually gives us a little sportsgasm here in Beantown.  It's cute that while they are trying to dig themselves out from under one certain asshole and his hundred year deal, they sign a fast running, slow healing centerfielder to a seven year deal.  The Sawx tried the seven year deal thing a few years ago and that worked out as well as a Lindsey Lohan rehab stay.  Were it not for Magic Johnson, we'd still be bitchin' about chicken and beer instead of wondering what goes best with a World Series ring.


So fare thee well, Jacoby.  Thanks for everything you have done to bring two parades to Boylston Street.  I blame you not for taking the money and running.  Anyone of us would do the same thing... so good luck.  And, Master Jake, thoust then shall prepare to have thine ass booed off the fahkin' chahts next April.  Cuz it's what we do.  It's not personal.  Just business.  Go fuck yourself.  (Okay, maybe just a little bitterness...)

Monday, December 2, 2013

Patsies Recap: Oh Jeez... Again??

Well... the Big Fork and Mayonnaise injuries are really bitin' the Patsies in their cheatin' asses, now ain't they?  The Hoodie's defense cannot stop a fukkin' run-on sentence these days with legends such as Knowshow Morenoham and Ben Whodat Tate racking up nearly 400 yards on the ground against New England the past two weeks.  With Rodney Allen Ridley standing on the sidelines hugging a football like fat kid grippin' a cupcake, the Patsies still managed to come out of the game with a bikini dance inducing victory and a stranglehold on the AFC East once again.  But jeezus... these were the 2-9 gawdam Texans, fahchrisake!  Case of Beer Keenum was under center handing off to Tate while Arian Foster and Matt Beat The Schaub were pickin' splinters on the sidelines.  Yet somehow, those fukkers were able to move the ball and take a 17-10 lead into the half.

But then, Bobby Boucher showed up at halftime and the Muddogs won the Bourbon Bowl... huh?  Wrong movie?  Oh that's right.  This is a real football team.

Rather, the Pats called up Maxwell Smart and his big breasted partner, Agent 99 (the yummy Anne Hathaway version), and got the inside dope on the Texans defense.  According to resident bitter bitch, Antonio Smith, the Patriots must have been spying on Houston's practice last week because "we had some ways that we were going to play this week that just got put in this week, and it was just miraculous that they changed up some things they did on offense...."  Dipshit went even further, saying "You would have to be a descendant of Tonestradamus to know what we put in this week to be able to change that fast.  There's no way...we have not done it ever before and they had never changed it ever before.  So it was kinda fishy how it got changed."

First off, asshole... it's NOSTRADAMUS, you fukkin idiot!  Secondly, what Smith is saying here is that even though the Patriots knew what the Texans were calling on defense, they obviously just let the Texans defense have its way in the first half out of the goodness of their hearts and in the spirit of Hanukkah.  It's called a half-time adjustment.  Perhaps you should have made some too, dicknose.  Smith claims that he is suspicious because the Patriots offense "did things that they had never done before out there."   Do you think he is talking about New England racking up 453 total yards against the Texans #2 ranked passing defense?  Or maybe about targeting Gronk and the slot receiver so many times?  Guess this Smith idiot has a short memory and perhaps sleeps during film session.  Pats played the Texans twice last season....  a 41-28 nut kicking in the regular season and a 44-14 drubbing in the playoffs.  Both games, the Pats had over 400 yards of offense.  Pretty sure they did the same thing yesterday that they have done in the past... and that is twist their balls and render JJ Wait Watt irrelevant.  He is right to a certain extent... they did do something yesterday that the Pats did not do in 2012 against Houston... they threw the ball to Gronk.  But hey, they do that a lot!!  Sorry Antonio... time to stuff a tampon up your vajayjay and quit yer bitchin.

Of course, this little twat's rant after the loss will rile up the Spygaters and Hoodie Haters.  Which means Marshall Fuck will be on some radio station somewhere complaining that Belichick and Brady stole his Super Bowl and kicked his kittens.   AAARGHHHHHH!!!!

Either way... we be dancing this morning.  This week is an extra special, We Are Still Cheatin' And You Are Still Losing Victory Dance!!!

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Thanksgiving Memories: Grampy Was Funnier Than A Homily Fart!

Well, happy best fahkin' day of the year, knuckleheads and shitstains!  And welcome to my very own This Church Ain't No Restaurant And I Don't Know Alice Massacree.  Time to stuff some stale bread up a turkey's ass and call it dinner.....

Now it all started a bunch of Thanksgivings ago, it was a bunch of Thanksgivings ago this Thanksgiving, when my buddy Roger and our other friend Debbie decided to leave the football game early cuz it was snowin' and we had other places to go, like the Tavern at the Bridge to do Prairie Fires with Stevie Mac and Father Bob.  What's that?  What's a Prairie Fire?  Well, glad you asked!  You see, a Prairie Fire is a stupid fukkin' idea... that's what a Prairie Fire is.  You get yerself a shot of tequila and add 5 drops of Tobasco.  Fire that fukker back and first one to take a chaser is a pussy.  Debbie chased first.  She's such a pussy.

But before we could get to the Tavern, good ol' Rog had to navigate Andover Street in his 1976 puke green Oldsmobile with bald tires and a bumper sticker on the back that read "UNDEFEATED SHIT"... don't ask.  In case you had no idea cuz you are a warm weather fairy who shits your pants at a dusting, bald Goodyears plus snow storm plus Andover Street equals call the ambulance, I think we killed that tree.  After leaving the scene to the po-po and tow truck, we just schlepped our asses across the river to the Tavern.  No way were we gonna let some silly car accident slow down tradition!!!


Ahhhh… Thanksgiving!  That perfect day of the year to be with family and friends, to belly up to the long table and scarf scraps like Mama June on a Sunday morning at Shoneys.   It's that day we set aside to eat shit like yams and pecans and figgy fukkin' pudding.  It is a time for pickling the liver and drinking like a Kennedy at the Cape.  Thanksgiving is a time for good morning beers and barroom breakfasts (can’t beat runny scrambled eggs, burnt toast and uncooked home fries washed down with a cold Budweiser).  To suck down some serious second hand smoke at the East End Club and love every minute  of it.  It is a day for high school football in the morning and Tony Romo shittin' his pants in the afternoon.  It's about sneaking into the kitchen to steal some turkey skin before dinner is served and for throwing dinner rolls across the room when someone says “Pass the rolls.”  Sometimes it is a day to run interference for your younger brother who has passed out upstairs after a long morning of Prairie Fires.  It's napping after dinner with your belt undone and and your hands in your pants.  And then it's waking up to eat and drink some more.

As long as I can remember, the fourth Thursday of every November has been my favorite day of the year. I think I can trace it back to that first Thanksgiving dinner when I learned that my grandfather, Black Label in hand with a shot of Canadian Club, was funnier than a homily fart.  I guess there's something about squeezing a boiled onion to make the center pop out like a doggie's dick that makes an 8 year old boy laugh.  Not sure how he didn't have his own bit on Hee Haw with his "little dicky" masterpiece of comedy.

Thanksgiving is also a time for saying prayers over our food.  For some reason, the Thanksgiving Day table warrants extra special attention from the good Lawd above while the other 364 dinners of the year get fukkin' squat for blessings.  But then again, I'm a wild and crazy risk taker.  I ride without a helmet, I tear tags off mattresses and I stuff my face with reckless abandon with food and drink that has been unblessed by the hands of God.  Color me dangerous, bitches!  Point to be noted here:  My family rocks grace with fukkin style:  We even have our very own deacon who amazingly can offer a serious blessing over a table that includes a ceramic tittie cup and four idiots in turkey hats.   Legend has it that the Freakin' Deacon has never been able to get through a Thanksgiving grace without someone (ahem… Kimberly and Andrew..) fighting off the giggle fits.

Thanksgiving also used to be the day when it became acceptable for radio stations to play Christmas music. But now that day has been pushed back to November fahkin 1st.  Which means the only remaining musical significance of the holiday is the hourly playing of Alice’s Restaurant on local radio stations.  Because there really are no songs about eating turkey with Pilgrims and Indians, we get nineteen minutes of quirky guitar and folksy speech from Arlo Guthrie about war and peace and garbage and call it a Thanksgiving song. Hmmm… whatever.

 So Happy Thanksgiving to you all – enjoy your 8am beers, your morning football games, your turkey, your little dickies and most of all, your family!!  See you on the other side, aka Hangover Friday.

That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until the next morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Patsies Recap: Wait! What?? PS - Brady is Bettah!!

The argument is ovah, right?  This question of which supahstah quawtahback you would rather have wearing your helmet and leading your team is a simple one, right?  Don't get me wrong... it is like asking if you would rather have Kate Upton or Scarlett Johannson measuring your inseam.  Either way, it's the happy pants dance for you.  BUT.... if ya had to choose, you'd take Kate because she can win in the cold.

Honestly, the sandman whacked me in the grape with a Fumble Stick long before that lucky bounce hit the dumfuck and handed the Pats the win some time after midnight in front of dumber than me fans still hanging around in that fukkin' wind.


But here's what I know... when the game time temperatures reach down to witch tit level, Peyton Manning shrivels up like Kostanza's dick in a Hamptons pool.  Jeezus, how often have we heard the ESPNers jerk off to how #18 is the "real" offensive coordinator out there?  So the game plan is on that finger lickin' muthafukker, right?  And what more evidence do you need that Manning is afraid of the weather than the numbers last night?  Granted, they were playing with a gifted lead, but the Broncs ran the ball 48 times last night.  While he can make the fuck out of a commercial, Manning wanted no part of grippin' it and rippin' it in that wind.  NoMore Moreno slashed the banged up Patriots defense for 225 large ones while the "greatest quarterback" in history had a span of 51 game time minutes where he managed to get his team into the endzone just once!  When facing the wind, Manning was 6 for 16 for 4 yards and one interception.

Oh, by the way... could there be a bigger kick in the nuts than when Hoodie chose the wind over the ball in overtime??  Holy shit...  has that ever happened?  Has a coach ever chosen to kick away at overtime??  I'm going with no.  As fukked up as it may seem, I think it was an easy decision for Obi Wan Kabelichick.  He knew the Broncos could not move the ball into the wind.

Meanwhile, Tommy Muthafukkin' Brady turned it up in the cold, like he always does.  344 yards on 34 for 50 passing.  Three scores, including two to WesWho Edelman and one to Gronkenstein.  Shit, Brades had no choice because his running backs could not hold onto the gawdam ball!  The Riddler may have just purchased a 5 week seat on the heated bench after yet ANUTHAH lost fumble.  Four carries for Greasy McButterpants... but nice mohawk!!

So... back to the argument at hand:  Stats have been compared, balls have been washed and ESPNers have decided that Manning is a better, or even greater, quarterback than Brady.  The rest of the country has bought into this heads, heels and assholes.  And I gotta tell you... I don't see it.  I acknowledge my blind allegiance probably renders my opinion as toothless.  But fuk you anyway, I'm giving it out.  Peyton Manning does lead Brady in games played, which means of course he leads in all sorts of statistical categories.  He also leads Brady in funny commercials made and brothers with Super Bowl trophies.  In other words, numbers are all good and swell and tickle the pickle of Wilbon and Shannon Sharpe and Tom Jackson and Danny Little Game Marino.  But they don't win the games.  And they certainly don't help in the big games, where Manning is a shell of his regular season superstardom.  In his career, Manning has made the playoffs 12 times.  EIGHT of those playoff runs lasted exactly ONE GAME.  Yup... 8 one and dones for the guy who could be king.  Instead, he pisses down his leg when the lights get bright (or when the temps get low).  What's worse is that most of those times he was in the playoffs as a #1 or #2 seed.  Meaning, he is losing to teams he should be beating.   Contrast that with TMFB.  Tommy Boy has been in the playoffs 10 times of his 12 seasons in the league.  Wanna guess how many times he was one and done, out after one game??  Don't bother... I'll tell you.  It's been TWICE.  He has 17 playoff victories to Peyton's 8.

So... the argument is really over, right??  I mean... I'll take a cold weather hero any day of the week...


So let's dance, assholes.  It may be blustery in Foxboro, but it is smokin' hot in Rio.


Friday, November 22, 2013

I Want A Tuba For My Birthday.

Not only is it a Fukkit Friday... it is also my berfday.  That's right... the 47th anniversary of the day that fukkin' doctor smacked me on the ass and left a crack from muh balls to muh belt.  It's bad enough being shot from the comfort of a 98.6 degree bath into a freezing cold world covered in slop and lookin' like Chris Bosh.  Do they really have to pinch our feet or slap our ass?  Hey, how about a fukkin' Snuggie and a shot of Jack, Doc?

Birthdays are so much more different than they were in the good ol' days of stupid songs, pointy hats and spankings.  Nowadays, our cellies explode with Facebook Happy Birthdays and eCards that remind us what song was number one when we were born.  FUK THAT!  Do you think I give a rats ass that Winchester Cathedral was rockin' our world for three weeks in November of '66?  That song sucks!

In case you have not yet gone shopping for my birthday present, I have put together my list of wants and needs for this year.  To make it easy for you, I am registered at Kentucky Fried Chicken, Juicy Lucy's Gentlemen's Club and the Bass Pro Shop.  But if you would rather not deal with who's buying what, I have an assorted list of things I just fahkin' need!  So get crackin'....


  • Tuba:  Have always wanted one.  Just so I can show up places with it.  Ya know, walk into a dentist office or Market Basket and oopa my ass off until people be like, "Dude's got a tuba."
  • Emperor Penguin:  Come on, these fukkers are just funny.  He can live in my freezer - I'll take out all the Elios Pizzas and limoncello to make room.
  • Rickshaw:  I don't even know why.  Just like the sound of it.  "Herro Rarry.  Wanna lide in my rickshaw?"
  • Bottomless keg of PBR:  Where's there Blue Ribbon, there's a party!
  • Mexican Weather Girl:  Obviously!
  • Oompa Loompa  That spoiled Veruca bitch can suck balls.  I want an oompa loompa now!  Wanna take that little fukker for a walk at the mall and use him to pick up chicks.
  • Motorboat:  Because if you ain't motorboatin', you ain't livin'!
  • My own band:  I'll play lead tuba.  I'll need someone to play the mariachi guitar, the rhythm kazoo, and the gong.  Might add Sully on the fiddle and Curtis Loew on the dobro.  For our live shows, I want a nekkid harp player.  Wonder if Kate Upton has any plucking skillls... oh, who am I shittin?  Who cares?  She'll be nekkid.  Already have our encore tunes planned:  Winchester Cathedral, Radar Love and Rock the Casbah.  
  • A name for the band:  Podunk and the Shit Show is my first choice.
  • Plane tickets to Lewisville, Texas:  So I can have lunch at Redneck Heaven, of course.

Thanks for the birthday wishes... happy shopping.  If you're gonna chip in with someone for the tuba, I'd like it to come with a cover on the end that says "This is my tuba, asshole!  Find your own!"


Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Humpin' My Ass Off With Jeezus and New Music

Oh shit... that fahkin' dork is walkin' around the office again, trying to sound like a camel and laughing his ass off at his witty hahd-on self!  Oh, that's me?  Yeah........ I'm a fahkin' cahd!!!

Today is not only Hump Day and Prince Spaghetti Day and Whip 'Em Out Wednesday, ya know.  It is also November 20th and you know what that means.... yep - National Peanut Butter Fudge Day.  So get yer Reeses on!!!

Today's picture features the Worlds Second Most Interesting Man....



And the song of the day is from some chick who I just learned about this morning and will be playing in a local bar across the river this week.   Apparently, AJ Jansen even has a video on CMT.  And she's kinda effin' cool!

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Patsies Recap: What? Not Even A Courtesy Reach-Around?

First things first... that was a great fahkin' game down there in the land of fast drivin' and slo walkin'...  the Patsies came out on the short end of a long stick, losing to Figgy Newton and the suddenly stout Panthahs.  Unfortunately, the chattah will be about the last play with the officials picking laundry off the floor like a Vegas whore in a hurry to make her next date.  But before I drop a New England steamer on that nonsense, let's give credit where credit is due...

This was a classic tilt between two playoff contenders that went down to the final second.  TMFB and Hoodie are the perennial ass kickers while Carolina is looking at a winning record for the first time since the start of the Yoga Pants Era.  At this time last year, Maam Newton was being castigated by Steven Smith for being a whiny, pouty me-first little bitch not accustomed to losing.  He was 2-8 and spending more time under a towel than a camel jockey in a heat wave.  What a difference a year (and a little maturity) makes!  Dude is playing like a man again... and that makes the Panthahs a scary-ass team.  Add to that the beast that is Luke Kuechly (pronounced "I'm Gonna Tackle Your Ass") on the defensive side of the ball and this is a team I can like.  As long as they are not playing the Patsies.  Admittedly, tho, Cam has got to do more than win 7 games to change my opinion of him as a spoiled little bitch.  The true mark of a man is how he reacts when the going gets rough.  Right now, it's all wine and 40 ounces, so Superman is a happy dude.

This game was as even as it can get, right?  The Pats did have 8 more first downs and 86 more passing yards, but everything else was pretty even Steven.  The time of possession battle was a difference of a minute in favor of NE and the Pats had 107 rushing yards to the Panthers 103.  Finally a Monday night game worth its salt!!  Carolina looks to be in great shape for a playoff run and the Patsies welcome the Finger Licker next week in yet another critical prime time game.

Okay.. that's out of the way.  Let's get to the black and white striped elephant in the middle of the room, why don't we?  To be clear here, I am not bitching that the non-call cost the Patriots the game.  Carolina deserved to win... played well enough to win... and won.  Had the right call been made, Hoodie's boys still would have needed to score on an untimed down from the one yard line - no guarantee with Carolina's front 7!  HOWEVAH!!!...  if that was not pass interference on Kuechly or Robert Lester, then the rule means nothing.  Look at this picture and you can clearly see....


.....Oops, sorry about that.  I mean, look at THIS picture:


The first contact made with Gronk was Lester into the ribs AND Kuechly grabbing at his arms.  That contact happened about 3 yards into the endzone.  And while Kuechly continued to wrap up Gronk and ride him to the backline of the endzone, Lester peeled off and picked off the pass.  The flag was thrown and then inexplicably waved off... GAME OVER!  The reason given by the officials was that the pass was uncatchable.  FUCK THAT SHIT!  Sure, the pass was picked off about three yards into the endzone and at that time, Gronk was probably 4 or so yards away.  The reason the pass was uncatchable was BECAUSE OF THE INTERFERENCE!!!  The rule states that contact with a receiver would not be pass interference "if the ball is clearly uncatchable by the involved players."  Um, pretty sure one of the involved players caught the fukkin' ball!!!  How is it uncatchable?  For further clarification, check out NFL.com's rule page on Pass Interference.  They list 6 actions that constitute defensive pass interference.  Pretty sure ALL SIX happened.

Again...  great game.  Too bad the officials are making us talk about this instead of how great that game was.  And because of their incompetence, there is no bikini clad super-wife shakin' her ass for us in Rio.  Dicks!!!

Oh, wait a minute.  Another Boston team was in the Carolinas last night and kicked the CCMs out of the Hurricanes!  And nobody ever said victory dancing was reserved for football...    so here is your Win One Lose One Any Excuse Will Do Victory Dance!!!

Cue the ass-shakin' please....

Friday, November 15, 2013

Bill Maher Can Sukkit!


A lot of people within the same political leanings as me suggest we ignore the douche bag and one day he will just go away.  I wish I could.  Instead, I find myself desperately hoping someone will shove a pressure cooker of machine screw stew directly up Bill Maher's liberal fukkin' ass!  Those among you who continue to wash Obie's balls with kid gloves and praise Hillary Clitoris as if she were some Lady Jesus are the same people who despise the Evil Conservatives and think Maher is some kind of genius politico with a flare for wit.  Keep sucking his taint, Jackasses.... for he must surely make you proud with every ounce of ignorance that runs from his lips like the Sunday morning brown squirts.

Last Friday, the dicknose (seriously, look at that nose.  Looks like he's making his own Roman Helmet) took a shot at Boston in a way that once again implies that this sunuvabitch sympathizes with terrorists.  He spoke on his television show about the Red Sox World Series parade and the tribute to bombing victims at the finish line of the Marathon.
"So the parade, they go to the place where the marathon bombing took place, they put the World Series statue there and they sing 'God Bless America' and they say 'Boston strong' and they chant 'U-S-A,' you know. It was again, a bad day, three people died, that's terrible. More were maimed, that's horrible, but unfortunately that happens every day, in car accidents and everything else. I mean, your city was not leveled by Godzilla."
Maher wants people talking about him.  It's what he does.  Even if it means he spews pure and total bullshit.  That happens every day???  Two Islamic friendly assholes set off bombs among throngs of joyful Americans with intent to kill and maim and send a terrorist message to our nation happens every fukkin day????  Are you shittin' me with that?  I will be combing the news for that day when someone in his family kicks the bucket...  and at that point we shall mock the funeral and remind him to shut dafukup because people die every day.'

Remember... Maher is the same asshole who, seven days after 9/11, criticized George W. Bush for referring to the terrorists as "cowards."  In that comment, he said the U.S. Military were the real cowards because they bomb countries from the remote safety of their own planes and ships whereas the terrorists stayed in the planes they used to take down the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  Yep, that Bill Maher.  ABC fired his ass after that moment.  Here's hoping HBO grows a set of balls and sends this prick into irrelevancy where he belongs.

So, ya still gonna watch him and help him garner a paycheck?  Or are you gonna ignore him like I should have?

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

B Cell Batteries??? Answering Life's Mysteries For The Good Of Man

Do you ever think about stuff and find yourself wondering "What the fuck is that all about?"  Well, we here are SnG are the ever-pondering, oft-philosophical sumbitches that, in an effort to edjumacate readers who stop by here during their break from crushing candy, are tirelessly working at breaking down the mysteries of life.  Like, what exactly does " betting dollars to dougnuts" mean?  Honestly, if I'm wagering money, then you better be bringing something more to the action than a honey dipped cruller!



Along similar lines, there is also a trash heap of deep questions with answers that nobody really gives a bag of dicks to know.

I don't care if it was the chicken or the egg or the gawdam rooster.  Seriously Plato boy, just put those bitches on my plate with a side of crispy bacon and leave me the hell alone.  We cannot even figure out if the human race came from Adam and Eve, a tadpole or a big fukkin' bang.  Do we really need to know if the chicken begat the egg or the egg begat the chicken?  And while I'm at it, I don't give a fuck why the chicken crossed the road.... probably to get away from that dick swinging Foghorn Leghorn.

I don't care who put the ram in the ram a lam a ding dong, who wrote the fukkin' book of love or what you would do for a Klondike Bar (unless it involves Scarlett Johannson and a bowl of Cool Whip).  Don't wanna know how much that doggie in the window is nor could I give a turd how much fukkin' wood that sumbitch can chuck.

And you, sweet little freckle faced Annie - when you say knock knock and I say "Who's there?" I don't really care.  I'm just trying to shut you up so you will leave me alone.  And no, I'm not glad you didn't say banana.  I DON'T CARE.  And can someone tell that wise-ass owl that it doesn't matter how many licks - just eat the fukkin' lollypop, fahchrissake!!

By the way, they are fahkin' cartoon characters, so it doesn't really matter if you think Superman can whoop Batman's ass or if Goofy is a dog or cow.

If you truly want to help mankind, if you are the pensive type who wants to answer questions that would actually shape the world, then I suggest you forget who let the fukkin dogs out and focus on these brain teasers:

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Why CAN'T we have our pudding if we don't eat our meat?

Who says paper beats rock?  Is rock that big a pussy that if a thin piece of white lined lays on top of him, he goes all Roberto Duran?

What about B cell batteries?  Did they ever exist?  Or did they get lost in the flood with the unicorns?

What you gonna do with all that junk?  All that junk inside your trunk?

What time does Happy Hour end?

How does corn do that?  I swear I chewed it.

What's so special about sliced bread, #2 pencils and snoozing for nine minutes?

And lastly, if reincarnation really is possible, can I please come back as Beyonce's yoga pants?
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So that is your homework assignment, ya assholes.  Get me the answers to these questions and FAST!