Boston, MA – Mrs. Munson thinks we are “cleaning the house” tonight, but because I “have a pair of testicles,” I am watching the Bruins game in its’ entirety very soon after I’m done steam-cleaning the tiles in our bathroom, and you had better believe it.
Prediction: Bruins 4, Toronto 1
Rhetorical question: Doesn’t the “Maple Leafs” sound like a gay birdwatching club?
If there’s one thing we know about professional athletes, it’s that they are banging your wives and girlfriends right now, as you read this. Hockey players are no different, and I think we can all agree that they’re among the cutest of the major sports fuck machines athletes. At least I was told no less just last weekend. And if there’s one thing we know about Susannah Collins, it’s that she always – ALWAYS – gets her man story. No judgement.
"It's not about my sexuality, it's about the money"
Boston, MA – Well, so much for the gay community finally having a recognizable sports figure come out. Ladies and Gentleman, Jason…..Collins? I average about the same amount of points per game as this guy. Good for him, though. He’s 34 (i.e. career is over) and should any endorsement(s) come his way from this announcement, so be it. Here are a couple of endorsement ideas I came up with (oooh, the crowd groans):
1. Tear-away warm-ups that have a little Velcro opening in the back.
2. Altoids, the curiously strong mint for the curiously scented breath.
3. Any car made by Subaru
Congrats Jason! They were probably hoping for a physical specimen who’s in the prime of his career, like this guy, but you’ll do.
Boston, MA – Ladies and Gentlemen, what you have just seen is a compound fracture of the big toe (spoiler alert.) The Primary Care Physician to the uninsured/unemployed (WebMD) defines a compound fracture exactly the way you think it would be defined: Compound (kom-pow-nd) fracture – “You will know when you have a compound fracture because a bone that was previously hidden beneath your skin is now exposed to daylight. Also, some symptoms you may exhibit when you have a compound fracture is making such proclamations as “OH MY MOTHER FUCKING GOD!”, “YOU FUCKING CUNT”, and “PLEASE GO BACK UNDER MY SKIN AND BEHAVE WITH THE OTHER BONES!” and/or vomiting all over yourself. If you believe you, or someone you know, may be the victim of a compound fracture, you should quickly pay a visit to the nearest emergency room prior to all of the blood leaving your body, hence, becoming lifeless for good. WebMD not responsible if you bled out while reading this definition.”
Now, that toe, the exposed bone, and all the blood belongs to Jon “Bones” Jones, who is, to quote a famous brown leather wallet of cinema, a “Bad Motherfucker.” Not only did he snap his big toe like you or I ferociously snap into a Slim Jim or a Polly-O string cheese, but he did it while punching someone’s face into the mat during his MMA bout this past Saturday night. After breaking his toe, Jon went on to win the fight anyway, refusing to think about the pain or, like when I got hit by a pitch in Little League, calling a time-out to cry.
At the time of this blog, there is no information on when those colonies of toe fungus settled into Jon’s feet. My guess is “9 years ago.”
Boston, MA (and nowhere near this game) – Good morning! I normally don’t blog about baseball because when you look at it from the base level (sure, awful pun intended) it’s a game that revolves around a guy trying to hit a ball over a fence. Think about that. For the next 6 months, you’re almost forced by society to root for a guy that you don’t know who’s trying to hit a ball over a fence. For $10 million. If he doesn’t hit the ball over the fence, he gets to return to a couch with his friends, enjoy a snack, and then select a woman from the stands that he’s going to penetrate once the game ends. And that’s win or lose, you guys. So, there was Zach Grienke last night, throwing a baseball at Carlos Quentin’s head, an action that should be considered borderline attempted murder. Carlos Quentin, in return for being attempted murdered, charges the mound and breaks Zach Grienke’s motherfucking collarbone.
* – Grienke is now on the ultimate paid vacation, so, maybe he’s the winner after all?
Boston, MA – Let me set the boring, predictable stage for you from the world’s most boring, predictable sport: Joe Nathan of the Texas Rangers is going for his 300th save. Side note: Josh Hamilton killed a fan at that stadium two years ago when he underthrew a souvenir into the stands and Mr. Butterfingers (not his actual name) took the whole “down in front!” thing a bit too literally, and went up and over the railing. It was a horrible scene, to be sure, but, silver linings being what they are, if you were the guy sitting behind that fan that is no longer attending the game, your view of the field has just vastly improved. Anyway, the umpire in this game, swayed by the intensity of the home crowd, has already decided that the next pitch will be a strike whether the batter swings or not. He didn’t, but, “Steeeeeerike three” anyway! Congratulations Joe Nathan, you picked up your 300th save on a pitch whose strike zone included the batters box. I strongly encourage you to watch the video down below (it’s played backwards to skirt copyright infringement) if only to see Joe Madden melt down and then the cameras cut away to exploding fireworks. Game over! Also, Joe Nathan’s expression literally says it all: “Wow!”
Devil Ball: You know what’s fun? Hitting your drive in the middle of the fairway. You know what isn’t fun? Getting penalized for it. Most of the time that means your ball finds a divot, but one Illinois golfer found plenty more trouble out in the middle of a Waterloo, Ill. golf course fairway.
Mark Mihal, from Creve Coeur, Mo., was playing Annbriar Golf Course, a place he frequents, when ground gave way to the 43-year-old, dropping him 18 feet into the middle of a dirt abyss.
“I was standing in the middle of the fairway, then, all of a sudden, before I knew it, I was underground.”
Who’s more loathsome that golfers?* I have no doubt that Mark deserved this. First of all, this happened last Friday, March 8th. F8ck you and your taking-Friday-off-to-play-golf-in-March bullshit. Second, and this is really unforgivable, this zero has a – get this – golf blog. Insufferable. Also, this calls into question whether this f-er really even fell into the hole or is just looking for some publicity for his site:
Mark Mihal [Cameron From Modern Family voice]: Ooh no, I’m out here golfing when all of a sudden I fall into a tiny hole and drop 18 feet into an abyyyysssss… But what a great story for my website!
Uh-huh. What a coinkydink. This guy makes me want to puke.
One presumes they mean "Just Go For a Run" and not "Just Go Kill Your SO..."
By being arrested for killing his model girlfriend (and we don’t mean “perfect” girlfriend but girlfriend who is – heh, sorry, “was” - a smoking hot model) he joins Nike’s esteemed group of ALLEGED cheaters, murderers, and dog killers who are proud to bear the Swoosh (tm I think): Apolo Ohno, Lance Armstrong, Michael Vick, and now South African olympic bouncer Oscar Pistorius, who was arrested this week for shooting his girlfriend dead while in his apartment. I wonder what the gun regs are like in South Africa. Anyway, RIP, Reeva Steencamp, we ‘ardly knew ye’:
Boston, MA – If you told me that ’9′ and ’4′ would have potential impact on Super Bowl squares, I would have said no fucking way because I had those piece of dog shit numbers. Well, wouldn’t you fucking know it, it dawns on me late in the game that if the score remains 34-29, I would have won $400. Along comes Phil Simms (needing a toupee in the shape of a wedge of pie), who said “I would not take the safety here”, which of course planted a seed with the Baltimore coaching staff. I actually just said to Mrs. Munson “Imagine all the people that have 9-4 out there? LOL”, then I looked at my piece of paper and told Nipples the Cat to vacate the premises fucking STAT. I was screaming at my TV “IF YOU TAKE THE SAFETY I WILL FUCKING MURDER MY CAT LIVE ON TWITTER” which totally relaxed Mrs. Munson on a Sunday evening. Anyway, after Sam Koch did his impression of me running for my life trying to protect my asshole from no longer being a virgin as a Boy Scout, I got to thinking about Jim Nantz. I honestly can’t picture Jim Nantz making love. Can you? I can’t do it. If I try, he just stands there with his suit on, undoing his fly to release all 3 inches of Nantz-mania. Does Jim Nantz cum like you and me? I won’t go into details, but when I launch one out I look like they can’t finish me off in the Electric Chair. Here’s my text impression of Jim Nantz having an orgasm: (monotone) “Okay. Wowie. Oh my heavens, your mouth feels wonderful on Little Nantz. Well, holy moly, here we go. Yes. There it is. Very nice. Well, wouldn’t you know it, my penis is beginning to tickle. Annnnnnnnd, cum.”
Anyway, I have been watching this play over and over, kind of like the time Marcia Brady broke her nose with that football, only without all the lol’s. Now every dickhead at work: “Hey, if they didn’t take that safety you would have won $400.” Oh, yeah, no shit, really?
Former street fighting YouTube phenom Kevin Ferguson, aka Kimbo Slice, is now 7-0 in his professional heavyweight boxing division after facing seven sacrificial lambs opponents like the marshmallow you see above. Keep in mind that all of this “action” happened in the first or second round. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t hold up 12-ounce gloves for 30 seconds, and if Kimbo Slice asked me if I minded if he danced with my date, shit, have at ‘er! But this is not a real boxing match. Kimbo’s scary because he’s big, beady-eyed, bald, and bearded. But Wladimir Klitschko would knock his dick off.
Kimbo’s just making the most of his shot in the limelight, guys. Reminds me of Hayden Panettiere - who used to get smashed underneath Wladimir back in the day – who is absolutely using every last f*cking square inch of what cleavage she has to destroy Connie Britton on ABC’s hit show “Nashville” on Wednesday at 10/9 Central. fyi.
She's also getting a bit on SI's Swimsuit Edition, ainsy
Yahoo: Katherine Webb came off as pretty sharp after her fame blew up during the BCS Championship Game, and she’s smartly taking advantage of her instant celebrity. Webb, Alabama quarterback A.J. McCarron’s girlfriend and Miss Alabama, announced on Twitter that she will be covering the Super Bowl for “Inside Edition.”
Well, good for you Katherine – you earned it! You’re perfectly symmetrical, have big eyes, big lips, not horrible hair, and even in the midst of a 100,000-person intimate get-together you look like you’re dtf ready for anything. Congrats!
Boston, MA – By the time you read this blog, you may already know that Terry Francona and Dan Sh’yawn’assy are coming out with a book titled “Francona: The Red Sox Years I Spent Working For Those Cocksuckers.” That’s just the tentative title, they’ll probably trim it down to something more palatable for the kids. But, to summarize the plot for you, the owners treated the team as a business (gasp!) after paying $700 fucking million for it. Well, guess what? It is a business. It’s a business first, and a rich guy’s hobby a very distant second. Without the business aspect, there’s no money, and if there’s no money, you’re the Royals. You can’t have it both ways, Sox fans. So, while I certainly take Francona’s side on this book (i.e. having disdain working for ownership whose priorities lie with TV ratings and burrito sales) you can’t blame a billionaire for capitalizing after bringing TWO championships to this city, especially when you consider the IQ level (information quotient) of their fan base. Before I let you go, let me get you fired up for baseball season with this exciting play by play simulation!
Announcer: “Okay, it’s Lester to the set. He glances over at first. He looks back in. Oh, well now Saltalamacchia wants to come out and talk things over. Lester covers his mouth with his glove and the two of them are discussing how they want to approach the batter. Now here comes the umpire, and he wants to break this thing up. Okay, Lester is going to take a stroll around the mound to get his composure. Lester looks in to get the sign. From the stretch. He glances over to first. Oh, he steps of the mound and feigns the throw to first, and back goes the runner. He’s trying to keep the runner honest and you can’t blame him. Now let’s take a look up in the right field seats for tonight’s Dunkin’ Donuts Club members. Each home game, Dunkin’ Donuts donates 30 tickets to the Boys & Girls Club of America, and it’s just a treat to have these kids here with us to enjoy the game of baseball. America runs on Dunkin’s! And now Lester is looking in and he gets the sign from Saltalamacchia. Here’s Lester, to the set. He steps off. He steps off and wipes his brow with his sleeve. Oh boy is it hot tonight at Fenway Park. It’s not just the heat, but the humidity. Keep in mind, this is the time of year when your windshield can really take a beating. If you get a split or a crack in your windshield, call the Official Glass Company of the Boston Red Sox, Giant Glass. (Breaks into song) ‘Who do you call when your windshield’s busted? Call, Giant, Glass! 1-800-54-Giant, Call, Giant, Glass!’ Okay, Lester wipes away the sweat from his brow and he’s back to the set. He looks back the runner at first. Here’s the wind-up. Ball, low and away. One ball and no strikes is the count. We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsor.”
A Poignant, Private Photo Of Ravens' Ray Lewis Not Stabbing Broncos' Peyton Manning, AND of Manning, Who's Uncharacteristically Not Throwing An Interception To Lewis
The Papers (capped?) are calling this a private moment between two NFL greats. “Private?” I can literally smell their agents’ Drakaar wafting in the shot from off camera. They look like they’re standing on x’s taped on the locker room floor, thinking “Yeah, I’ve got a couple groupies in the back waiting for a celebratory handy, can we wrap this up?!”
Snort. We just heard a 73 year old man jizz himself. For the second time. Last year, he wanted to bear Honey Badger’s children on air Oprah-style. He’s telling the truth though. He’s just getting kids wise on the facts: Become an SEC QB, and get laid on the reg (TM, KP) to hotter-than-should-be-fair sluts. Don’t, and spend your life wondering what could have been. And don’t get too high and mighty on the offensive nature of his observation, because we all know it’s true. Herbie sounds nervous because Ohio State is just as bad.
Boston, MA – As you may know by now, the NHL has welcomed back all of the morons with open arms. Locally, the Bruins PR team is putting on a full court press, which is weird because that’s a basketball term, but grant me a little leeway here. My body has been ravaged by the Flu, so much so that I barely had the energy to pleasure myself six or seven times over the weekend. No, wait…seven. Anyway, maybe I was wrong with my assertion that jerking off will help bring your fever down, but if you blow your nose at the exact moment you launch jism, you’ll swear to christ almighty that those fluids are internally connected. Needless to say, I am breathing very easily now, thanks to the power of your prayers, positive vibes, and self manipulation to the point where it tickles awesome. Now, the Bruins released a statement saying “We look forward to getting back to playing Bruins hockey”, which I guess means playing dump and chase (i.e. icing the puck 17 times a game, which coincidentally allows for more commercials.) I normally don’t talk about sports, mostly because they are pointless, the players do not care about the fans, the entire reason they play is for money and pussy (jealous about that one), and win or lose we all have to work our shitty jobs the next day, but I couldn’t leave this story alone because it has swept an entire nation(s) of sheep. So go ahead, tune in and watch a bunch of millionaires play a sport that hasn’t changed in decades. While the Bruins fans bleed black and gold for some reason, the owners and players only bleed green while leaking cum all over our women. This blogger, for one, will NOT be tuning in….at least not until the playoffs.