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:

*******************************
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?
*******************************

So that is your homework assignment, ya assholes.  Get me the answers to these questions and FAST!


Monday, November 11, 2013

Veterans Day: Lest We Forget - Yet So Many Do

In the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, in a railroad car in northern France, an armistice was signed between the Allies and Germany ending all major hostilities of World War I.  A year later, Woodrow Wilson proclaimed November 11th Armistice Day in the United States.  "To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country's service..."

In 1945, Ray Weeks, a WWII veteran from Alabama, suggested Armistice Day be a day to celebrate all veterans, not just those who died in WWI.  He petitioned then General Eisenhower, who supported the notion.  Nine years later, in June 1954, now President Eisenhower signed into law Veterans Day, a day to celebrate and recognize all those past and present, who have served or are serving our nation.

Veterans Day allows us the platform and the opportunity to thank our service men and women for their sacrifice in keeping out country free.  While this debt of gratitude should not be reserved for just one day a year, the 11th of November does remind us all, amid the hurried world that is our country, to take a moment to thank a Veteran.

So today, while mayors, governors and our President lay wreaths and give speeches to honor our veterans, I think it's also important to raise the flag of hypocrisy in the words they speak.  Don't give me fukkin' bullshit words!!  Give me action!!  If they want to honor our veterans, I know EXACTLY where they can start.

James Blakely in his rent-free apartment in Brooklyn,
courtesy of the Black Veterans for Justice

Two years ago, 91 year old James Blakely, a WWII Navy vet who survived the bombings at Pearl Harbor aboard the USS St. Louis and went on to serve in Iwo Jima and Guadalcanal was living in a rusted out trailer in a scrap yard in Brooklyn.  After losing his home in 2006 when his wife died, he lived in his car for the better part of 5 years, until he was brutally mugged in 2011 and a kind soul allowed him to start sleeping in the junkyard trailer.  Is it not a travesty that while Mr. Blakely was struggling to get by, living on the streets with little to no assistance from his government, illegal immigrants, including President Obama's relatives, were getting subsidized housing and cheap education?  Kinda makes me sick.

Recent numbers from the National Coalition of Homeless Veterans estimate that over 62,000 veterans are homeless on any given night in the United States.  Approximately 12,000 veterans of Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom were homeless in 2010.  That same year, our government gave out over $15 BILLION DOLLARS in economic and military aid to Afghanistan and Iraq.  So while 12,000 American heroes who paid the price with their service to this country in the heat and sands of Afghanistan and Iraq are struggling to find a loaf of bread or a cardboard roof, our government is rebuilding two countries that could give a shit less if the United States disappeared from the globe.  Overall, in FY2010, the United States has doled out over $51 billion dollars in foreign aid around the globe while our veterans have been ignored.  Sure, there are several VA homelessness programs that have been successful in finding housing for thousands of veterans.  But until EVERY vet is given an apartment and a pension,  proper mental health care and appropriate healthcare, not another fukkin' dime should make its way overseas!!

The good news for Mr. Blakely is that his story became public in 2012 in a piece in the New York Daily News.  When the Black Veterans for Justice saw the story, they jumped into action and found this hero a rent-free apartment with daily meals delivered.  To his credit and true to the spirit of the American soldier, James Blakely holds no grudges and carries no bitterness toward the government that has done him no favors.  He was simply doing his job and expects nothing in return.  This is his country and he is grateful to have had the opportunity to serve.  Thank you

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Bullygate: Don't Tell Me It's Part of Football!!!

Can someone please tell me how threatening to pinch a corn loaf off in a teammate's mouth makes your football team tougher?  And how exactly does callin' him a half-nigger and promising to slap his momma in the face make him a better lineman?

Yep, I'm weighing in on Bullygate today and calling out Richie Incogfuckface for the oversized pussy that he is.  Word is out this morning that perhaps Dolphins coaches asked this steroid driven, well-documented asshole to, ahem, 'toughen' up Jonathan Martin because he missed a VOLUNTARY team workout LAST YEAR.  Instead of, oh I don't know, making him run laps or carry pads, Incogasshole decided he would spend a year harassing, degrading, threatening, and showering Martin with racial expletives because THAT OUGHTA TEACH HIM for missing one workout.  After a year of this constant bullshit, Martin had enough and just walked out of the facility and into a treatment center.  It seems that Martin had already been battling with emotional issues to begin with.  And his 'teammates' were likely aware of that (as evidenced by Incogscumfuck's father taking to message boards spouting off about 3 alleged suicide attempts).

Let's back up for a fahkin' minute here and have a look see at what Incogdicknose has been up to his entire football career:  This beauty was dismissed from TWO major college football programs for repeated violation of team rules (Nebraska and Oregon - he was only at Oregon for a fukkin' month before he was sent packin).  While at Nebraska, he was arrested on three counts of assault from an incident at a party.  Released unconditionally from the St. Louis Rams mid-season 2009 for berating his coach on the sidelines after being pulled from a game following TWO personal foul penalties (both penalties, he head-butted Titans players).  Named NFL's Dirtiest Player in 2009 player poll.  This summer, this douchebag was quoted by NFL.com as saying, "....we'd have practice the next morning.  I'm out until all hours of the night, running the town.  Drinking.  Doing drugs.  I was doing everything a professional athlete should not be doing."



Which brings me to the other responsible party in this shitstorm - the Miami Dolphins.  Their self-professed ignorance will soon be blown out of the fukkin' South Beach water when it is shown that Coach Philbin and GM Jeff Ireland had full knowledge of what has gone on over the past year, and that they may have endorsed it.  (Remember who Ireland is - he's the GM who asked Dez Bryant during an interview before the 2010 draft if his mother was a prostitute and then claimed he meant no disrespect!!!  Are you shittin' me?  Yeah, a real classy asshole this dude is).  But for me, here is the biggest rub - a player with the reputation of Richie Incognito was voted by his teammates to sit on the six-player Dolphins Leadership Council, a group established to carry team issues up the ladder.  On Sunday morning, the Dolphins issued a statement on the matter.  They were defiant that any bullying was even taking place inside their walls and clearly stated that no evidence of such behavior had been presented to them.  And yet, just a mere 8 hours later, they suspended the primary culprit for conduct detrimental to the team.  Hmmm... the son of two Harvard lawyers may have a case after all, eh dickheads?  That sucking sound you hear in Miami is the collective cornholes of the Dolphins front office and coaching staff closing up in a panic.

Simply stated -

A person who targets and preys on another individual who is deemed to be weaker and unable or unwilling to stand up for himself is not only a bully, but a total fukkin' coward!  I could give a shit less how big and mean Richie Incocksukka is, that prick is a COWARD!  A PUSSY!  And worse, he does this behind the guise of 'team building' and 'camaraderie' - I read the transcript of one of his voice mail messages to Martin.  He was not building anything.  He was breaking a man down until he was a puddle.  Who knows if either Martin or Incognito will ever play in the league again.  But I know this... Martin is the son of two Harvard lawyers and the holder himself of a prestigious Stanford degree.  Incognito, well, he may have gone to class a couple of times.  Martin will be successful in whatever he does.  Incognito will be putting the boxes on the truck, the boxes on the truck, the boxes on the truck.  And then he will coach Pop Warner and call 8 year olds little pussies to make them better players.  Cuz THAT'S the football way to some morons.