Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Doppio Martedi With Maria Grazia Cucinotta's Un Bela Seno!

Buongiorno, stronzos e testa di cazzos!  That's Eye Talian for good mornin'  assholes and dickheads!  Yeah, I know... tomorrow is Prince spaghetti day.  So why the Sicilian tongue on a Tuesday?  You'll see.

With New Year's Eve just a day away, the production staff and editorial board at Shitzengiggles has spent the last few days trying to figure out how to close out a year of amazing Ta Ta Tuesdays.  My first thought was to honor the 5 most viewed Twofer Twosdays of all time on SnG, but honestly, that would be lazy.  And I am not lazy... but since you are curious.....

......the 5 most popular racks, as tabulated by Brains and Personality Accounting, LLC, are not exactly who you would think....  Kate Upton, Salma Hayek and Jennifer Love Hewitt are nowhere near the top.  Would you believe Allison Brie (31,755 views), Melissa "Bernadette from Big Bang" Rauch (20,458), Sara Chalke (18,459), Catherine Bell (15,149) and Queen Cougar herself, Susan Sarandon (8,429) rounding out the top 5???   I shit you not, perverts and peepers.... Howzabout Sarandon checking if for the AARP at the ripe old age of 65???

So anyhoo... back to more pressing business... like Maria Grazia Cucinotta.  Sopranos fans might remember from the first season Tony's hallucination of that hot Italian exchange student frolickin' about in the neighbors yard and breast feeding Antonio, Jr..  Oh the bosomness of it all!  Fans of 007 may remember the cigar girl opposite Pierce Brosnan in The World Is Not Enough.  Yep... that was all Maria!!  And how do you solve a problem like Maria???  You Google her ass, that's how.

This gnocca and her che tettes appear mostly in Italian films. Which means today you are gettin' a fahkin' exclusive!!  Buongiorno, Maria!


I love it when she has trouble with her shoes.

Her big scene as Isabella from the Sopranos

I know Maria.  I can't help but look at them either,.

Doin' some heavy lifting right there.




I cannot understand a word she is saying.  But I'm not really sure I care.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

They Chanted For Dead Cops. They Got Dead Cops. Is This The New World?

Officer Wenjien Lu told his bride of just two months he would see her for dinner.  Office Rafael Ramos said good bye to his 13 year old son yesterday morning when he left for work.  Ismaaiyl Brinsley woke up in his apartment in Baltimore, shot his girlfriend and drove to Brooklyn to make history.  This would be the final morning for all three.

Per his post on Instagram, hashtagging Eric Garner and Michael Brown, Brinsley promised to put "wings on pigs today."  At 2:45 pm, this twisted muthafukka walked up to a cruiser in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn and opened fire on Lu and Ramos, who were working overtime on a anti-terrorism drill , shooting them both in the head and killing them.  Because they were cops.  Because they were wearing the uniform.  This fukkin' coward then fled on foot and shot himself in the head on the subway platform as police closed in.


After the shootings, moments before taking his own life, he took the time to take a picture of his bloodied pants and sneakers and posted them on Instagram as well.  



Is this going to be the norm?  Are people going to take up their own fukkin' jihad against police like radical Muslim suicide bombers?  And do not tell me that Brinsley is not representative of a larger group, that he was a lone wolf attacker.  His Instagram post vowing to take down two cops got over 200 likes!  Take some time and read through Twitter, Facebook and the comment sections of legit news media sites covering this story.  Some dickhead rapper named The Game tweeted to the dead officers... "Guess y'all can't breather either."  If you really want to lose your lunch, read this:  Social media erupts in celebration of the dead officers.

I am big on personal responsibility.  So in the end, while the blame falls squarely on the asshole who dealt out his own twisted sense of justice yesterday, there are others who also shall shoulder responsibility for this tragedy. Al Sharpton, Eric Holder and the rest of the baiters who loudly made this a divisive race issue have played a role here.  And to the leaders of those protests (That's YOU Al Sharpton) last week in NYC who were chanting "What do we want?" "Dead Cops" - THIS IS ALSO ON YOU, you muthafukkas!  It is also on Sharpton, Holder, President Obama and NYC Mayor Bill de Basio who failed to publicly denounce those chants and rather fueled the racism fires.  Shit, Barry O and Michelle were on television last week telling their of their personal experiences with racism.  Um, Micky... if someone asks you to reach for something on a shelf at Target, it is not because you are black and should be doing things when told - it's because you are tall.  But you go right ahead and make it a story of personal tragedy and woe, you pompous bitch.

Oh... no worries.  These Johnny Come Latelys were talking yesterday.  Obama condemned the murders.  In his official statement, Holder called for "forging closer bonds between officers and the communities they serve."  He said, "Our nation must always honor the valor..."   Where the fuk was that sentiment when, instead of supporting the indisputable evidence in the Brown shooting, he launched a Justice Department investigation of unconstitutional policing patterns of the Ferguson Police Department.  Sharpton also issued a statement.  He said he has been in touch with the Brown and Garner families and, according to Reverend Fuckbag, "they are outraged" because Brinsley used their names to justify his act?  Really??  THEY are outraged??  Hey Al.. have you reached out to the Lu or Ramos family??

Al Sharpton has fueled this once perceived, now real, war between blacks and police.  He does not see facts... he only sees color.  But let's not make the mistake that yesterday's assassination was about race.  It was a culmination of weeks of national demonizing of police officers, violent protests and Al Sharpton bullshit.  Here's what Sharpton will ignore:

Over the past 15 years, crime data shows that 62% of people killed by police were white while 34% were black.  In 2012, police killed 426 people.  Of those 426 deaths, 267 were white (63%) and 128 (30%) were black.  These numbers are from the Uniform Crime Reporting Program at the University of Michigan.  They were compiled by Peter Moskos, an associate professor in the Dept. of Law at John Jay College of Criminal Justice and a former Baltimore police officer.  While the numbers show that police kill more white people than black people, the counter argument here uses race and population percentages.  Since the United States is 63% white and 12% black, it would seem that the numbers of blacks killed by police is not representative of the population and therefore, according to Sharpton and his flock, cops are killing too many blacks.

That would be true if the racial makeup of violent criminals was reflective of the racial makeup of the country.  However, FBI data shows that in 2012, there were 402,470 arrests made for violent crimes (murder, forcible rape, robbery, aggravated assault) in the United States.  Of those arrests, 236,394 (58%) were whites while 155,088 (38%) involved blacks.  It stands to reason that shootings involving law enforcement officers are directly related to violent crime incidents.  So when we look again at the 2012 numbers of people killed by police, the percentages ARE IN FACT REFLECTIVE of society and who is having violent run-ins with the police.  In 2012, 63% of people killed by police were white, aligning with the arrest numbers that say 58% of violent criminals were white.  Simply stated, police are not targeting color.  They are targeting criminals.  Which is kinda their job, FAHCHRISSAKE!!!

Heartfelt thoughts go out to the families of Officer Lu and Officer Ramos.  This is the Facebook post from Jaden Ramos, Officer Ramos' 13 year old son.


Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Happy 74th Birthday Dad!


I am the man I am because of the man he is.  Words could never be enough thanks for the memories, the lessons and the love my Dad showered upon a shy toehead in faded Toughskin corduroys and Jox sneakers who was happy just riding beside him in his Brox Bros milk truck on a cold Saturday morning getting free candy from the store owners in West Roxbury.

He taught me about sports and he taught me about music.  I was in the first or second grade when he showed me how to play a football card.  And I still remember the sign he hung on the fridge in our Keene Street kitchen that Tuesday morning, letting me know I had won $15 because the Steelers, our favorite team and the final game I had picked on the card, had won Monday night after I went to bed.

As you all know, I have a pretty obsessive fixation on REAL country music.  Not that shit Rascal Flatts pukes out all over their CDs.  I'm talking steel guitar, stand up bass and a little banjo and mandolin.  I thank my Dad for teaching me Hank Williams and Johnny Cash; for teaching me the Clancy Brothers and the Stanley Brothers; and for teaching me Dave Dudley and Red Sovine.  With Dad and Uncle Bill on the geetars and Uncle Mike pickin' the banjo in Grandma's basement of Milan Ave in Pittsburgh, I learned about Luke the Drifter and the Rank Stranger.  I look back fondly on those days riding around in the big blue Caprice, listening to trucking songs coming from the 8-track player.  From Give Me Forty Acres to Tombstone Every Mile to Hello, I'm A Truck, those songs were my childhood.  I wanted to be a truck driver, lookin' at the world through a windshield, livin' on Rolaids, Doan's Pills and Preparation H, for cryin' out loud!  And I especially remember sitting on a stool, chin high to the bar of The Oaks in Tewksbury where Dad tended bar, sipping a Coke with a cherry sitting atop the ice cubes, and hearing Walk The Line and I Saw The Light on the jukebox.  So yes, to those friends of mine now who have been force-fed Waylon Jennings and Charlie Daniels and Merle Haggard over the years, maybe now you understand.

I pretty much only remember two things as a semi-shitful ballplayer when I played on the Oaks of the Olivera Little League.  I remember the opening day parade down Gorham Street and I remember Dad taking the whole family out for subs after each game.  I loved those long trips to Pittsburgh, even when the muffler dropped off the Caprice on 290 in Worcester with 11 hours still to drive.  Not to mention, those bean suppers at the Salvation Army and visits to Camp Wonderland in Old Orchard Beach were wikkid pissa!  

I'm not going to bullshit everyone and say it is always gumdrops and sunshine growing up... I mean, he hates the Sawx and Pats with all of his might.  And he roots for those goofornuttin Penguins and truly believes Pittsburgh is blessed by the hands of God himself (yeah, you do).  Oh, and there was that time Jimmy and I pissed him off so much that he put his hand through our bedroom door on Fremont Street, surprised to learn that door was really painted glass that tends to tear your forearm to shreds when you bust through it!  Oh, then he was REALLY pissed.    

My dad wears his heart on his sleeve and there can never be any doubt what his family means to him.  Lots of you who know me well, also know that, hidden behind the Harley t-shirts and F-bombs, I am quite a crybaby.  Hey, crying is just what I do when something hits me close to home.  And I don't apologize one minute for it, nor will I ever hide from it.  I cried when Benji died and I when Radio lost his mother.  I cry at work when I get revved up for somebody whose rights are being ignored.  I cry when the families of fallen firefighters walk onto the green grass of Fenway Park.  And ya know where I get that?  I hate to rat out my Dad... but I'm sure he doesn't care either.  It's who he is.  He cried when we gave him a Hudson Bears football jacket 10 years ago, one that matched his grandson's jacket.  And cried again this year when he was given a framed family photo of his children and grandchildren.  

So happy 74th birthday, Dad!  I love you bunches and will talk with you later today!

Said perfectly, and with the steel guitar to boot.....   

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Two Heroes Did Not Come Home Last Night.


I want to fill my calling, to give the best in me
To guard my friend and neighbor and protect his property.


That's it... it's just what they do.  While we grab our valuables, our favorite pictures, our beloved pets, and flee to safety, they run willingly into an unknown battle against a deadly foe.  Their job... rescue everyone and put the fire out!  Then return to the firehouse, worn and tired, maybe grab a nap, and wait for the next call.  As we were reminded yesterday, that return is not always guaranteed.  Yet, these men and women in boots and helmets, in towns and cities all over this country, ALWAYS jump in that rig and join that battle.

And if according to Your will, I must answer death's call,
bless with your protecting hand, my family one and all.

Ladder 15 and Engine 33 of the Boston Fire Department were among the first apparatus to reach 298 Beacon Street in yesterday's wind swept afternoon, a quick ride from their Boylston Street Firehouse.  Lt. Ed Walsh of Engine 33 and FF Michael Kennedy of Ladder 15 raced into the basement with their brethren, where the fire was believed to have originated.  Within three minutes, the men inside issued a mayday call and were ordered out.  Walsh and Kennedy never made it out.  They were both found trapped in that basement.  Walsh, 43, leaves a wife and three children under the age of 10.  Kennedy, 33, was single and a United States Marine combat veteran.  In his off time, Kennedy volunteered with burn patients.  Sacrifice was his way of life since he stepped on the yellow footprints at Paris Island.

It seems cliche to say about firefighters that any day they leave for work could be their last.  Cliche, but true. That being said, regardless of the inherent risks, loved ones expect them to return.  They have always returned.  For the last 9 and a half years, Ed Walsh always came home.  Mike Kennedy always came home.  Last night, they did not.  Walsh and Kennedy gave their lives to make their city safer.  To them, and to the countless other men and women who don the helmet and boots and climb in the rig, we owe a debt of gratitude that can never be paid in full.  But we can do our part.

Heroes of the BFD say farewell to a fallen brother.
The next time your town ballot includes a referendum on increasing salaries for fire and police, vote yes!  Vote yes EVERY TIME that question appears in front of you behind that privacy curtain.  If you are worried about the extra $100 you might pay in property taxes, then skip your steak dinner at Buckleys.  Instead dropping a hundred bucks on a Patriots ticket and helping to pay Tom Brady's salary, give your firefighters a raise.  Do you have plans to go out this weekend, maybe catch a movie?  Try this... forget the movie.  Take that 20 bucks and click on http://www.thegreghillfoundation.org/ and give that money to the families of Ed Walsh and Mike Kennedy!