Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for the future first female president of the United States…..Ivanka Trump! We hear a lot of talk about Michelle Obama, Elizabeth Warren, or even, ick, Hillary Clinton, being women of style and grace, but this is class personified. Her ensemble is made up of a Prada skirt, black heels, and a silk blue button up top that probably wasn’t purchased from Kohl’s which stands absolutely no chance against those two nipples. Fortunately, we don’t operate in the same circles, otherwise…
Ivanka: “Hi, I’m Ivanka, nice to meet you.”
Me: “Hi, I’m Martin Nipples. Are you from around this areola I MEAN AREA?”
NY Post – A dream vacation turned into the stuff of nightmares when a man died while proposing to his girlfriend underwater, according to a report.
Steven Weber Jr. and Kenesha Antoine were vacationing in Tanzania and staying in an overwater bungalow with a bedroom submerged in the sea when Weber Jr. popped the question early Friday, the Louisiana Advocate reported.
A video Antoine posted to Facebook shows him swimming up to the bedroom window with a plastic-wrapped note and a ring box.
“I can’t hold my breath long enough to tell you everything I love about you,” the note read. “BUT . . . everything I love about you I love more EVERY DAY!
“Will you please be my WIFE? Marry me??”
Antoine can be heard laughing with excitement in the background.
Wearing a snorkeling mask and fins, Weber Jr. is seen swimming back up to the surface, but he never made it to the top, Antoine said.
“You never emerged from those depths, so you never got to hear my answer, ‘Yes! Yes! A million times, yes, I will marry you!!’” Antoine wrote in the heart-wrenching social media post. “We never got to embrace and celebrate the beginning of the rest of our lives together, as the best day of our lives turned into the worst, in the cruelest twist of fate imaginable.”
The post shows the couple in happier moments on their trip: during a safari with a giraffe in the backdrop and giving their Facebook friends a tour of their tropical abode.
It’s unclear how Weber Jr., a residential assistant at an addiction rehab center in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, died.
What do you mean, it’s unclear how he died? I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say he drowned. I’m no forensics expert, but typically if you are swimming one minute and then dead the next, I know we can absolutely rule out vehicular homicide. Now, if you get pwned because you accidentally drowned yourself, does that mean you got dwned? And, I know it’s probably semantics, but I’m not sure how I like that sentence in bold above: “The post shows the couple in happier moments on their trip.” Oh, you mean, as opposed to capturing pictures of moments that weren’t so happy on their trip? Like the part where she ran on to the Lido deck to kiss this dude, check out the ring, maybe go below deck for a quick hj/bj, etc., but instead found him floating on the surface with blue skin? Or the part where she had to wait for an ambulance, or whatever they have in Tanzania (two guys come running out of the jungle with a gurney made out of tree branches and banana leaves) only to see the coroner zip the body bag up and over his head? Or, how about that great time-lapse of them unloading him from a hearse and into an ice chest at the morgue? I mean, Jesus F. Christ, of course the photos are from happier times on the trip.
Anyway, however you slice it, this guy just set the new record for “till death do us part.” More like “till breath do us part”, amirite? Do I feel bad for him? Of course. He was trying to propose in a very unique, albeit, staged way, and wanted it to go viral on social media. Well, mission accomplished, because the video went viral after his fiance shared it on Facebook. And, while society has succumbed to absorbing each and every mundane Facebook post (someone who is “Momming so hard” in my feed just posted how Monday is laundry day), from time to time, we, as a people, need a little brevity, and this time it comes in the form of someone else’s untimely yet completely avoidable demise. Now, do I disagree with her for sharing the video of his last moments alive, accompanied by a long ass post about how she said yes? You know, I want to disagree with her, but people grieve in different ways. Grievers gonna grieve. Still, some people may find it was “too soon” for her to post the video and her reply to him, which he will never see, because obviously there is no Facebook in heaven. Conversely, it would not surprise me one bit if there is Facebook in hell.
This appears to be the final chapter in this story, but, if she decides to plan a wedding ceremony in his honor, could you even imagine the invitations?
(Watch the video, and then see how the media twists the story to fit the whole “Antonio Brown is an asshole” narrative)
NY Post – Antonio Brown’s former doctor says the football star repeatedly farted in his face and laughed about it during a consultation where he showed up three hours late — and claims the receiver still owes him $11,000 in unpaid fees, according to a new report.
Dr. Victor Prisk said he was wary of signing the then-Pittsburgh Steeler because he had a reputation for being “flighty” and not paying his bills, but agreed to take him on as a client anyway, Sports Illustrated said Monday.
One of Brown’s acolytes took video of the noxious meeting in August 2018, obtained by TMZ, in which the footballer can be heard farting and laughing about it as Prisk tests his body fat. “It seemed just childish to me,” Prisk told Sports Illustrated. “I’m a doctor and this man is farting in my face.”
In the video, Brown jokes, “I had a lot of fiber, bro,” to one friend laughing off-camera. Prisk, a former bodybuilder and gymnast who runs Prisk Orthopaedics and Wellness in Monroeville, Pa., filed a suit against Brown earlier this month in Pennsylvania, claiming Brown — now a New England Patriot — owes him $11,500 in unpaid fees.
“He tells you he’s going to make it totally worth your while,” Prisk said, claiming the footballer wanted to go into business with him but “demurred” every time the doctor mentioned his agreed-upon $500 hourly rate.“He’s gonna invest in your business, invest in you. You’re part of my family. Call God and all that. But he doesn’t do that, and he doesn’t even pay the bill.”
First of all, if burping is a compliment to the chef, and we all agree that a subtle queef is a compliment to a lover, then farting should absolutely be a compliment to your doctor. So, a couple of things we should breakdown here:
The doctor heard thru the grapevine that AB was a difficult patient, didn’t pay his bills, etc., and yet, took him on as a patient anyway. Now, ask yourself why a doctor would take on a patient who is flighty and doesn’t pay. Not only does this sound like a doctor who wants to rub elbows with famous celebrity clients, and rub ultrasound wands all over them, but it also sounds like someone who may have breached HIPAA compliance by discussing a patient’s personal attributes.
Antonio Brown doesn’t fart “in his face”, which to be honest, was a complete disappointment when it didn’t happen. It felt like one of those old advertising scams where you’re promised one thing but get another, which in this case was the ol’ Fart n’ Switch. I’m not sure what I was expecting, I mean, I didn’t think he’d be spread-eagled with his legs in stirrups, but this isn’t farting in a face. I know what farting in your face truly is, because I have four older brothers, and you never forget the touch or scent of an anus that makes direct contact with your nose.
Antonio IMMEDIATELY apologizes! “My bad.” He said my bad! What’s he supposed to do? You can’t put farts back in. Yeah, the second fart comes along (effortlessly, I might add) with more power and vibrato, but, we weren’t there, and no witness account can truly detail what, if any, smell there was. Anyone offering testimony to the contrary would be discounted as hearsay (or, hearsmell? sorry.)
The doctor rubbed a wand around on his stomach to determine body fat (spoiler alert, dude, you’re ripped and an elite athlete, and to this layman it’s probably 4%.) In return, he wants $11,000? I’m not sure how many sessions AB signed up for with this guy, but he could have given him $500 and told him to take the balance of $10,500 and shove it up his ass.
Meanwhile, as these grifters continue coming out of the woods accusing Antonio of rapes and farts, the Patriots are playing the NY Jets this weekend. While the Jets have a star in L’veon Bell at running back, they basically have a paper boy playing quarterback. Pats 70, Jets 3.
Well, with all due respect, there are a lot of zippers out there flying at half mast today. With all of the truly evil, despicable people in the world, for some reason god decided today was the day to wrap his long ass arms around this angel and bring her home. Nice going, dick.
Anyway, Jessica started doing soft core porn way back in 2002. Why do they call it soft core? Well, due the fact they wouldn’t show any penetration, you’d only get about half way hard. Before that, she was an elementary school teacher, which means it was the only time in history that dads actually looked forward to PTA night. Just imagine those phone calls:
Wife: “Don’t forget, tonight is PTA.”
Husband: “I’m already in the parking lot.”
While starring in over 200 films, Jessica went on to win such acclaimed awards as Penthouse’s “Honey of the Year”, “Best American Starlet” (for porn), and made the AVN’s “Hall of Fame.” And even though porn awards may not seem valuable to you or I, just like winning an Oscar in Hollywood, these accolades typically guarantee future work (as well as larger paydays). Still, I’ve always found it kind of ironic when a porn star gets all choked up when receiving an award for Best Deepthroat. Jessica’s acting talents didn’t stop with adult films, as she also had roles in Showtime’s “Weeds”, and “Celebrity Rehab Sober House”, which I didn’t watch but have to assume Tom Sizemore was there.
In closing, just because she was a porn actress doesn’t mean she wasn’t a kind, loving human being. Our thoughts and prayers go out to her friends and family, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to continue my research on this story over on Pornhub.
Ric Ocasek, lead singer of The Cars, has passed away at the age of 70 (or 75, depending on which news source you believe.) He sang a lot of hits you hear on the radio to this very day, songs like “Good Times Roll”, “You’re All I’ve Got Tonight”, and “Just What I Needed.” There are others, but I’m not gonna sit here all night typing out the whole fuckin discography. While song lyrics and their meanings are often the subject of debate, I believe virtually all of The Cars songs are about banging (if not now, eventually) or at the very least probably fingerblasting. Not “My Best Friend’s Girl” though, which, with the chorus of “She’s my best friend’s girl/she’s my best friend’s girl (girlll)/ but she used to be mine” appears to be a song about being cuckolded. But, perhaps he wrote the song at a time in his life where he said, you know what, things just didn’t work out for her and I, it wasn’t a good match for whatever reason, and now she’s dating my friend who’s a great guy, and maybe he was in such a good place where he was like “I’m genuinely happy for both of them.” There’s another, possibly even more likely scenario, in which he dated her first, then she turned into one of those chicks who never leaves and keeps asking when you’re going to write a song about her. His friend swoops in to relieve him of his duties, and maybe the song is just about the utter relief one feels when they’ve dodged a bullet.
While Ric has left us to go play on that big stage in the sky where everyone knows the lead singer’s name but the rest of the band are still nobodies, we are fortunate enough to be alive here on the same earth where his wife still resides. Obviously, our thoughts and prayers are with their entire family, but I would be remiss if I did not point out the fact that Paulina is a total Wilf.
NY POST – Victoria Frabutt faces malicious castration charges for allegedly committing the heinous act at her Newport home, news station WITN reported.
Deputies were called around 4 a.m. early Tuesday after Victoria allegedly mutilated her 61-year-old hubby, James Frabutt, according to Carteret County Maj. Jason Wank.Wank said that deputies were able to locate the detached body part and placed it on ice. It wasn’t immediately known whether doctors were able to reattach the severed member.
The injured husband was brought to Vidant Medical Center, where his condition is unknown, according to WITN.The motive behind Frabutt’s alleged action was not immediately clear, authorities said.Victoria was also charged with kidnapping and booked on $100,000 bond. She’s set to appear in court Wednesday.
Well, where to begin? So many angles on this unplanned, and absolutely unauthorized dickectomy. There is no way Mrs. Frabutt has a license to practice dick medicine. And, unless this guy is guilty of something so vile, so despicable, that it would even make Jeffrey Epstein’s ghost blush, then I simply cannot stand for guys having their dicks hacked off. We just cannot have it in our society. Did he cheat on her? Maybe, I mean, scroll back up and have another look for yourself. But to hack off a dick? Come on, that’s a bit extreme and seriously not fair. You want to spike his Gatorade with antifreeze until his pancreas falls out his bhole, fine. While I’m staunchly opposed to poisoning your spouse, I would have preferred it in this case because, like god (?), I feel strongly about men having the right to take their dicks with them from the starting line all the way to the finish line.
Now, as if all this hackin’ and sawin’ and gnawin’ wasn’t bad enough, you have these poor cops walking around the lawn looking for Mr. Frabutt’s missing dick. We’ll never know if they actually put out an APB (aka All Penis Bulletin) on this thing, but can you even imagine the call coming in over the radio?
Dispatcher: “We have a domestic dispute over in Carteret County.”
Cop: “On my way, roger, breaker breaker, over and out” (or whatever they say)
Dispatcher: “All units, be advised, you are gonna need flashlights, and hopefully one of y’all have an old Taco Bell cup with ice in it and some salad tongs.”
Still, I would have liked to have seen the look on the doctor’s face when they brought this thing to the hospital. He was probably like “What’s this, a Dr. Pepper, for me? OH, IT’S THE DICK? You guys brought me the dick in a Taco Bell cup? omg, that’s cute, and I appreciate your level of confidence, but who am I, Dr. Frankenstein over here? You may as well toss that thing in the rubbish bin.”
Anyway, I cannot be the only person who was reading this story and said, outloud, “you have got to be kidding” when it was mentioned the spokesman’s name is Major Wank.
By now, you may have heard this young man “allegedly” murdered some family members (the mother in law, wife, and child of minor league pitcher Blake Bivens), but what you haven’t heard or seen is this video. Never in all my years have I seen someone just casually jogging with their dick flapping around in the wind, especially with triple homicide charges looming. Now, I have seen a guy doing what I previously thought was the impossible, which is sprinting with a raging boner, but that’s a blog for another time. Anyway, if you’re looking down the barrel of 30 to life (or especially the death penalty), you might want to think about getting your giddy up on. I don’t know, maybe show a little hustle? This guy looks like he thinks he’s involved in the world’s slowest game of TV tag.
I’ve watched this video at least ten times, and no, not because I hope the pixelation will eventually go away. Speaking of, someone’s entire job out there is editing videos and putting blurry boxes in front of dicks and pussies.
Wife: “How was work today?”
Husband (whose only job is to blur out privates): “HOW DO YOU THINK IT WAS, DIANE?”
Anyway, why bother, we all know what they look like by now. They’re both ugly. Dicks are gross, and everybody knows it. And, I’m sorry, but vaginas are no picnic, either. As a young man, all I ever heard was “just wait until you see one”, and then one day I did see one, but I didn’t know what to do so I went back to the arcade to play Donkey Kong. And yet, one of life’s great joys is how when you eventually do put it in there (thank you, Tinder) it feels like a unicorn’s horn is going into a fun, squishy rainbow.
Now, I commend this officer for playfully jogging around in circles and spraying mace, rather than doing what I would have done, which is to shoot him eleven times with my rifle. I’m sorry, we are all innocent until proven guilty, but this case appears to be a slam dunk, and for christ’s sake, this naked guy is trying to touch me with his dick? Aww, hell no. I didn’t go thru Police Academy and spend 19 years on the force so a lunatic could dry hump me on the lawn while some asshole does nothing except film it. In retrospect, perhaps my unique, law enforcement theory of ‘shoot first ask questions later’ is why I’m not a cop.
Bonus LOL at the 0:32 mark when the K9 unit is ready to fuck this guy up, but then sees his dick bouncing around and decides to take a powder.
Right around the time President Donald Trump was announcing that he would be waiving outstanding student loan debt for disabled military veterans (pretty cool, right?), the mainstream media and a few celebritards decided now was a good time to sow discord and release dated pictures of typical fires in the Amazon. Among them, Emmanuel Macron, a politician, Madonna, a singer, and Cristian Ronaldo, who is a soccer ball kicker. Unfortunately, the student loan waiver does not apply to soldiers like me, who served my country during COUNTLESS tours on both American soil and overseas, where I took heavy fire from terrorists in a little game known as Call of Duty 4.
Now, while I admit fires in the Amazon are somewhat concerning, it should be noted that over the past 15 years, per NASA fuckin scientists, there have been more fires in the Amazon than what is currently burning right now. This is why you don’t see celebrities, or really anyone else, running around with five gallon buckets of water and shitting their pants trying to put this thing out. So, relax baby, it’s called the Amazon rainforest for a reason.
Meanwhile, Leonardo DiCaprio has just pledged $5 million to help with the fires, but obviously where that money goes (or proof of such a transaction ever taking place) is anyone’s guess. While I commend him for his efforts, writing a check for $5 million to him is like you or I throwing fifty cents down the sewer. That’s maybe 50% of his earnings for “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood”, which, thru no fault of his, was an utter piece of garbage. No spoilers, but at one point during the movie, I daydreamed that a shooter came into our theater and I was totally okay with it.
So, don’t worry about the media-projected crisis du jour (mmm, the crisis of the day, I’ll have that), instead, worry about what story is being broomed to make way for this fear mongering bullshit. Let’s get a conversation going in the comments regarding broomed stories. Here, I’ll go first: The Las Vegas Shooting. Here, I’ll go second: Anthony Weiner’s laptop. Here, I’ll go third: Young men keep dying in high-powered Democratic donor Ed Buck’s apartment. Here, I’ll go fourth, and fucking so on and so on.
NY Post – “Collide” singer Howie Day was arrested for assaulting his ex-girlfriend in a Manhattan hotel, authorities said. Howard K. Day, 34, was charged with assault and arraigned Saturday in Manhattan Criminal Court.
The Seattle-based singer allegedly began arguing with his girlfriend Friday afternoon when he angrily grabbed the woman, threw her around and wrapped his hands around her throat, police said. “I’m going through Xanax withdrawal, I’m going to pass out,” he apparently told an officer after he being taken into custody, according to prosecutors.
The victim, who sought medical attention after the assault, got an order of protection against Day, who is currently on tour. Day also faces charges of criminal obstruction of breathing, assault, and criminal possession of a controlled substance. Day did not enter a plea and is being held on $500 bail.
I’m not sure who edits this celebrity story excrement at the NY Post, but the article says he assaulted his ex-girlfriend in a hotel, and then the very next paragraph starts with “began arguing with his girlfriend Friday afternoon.” Well, which one is it, is she the ex, or is she the current girlfriend? In the grand scheme of things, I suppose it doesn’t matter much, but at least have a disclaimer like “We no longer edit or proofread our articles because the majority of people who are genuinely interested in stories like this are vapid morons. Don’t forget to click around on our ads!”
Plus, this seems like it went further than just getting a little physical. Arguing with a woman? ok. Angrily grabbing a woman? Not ok, but we’ll allow it without knowing all the circumstances. Threw her around? That’s really not okay. Wrapped his hands around her throat, or, “criminal obstruction of breathing”, which I guess is a new fancy legal term for choking? That no longer seems like assault, that sounds like attempted murder. And, while it’s nice for Howie to blame his current condition on Xanax (and will probably use that in his upcoming defense), I want my rock n’ roll stories to be riddled with coke and heroin use. I mean, copping to Xanax addiction would be like Tommy Lee getting pulled over because he was wasted on White Claws. Can you even imagine the headline? “Motley Crue Bad Boy Arrested For Driving His Ford Fusion While Intoxicated On Ruby Grapefruit Hard Seltzers.”
There are no winners in this story, so to quote Howie Day’s own song, Collide, ♫ even the best fall down some times ♫ (you just hope it’s not your former lover who’s been touring the low-level rock club circuit playing the same one hit, night in and night out, and ends up putting you in a fucking choke hold.)
NY POST – One of every New Yorker’s worst nightmares played out Thursday morning when a Kips Bay man was crushed to death by an elevator in his luxury high-rise as his horrified neighbors looked on, authorities said.
Sam Waisbren, 30, clawed desperately to escape the packed lift as it plunged from the lobby into the darkness of the shaft below, but he was crushed between the elevator car and the shaft wall, according to officials.
As one woman stands waiting, the elevator door opens into the lobby and a man wearing a backpack emerges, then wheels around as the lift gives way and Waisbren and five others go rocketing downward, the clip shows.
Jesus Christ almighty. I really didn’t need this today. I’m already horrified of dying a few dozen ways, and right up there at the tippy top is:
Going for a stroll in the woods, just minding my own business, then getting ripped apart and devoured by a bear.
Getting eaten alive by a shark, and the last thing I ever see is people on the beach yelling stupid, pointless shit like “try to swim away!” and “just jam your thumb into its’ eye!” as I continue to get chomped and eventually submerge into the darkness.
Accidentally crossing the border into Syria and stumbling upon a bunch of ISIS guys playing Rummy.
And now, even though I hadn’t considered it before, I (we?) have to worry about elevators just giving way between floors. I’m bumping this video down a bit, that way it will give you some time to decide whether or not you really want to see it. By the way, that’s nice of the NY Post to suggest it’s one of every New Yorker’s worst nightmares, but I think it’s safe to say that it’s a nightmare for virtually anyone who has upcoming plans to get on an elevator.
After watching this video, I kind of want them to update Aerosmith’s “Love in an Elevator” video script:
Hot Chick: Good Morning, Mr. Tyler. Going…..down?
Steven Tyler: No thanks, I think I’ll take the stairs.