For some reason with this new template some of my links are not highlighting. They are there, but they don't highlight until the cursor rolls over them. Error messages keep popping up whenever Cheyenne, my tech gal tries to fix them. Bear with me. For now if you want the links to the stories, you have to roll your cursor over obvious places. I know this is a major pain in the ass.
I am tired and I'm tired of fucking around with this. Cheyenne has left in a huff. I'll offer her drugs in the morning after her shift on the pole to see if she'll come back and fix it.
Update: Looks like I solved it. Something wrong with that hot red background. Who needs Cheyenne? I'd fire her ass, but she's easy on the eyes and works cheap.
Friday, June 11, 2010
TFG has an even newer look.
Taking tbird's pithy critique to heart, I am taking not 5 minutes, but 10 this time to try to give this site a little more pizzazz. (My mother always said I was easily influenced by bad companions.)
Hope y'all like this 'cause I don't want to overthink or overdo this like I'm an interior decorator who is tweaking on meth.
TFG.
Hope y'all like this 'cause I don't want to overthink or overdo this like I'm an interior decorator who is tweaking on meth.
TFG.
TFG has a new look!
Do you like it? If you don't...tough shit. I did it because:
a) I was bored.
b) It didn't cost anything.
and
c) It took me about 5 minutes.
The content will remain the same, i.e. anything that amuses, disgusts or interests me.
Thank you for your patronage.
a) I was bored.
b) It didn't cost anything.
and
c) It took me about 5 minutes.
The content will remain the same, i.e. anything that amuses, disgusts or interests me.
Thank you for your patronage.
Look Mommy! Look!!! That lady is playing bouncy lap with that man.
This is such a great performance of drunken public fuckery that I'm shocked that Laura Hall is not involved and it didn't happen in Britain.
I've never been to Batavia, New York, but I can only imagine that they don't see shit like this in their parks every day. (Unlike MacArthur Park in LA which is like one of Dante's Circles of Hell...illegal alien edition.)
Suzanne Corona, 41, and her fuck buddy, Justin Amend, 29, were caught by police boning on a picnic table in Farrall Park at 5:00 in the afternoon. Oh, no!!! What about the chilluns? When the coppers walked up and asked them what they were doing Suzanne and Justin said, "Just talking." Which may have been the case but while they were "just talking" they were also just fucking. Police also report that the couple appeared to be intoxicated. Hmmm, fancy that. Sounds like we need to start issuing Asbo's in this country to skeevy rumdum skanks who can't even be bothered to go behind a tree to get their public freak on.
What gives this story its "hook", as they say in the newsbiz, is in addition to being charged with public lewdness, Suzanne, who is married and a mom, is also facing an adultery rap. She could get 90 days in the pokey (tee hee) and a $500 fine. I say they put Suzanne in the ducking stool and make her wear a Scarlet "A" for a year.
Suzanne, with admirable self-reflection, apologized and admitted that her behavior was inappropriate, but told police "[they would] understand if you knew what my life was like." So what is her life like? Well, her husband is "transgender" and they "never have sex." That sure as hell would be enough to turn anyone into a stew bum fuck tramp that boinks younger guys on picnic tables in the pubic (typo, but I'll keep it) park. (Question: Did Suzanne not know that her "husband" was an impotent transgender when she married him? She doesn't seem like the type who would have any moral compunction about sampling the goods before marriage.)
For all her contrition, Suzanne seems pretty incensed about the adultery rap, and will fight that one all the way. Her husband is standing by her, you see, so it's really nobody else's concern. Putting aside the outdoor sex show, of course.
You've got to check out the video. First of all, the husband looks like a tool and a wimp for standing gamely next to his trollop of a wife, but he sure as hell doesn't look transgendered to me. I also like how the other half of this sexy time criminal enterprise, Justin Amend, slinks away from the camera like a guy caught masturbating in the church school parking lot. But the best part is listening to Suzanne trying to spin her way out of her liquored up lewdness. Like an ace attorney she weaves a tightly honed defense of "Yeah, I was fucking this dude in the park, but it really wasn't like fucking because we both had our clothes on and maybe his cock was just exposed around the zipper area if you really want to get technical about it but nobody could really tell what was going on so what's the big deal anyway?"
Translation? They were doing cowgirl.
I've never been to Batavia, New York, but I can only imagine that they don't see shit like this in their parks every day. (Unlike MacArthur Park in LA which is like one of Dante's Circles of Hell...illegal alien edition.)
Suzanne Corona, 41, and her fuck buddy, Justin Amend, 29, were caught by police boning on a picnic table in Farrall Park at 5:00 in the afternoon. Oh, no!!! What about the chilluns? When the coppers walked up and asked them what they were doing Suzanne and Justin said, "Just talking." Which may have been the case but while they were "just talking" they were also just fucking. Police also report that the couple appeared to be intoxicated. Hmmm, fancy that. Sounds like we need to start issuing Asbo's in this country to skeevy rumdum skanks who can't even be bothered to go behind a tree to get their public freak on.
Suzanne and Justin.
AKA The Romeo and Juliet of Batavia, NY.
What gives this story its "hook", as they say in the newsbiz, is in addition to being charged with public lewdness, Suzanne, who is married and a mom, is also facing an adultery rap. She could get 90 days in the pokey (tee hee) and a $500 fine. I say they put Suzanne in the ducking stool and make her wear a Scarlet "A" for a year.
Suzanne, with admirable self-reflection, apologized and admitted that her behavior was inappropriate, but told police "[they would] understand if you knew what my life was like." So what is her life like? Well, her husband is "transgender" and they "never have sex." That sure as hell would be enough to turn anyone into a stew bum fuck tramp that boinks younger guys on picnic tables in the pubic (typo, but I'll keep it) park. (Question: Did Suzanne not know that her "husband" was an impotent transgender when she married him? She doesn't seem like the type who would have any moral compunction about sampling the goods before marriage.)
For all her contrition, Suzanne seems pretty incensed about the adultery rap, and will fight that one all the way. Her husband is standing by her, you see, so it's really nobody else's concern. Putting aside the outdoor sex show, of course.
You've got to check out the video. First of all, the husband looks like a tool and a wimp for standing gamely next to his trollop of a wife, but he sure as hell doesn't look transgendered to me. I also like how the other half of this sexy time criminal enterprise, Justin Amend, slinks away from the camera like a guy caught masturbating in the church school parking lot. But the best part is listening to Suzanne trying to spin her way out of her liquored up lewdness. Like an ace attorney she weaves a tightly honed defense of "Yeah, I was fucking this dude in the park, but it really wasn't like fucking because we both had our clothes on and maybe his cock was just exposed around the zipper area if you really want to get technical about it but nobody could really tell what was going on so what's the big deal anyway?"
Translation? They were doing cowgirl.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I think Debrahlee's settlement just got a lot smaller than her surgically enhanced bazongas.
Well that didn't take long.
Before she was a poor, sexually harassed victim of the frat boy culture at Citibank, Debrahlee Lorenzana was just a 26 year-old shrinking violet who decided that her first boob job wasn't porny enough, so she decided that she needed to go up to Playboy proportions. Or, as she so demurely put it in the 2003 Discovery Health Channel series, Plastic Surgery New York Style, "That's what I want to be: tits on a stick." Her ultimate goal, you see, was not to be a high ranking bank executive but a "cross between Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra." This particular surgery was on top of her liposuction and tummy tuck.
Oh, did I mention that Debrahlee is a single mom with a son who will probably be slamming heroin by the time he's 15 because his mom is a shallow, self-obsessed, club-crawling gold digger? My favorite part from the series is where Debrahlee is dancing in da' club with her jouncing jugs about to fly out of her tube top. And this was before the double-D upgrade. My second is when she is with her friend in the market and she holds two melons up to her chest and giggles like a simpleton.
The video is here. Listen as Debrahlee (in that godawful nasally, New York Puerto Rican Minnie Mouse voice) explains how she figures bigger tits will help her "determined manhunt" to find "Mr. Right". Someone with the looks of George Clooney or Ben Affleck and of course, "educated and successful". (Kind of like when the whores on Craigslist mention that they prefer "generous" men.) What Debrahlee brings to the table is the promise of happiness "because I'll be looking like a little Playboy Playmate."
Now I wasn't there in the Citibank office during Debrahlee's employ, but that's surely not going to stop me from speculating.
Let's picture Debrahlee. It's seven years after her nattering, bubble-brained appearance as a young bimbo on the make who's looking to purchase bigger torpedoes to add to her man snaring arsenal. As far as we know she still hasn't found Mr. Right. Although I would bet you a dollar to a donut that she's probably fucked a whole bunch of Mr. Hornys during the search. Debrahlee is probably just figuring out that just as a woman can smell a sex-starved desperate schlemiel from a mile away, a savvy New York yuppie can similarly sniff out a determined single mom looking for a wallet to marry. The perfect scenario for the male hit-it n' quit-it maneuver. (Plus that voice...Oh, my god, how many guys have sat through dinner listening to Debrahlee prattling on while thinking..."How much more of this crap do I have to listen to before we can head to my place for some serious fuck time?")
We're now in Citibank 2010. Debrahlee is thirty-three and the vision of a closing window is starting to get a little more vivid. In addition to the sexy outfits and the fuck me shoes, Debrahlee starts putting on the vamp just a little too much and the suits are starting to get uncomfortable. The Citibank execs are perhaps seeing a little too much sexual tension in the workplace. It's probably not too much of a stretch to imagine that Debrahlee's mind is more on the successful mens then it is on productive work. So out she goes. Debrahlee takes her shot at a possible settlement and some surefire publicity. As I said in my previous post I could be totally off base on this one, but we'll see.
Debrahlee's attorneys are starting to spin once again that Debrahlee can't be faulted for being a volcanic bobble-titted sex bomb. They compare her enhancements to a woman who gets her hair done or has a nose job. Nice try, but when a jury sees that video they may have a different take.
H/t tbird.
Before she was a poor, sexually harassed victim of the frat boy culture at Citibank, Debrahlee Lorenzana was just a 26 year-old shrinking violet who decided that her first boob job wasn't porny enough, so she decided that she needed to go up to Playboy proportions. Or, as she so demurely put it in the 2003 Discovery Health Channel series, Plastic Surgery New York Style, "That's what I want to be: tits on a stick." Her ultimate goal, you see, was not to be a high ranking bank executive but a "cross between Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra." This particular surgery was on top of her liposuction and tummy tuck.
Oh, did I mention that Debrahlee is a single mom with a son who will probably be slamming heroin by the time he's 15 because his mom is a shallow, self-obsessed, club-crawling gold digger? My favorite part from the series is where Debrahlee is dancing in da' club with her jouncing jugs about to fly out of her tube top. And this was before the double-D upgrade. My second is when she is with her friend in the market and she holds two melons up to her chest and giggles like a simpleton.
The video is here. Listen as Debrahlee (in that godawful nasally, New York Puerto Rican Minnie Mouse voice) explains how she figures bigger tits will help her "determined manhunt" to find "Mr. Right". Someone with the looks of George Clooney or Ben Affleck and of course, "educated and successful". (Kind of like when the whores on Craigslist mention that they prefer "generous" men.) What Debrahlee brings to the table is the promise of happiness "because I'll be looking like a little Playboy Playmate."
Debrahlee Lorenzana.
Just your typical struggling working mom.
Now I wasn't there in the Citibank office during Debrahlee's employ, but that's surely not going to stop me from speculating.
Let's picture Debrahlee. It's seven years after her nattering, bubble-brained appearance as a young bimbo on the make who's looking to purchase bigger torpedoes to add to her man snaring arsenal. As far as we know she still hasn't found Mr. Right. Although I would bet you a dollar to a donut that she's probably fucked a whole bunch of Mr. Hornys during the search. Debrahlee is probably just figuring out that just as a woman can smell a sex-starved desperate schlemiel from a mile away, a savvy New York yuppie can similarly sniff out a determined single mom looking for a wallet to marry. The perfect scenario for the male hit-it n' quit-it maneuver. (Plus that voice...Oh, my god, how many guys have sat through dinner listening to Debrahlee prattling on while thinking..."How much more of this crap do I have to listen to before we can head to my place for some serious fuck time?")
We're now in Citibank 2010. Debrahlee is thirty-three and the vision of a closing window is starting to get a little more vivid. In addition to the sexy outfits and the fuck me shoes, Debrahlee starts putting on the vamp just a little too much and the suits are starting to get uncomfortable. The Citibank execs are perhaps seeing a little too much sexual tension in the workplace. It's probably not too much of a stretch to imagine that Debrahlee's mind is more on the successful mens then it is on productive work. So out she goes. Debrahlee takes her shot at a possible settlement and some surefire publicity. As I said in my previous post I could be totally off base on this one, but we'll see.
Debrahlee's attorneys are starting to spin once again that Debrahlee can't be faulted for being a volcanic bobble-titted sex bomb. They compare her enhancements to a woman who gets her hair done or has a nose job. Nice try, but when a jury sees that video they may have a different take.
H/t tbird.
Monday, June 7, 2010
If you can squeeze a baby through a vagina you should be able to fit a head shop and a tattoo parlor in your ass... and more straight poop of the day.
It's been a slow news day.
The big story is that Helen Thomas, loony, far-left reporter and jew-hating old crone, will be flying her broomstick out the White House briefing room and retiring a mere four decades past her prime. Here's hoping she doesn't wind up in a nursing home somewhere in Miami. Wouldn't want to check out of this life with a pillow over your face, eh' Bubbe?
MTV, a channel that used to actually play music, held their Annual Movie Awards last night. I hear that there was edgey profanity and even edgier comedy bits. Ho hum, wake me when it's over. That's why there's not much celebrity news today since all the airheads, egomaniacs and glamourous nitwits are sleeping off their hangovers after attending the dazzling gala. It may take a day or two to find out if anyone is decomposing following an after party overdose. Ooohh! Keep your fingers crossed.
Speaking of MTV, I've been pondering whether to comment on this little nugget. OK, since you asked so nice, I will. Even the creator of The Jersey Shore calls his Downfall of Western Civilization guidoville dreck a "herpes nest" where Valtrex falleth like a gentle rain. The reason why I hesitated is that it hardly qualifies as news that Snooki, J-Woww, The Situation and whoever the fuck else populates this shitfest is a petri dish of oozing, venereal pestilence.
On the crime blotter, police in Wenatchee, Washington were quite amazed by the amount of contraband that came into their jail via the poop chute of one of their arrestees. A cigarette lighter, cigarette papers, a golf ball sized baggy of tobacco, a bottle of tattoo ink, eight tattoo needles, and a small bag of reefer with dope pipe all came out of the outlaw's orifice. Franky, I'm astonished that they're astonished. Obviously, they've never seen the sheer gaping artistry of pornstar butt slut Sasha Grey. Sasha, the Queen of the Extreme Ream, could have placed the above items in a tackle box before insertion without raising a sweat. The only difficulty would have been keeping it from falling out as she strolled through security.
The big story is that Helen Thomas, loony, far-left reporter and jew-hating old crone, will be flying her broomstick out the White House briefing room and retiring a mere four decades past her prime. Here's hoping she doesn't wind up in a nursing home somewhere in Miami. Wouldn't want to check out of this life with a pillow over your face, eh' Bubbe?
"It's the Jews...the Jews, I tell 'ya.
Always the goddam Jews!!!!"
Katy Perry.
The only two reasons to watch the MTV Movie Awards.
Speaking of MTV, I've been pondering whether to comment on this little nugget. OK, since you asked so nice, I will. Even the creator of The Jersey Shore calls his Downfall of Western Civilization guidoville dreck a "herpes nest" where Valtrex falleth like a gentle rain. The reason why I hesitated is that it hardly qualifies as news that Snooki, J-Woww, The Situation and whoever the fuck else populates this shitfest is a petri dish of oozing, venereal pestilence.
Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi.
In order to catch herpes somebody had to fuck her.
In order to catch herpes somebody had to fuck her.
Who would do such a thing?
On the crime blotter, police in Wenatchee, Washington were quite amazed by the amount of contraband that came into their jail via the poop chute of one of their arrestees. A cigarette lighter, cigarette papers, a golf ball sized baggy of tobacco, a bottle of tattoo ink, eight tattoo needles, and a small bag of reefer with dope pipe all came out of the outlaw's orifice. Franky, I'm astonished that they're astonished. Obviously, they've never seen the sheer gaping artistry of pornstar butt slut Sasha Grey. Sasha, the Queen of the Extreme Ream, could have placed the above items in a tackle box before insertion without raising a sweat. The only difficulty would have been keeping it from falling out as she strolled through security.
Sasha Grey.
Don't be fooled by her diminutive size,
she's got a colon like a clown car.
I won't provide any links to Sasha's "art". I'm sure you know where to look.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Is it hot in here? Or is it just...you!
Debrahlee Lorenzana is suing Citibank on the grounds she was wrongfully terminated because she was just too damned sexy for bank work. Ms. Lorenzana claims that just because her business attire is straining at the seams it's not her fault if her male co-workers can't handle the hotness. The lawsuit alleges the obligatory sexist comments and blah blah blah.
Citibank says she was let go for not bringing in enough new customers. (How could this be possible with her ostensibly superlative business acumen and indisputable lusciousness?)
Let's dissect this one a bit. You know me. I'm not what you call cynical but...I'm getting a faint whiff of famewhoredom.
Right off the bat I'll give Debrahlee the benefit of the doubt on the pornstar spelling of her name, since this has been a common parental conceit since the 70's. (Just as an aside, I am so grateful that my folks didn't give me a name that every time I did business over the phone I had to go, "...OK...I'm gonna need to spell that for you...")
And really? Did the execs at Citibank start rubbing themselves when Debrahlee sashayed down the hall? In today's corporate culture did men who have probably been through a dozen HR sexual harassment seminars risk throwing their careers out the window by making overtly creepazoid comments to delectable Debrahlee? I suppose it's possible she's such a siren that a guy just can't help himself, but I'm skeptical.
I will grant that Debrahlee is pretty fetching. But...this is New York City, which like Los Angeles has hot alluring women in glorious abundance. I see Debrahlee caliber broads every day. Even at banks. (And especially when I get home. Right, Honey?) In Omaha she'd be a traffic stopper, but for NYC and LA she's not extraordinarily off the charts. Debrahlee is also 33 years old and appears to be a gal of borderline zaftig proportions. What is now voluptuous will in a few years be "weight problem". Not trying to be mean here, but she was the one who put her babeitude up for discussion.
Next, if you go to the link there is a video and a whole bunch of dreamy, dishy Debrahlee photos. Here's Debrahlee on the sidewalk with protruding nipples. Here's Debrahlee in the office wearing fuck-me-pumps. Here's busty Debrahlee in a tight sweater. And my personal favorite, Debrahlee spilling out of her slinky dress. Whoo hoo! And there is plenty more on other websites. Anybody else starting to notice that for a serious businesswoman Debrahlee sure has a lot of provocative pictures of herself floating around the interwebs? Forgive me if I'm not quite ready to give Debrahlee the Norma Rae/I Am Woman Hear Me Roar Proclamation just yet.
On the other hand, I could be totally out to lunch on this one and Debrahlee Lorenzana is a straight up, bona fide victim of the corporate male patriarchy at its most base. Let me reiterate that Debrahlee is real beauty and it is certainly no crime for a woman to have the nicest body that God, cosmetic surgery and 24 Hour Fitness can give you. (As a matter of fact, I wholeheartedly encourage it.)
So when the time comes and the Playboy, Maxim and other stroke book offers roll in, and the reality show producers start asking if she might consider drunkenly climbing all over Brett Michaels on the Rock of Love bus, let's hear what she has to say. If she says, "How dare you, sir. I am a serious person. A woman of substance. You can take your sleazy, cheap shot at fame and shove it right up your ass!"
On that day The Funeral Guy will gladly eat his hat. (If he had one.)
Citibank says she was let go for not bringing in enough new customers. (How could this be possible with her ostensibly superlative business acumen and indisputable lusciousness?)
Let's dissect this one a bit. You know me. I'm not what you call cynical but...I'm getting a faint whiff of famewhoredom.
Debrahlee Lorenzana on what is clearly
a very nippy day in the Big Apple.
Right off the bat I'll give Debrahlee the benefit of the doubt on the pornstar spelling of her name, since this has been a common parental conceit since the 70's. (Just as an aside, I am so grateful that my folks didn't give me a name that every time I did business over the phone I had to go, "...OK...I'm gonna need to spell that for you...")
And really? Did the execs at Citibank start rubbing themselves when Debrahlee sashayed down the hall? In today's corporate culture did men who have probably been through a dozen HR sexual harassment seminars risk throwing their careers out the window by making overtly creepazoid comments to delectable Debrahlee? I suppose it's possible she's such a siren that a guy just can't help himself, but I'm skeptical.
I will grant that Debrahlee is pretty fetching. But...this is New York City, which like Los Angeles has hot alluring women in glorious abundance. I see Debrahlee caliber broads every day. Even at banks. (And especially when I get home. Right, Honey?) In Omaha she'd be a traffic stopper, but for NYC and LA she's not extraordinarily off the charts. Debrahlee is also 33 years old and appears to be a gal of borderline zaftig proportions. What is now voluptuous will in a few years be "weight problem". Not trying to be mean here, but she was the one who put her babeitude up for discussion.
Next, if you go to the link there is a video and a whole bunch of dreamy, dishy Debrahlee photos. Here's Debrahlee on the sidewalk with protruding nipples. Here's Debrahlee in the office wearing fuck-me-pumps. Here's busty Debrahlee in a tight sweater. And my personal favorite, Debrahlee spilling out of her slinky dress. Whoo hoo! And there is plenty more on other websites. Anybody else starting to notice that for a serious businesswoman Debrahlee sure has a lot of provocative pictures of herself floating around the interwebs? Forgive me if I'm not quite ready to give Debrahlee the Norma Rae/I Am Woman Hear Me Roar Proclamation just yet.
On the other hand, I could be totally out to lunch on this one and Debrahlee Lorenzana is a straight up, bona fide victim of the corporate male patriarchy at its most base. Let me reiterate that Debrahlee is real beauty and it is certainly no crime for a woman to have the nicest body that God, cosmetic surgery and 24 Hour Fitness can give you. (As a matter of fact, I wholeheartedly encourage it.)
So when the time comes and the Playboy, Maxim and other stroke book offers roll in, and the reality show producers start asking if she might consider drunkenly climbing all over Brett Michaels on the Rock of Love bus, let's hear what she has to say. If she says, "How dare you, sir. I am a serious person. A woman of substance. You can take your sleazy, cheap shot at fame and shove it right up your ass!"
On that day The Funeral Guy will gladly eat his hat. (If he had one.)
Boys are programmed to do stupid things, but this is just nuts.
When I was a younger man, in the days before health insurance, I had two criteria for going to the doctor. One was any uncontrollable spurting blood, the other was anything remotely out of the ordinary with my penis. (I can only imagine what I would have done if my penis ever uncontrollably spurted blood.)
There is a new act of adolescent sociopathy going around (spurred on by YouTube, naturally) where an unsuspecting victim will be sucker punched right in the family jewels. Fun stuff, huh? This sounds like the kind of tomfoolery the brainless asshat that invented guzzling booze through your eye would come up with.
It's a little more than teenage hijinks for David Gibbons, 14, the unfortunate boy who is now one gonad shy of the requisite two that God intended. After a punch to the groin that has acquired the innocuous name of "sack tapping" David went home and woke up that night in excruciating pain and was taken to the hospital where his ruptured testicle was surgically removed. The urologist, Dr. Scott Wheeler, says that he does three to four of these surgeries a year. Authorities are weighing whether the assailant will be criminally charged.
For some reason boys, feral little shits that they are, always seem to go for the groin. When I was a lad there was frequently a gathering in the little boy's room for a ritual known as "shab fights". This involved cupping your yarbles with one hand while attacking your opponent's crotch with your other hand in an upturned clawing motion. I hasten to add this was not a gladiatorial spectacle I participated in, although I did provide running color commentary. Looking back, I should have been a prime bully target, being scrawny and totally disinclined towards manly sports. The only thing that saved me was that it's hard to hit someone that's making you laugh. Then at fourteen I was in a popular band and the bullies became roadies in order to score overflow groupies.
There are some things that I never understood about guys even though I are one. When men are young and the sap of virility is running really thick there is an abundance of really suspect shit that goes on. Wrestling and roughhousing, sack tapping, shab fights, crossing swords, towel snapping (in the shower!!) and fraternity brother ass paddling star chambers. I wanted no part of any of it.
Male bonding or thinly veiled homoeroticism? I'll let you make the call.
There is a new act of adolescent sociopathy going around (spurred on by YouTube, naturally) where an unsuspecting victim will be sucker punched right in the family jewels. Fun stuff, huh? This sounds like the kind of tomfoolery the brainless asshat that invented guzzling booze through your eye would come up with.
It's a little more than teenage hijinks for David Gibbons, 14, the unfortunate boy who is now one gonad shy of the requisite two that God intended. After a punch to the groin that has acquired the innocuous name of "sack tapping" David went home and woke up that night in excruciating pain and was taken to the hospital where his ruptured testicle was surgically removed. The urologist, Dr. Scott Wheeler, says that he does three to four of these surgeries a year. Authorities are weighing whether the assailant will be criminally charged.
David Gibbons.
Destined to spend his life dedicated
to the preservation of his one remaining ball.
For some reason boys, feral little shits that they are, always seem to go for the groin. When I was a lad there was frequently a gathering in the little boy's room for a ritual known as "shab fights". This involved cupping your yarbles with one hand while attacking your opponent's crotch with your other hand in an upturned clawing motion. I hasten to add this was not a gladiatorial spectacle I participated in, although I did provide running color commentary. Looking back, I should have been a prime bully target, being scrawny and totally disinclined towards manly sports. The only thing that saved me was that it's hard to hit someone that's making you laugh. Then at fourteen I was in a popular band and the bullies became roadies in order to score overflow groupies.
There are some things that I never understood about guys even though I are one. When men are young and the sap of virility is running really thick there is an abundance of really suspect shit that goes on. Wrestling and roughhousing, sack tapping, shab fights, crossing swords, towel snapping (in the shower!!) and fraternity brother ass paddling star chambers. I wanted no part of any of it.
Male bonding or thinly veiled homoeroticism? I'll let you make the call.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Senile Rocker performs at White House because Barack Obama has nothing else to occupy his time.
Anyone who's read this blog for awhile is aware that I grew up a huge Beatles fan. That said, Paul McCartney was always my least favorite. Even from the beginning he always had the air of a man that was just way too pleased with himself.
So it shouldn't come as any surprise, I suppose, that he would see a kindred spirit in our own Narcissist in Chief, Barack the Magnificent. The two leading members of their own fan clubs got together the other night in honor of Sir Paul receiving the Gershwin Prize. After kissing the rather large ass of the First Lady by dedicating the treacly chestnut "Michelle" to her, Sir Paul, the private jet flying environmentalist, had to throw a dig at George Bush while planting his nose firmly between the butt cheeks of the current president. Here's what the Mozart who wrote "Silly Love Songs" said, [Referencing the Library of Congress] "After the last eight years, it's great to have a president who knows what a library is." After this brilliant bon mot all the attending sycophants, suck-ups and Washington leeches hooted and clapped like the good little trained seals they are. Here's the clip.
You see. It's funny because EVERYBODY knows that George W. Bush was the stupidest man to ever occupy the Oval Office. (Except when he was being an Evil Genius of Machiavellian proportions.) And EVERYBODY knows that Barack Hussein Obama is a whiz kid of uniquely boundless intellect and leadership abilities that are beyond the understanding of us ungrateful wretches that he deigns to give His governance over. No affirmative action hire He.
Poor George Bush. When reached for comment regarding Sir Paul's assessment of his lack of intellectual firepower all Dubya could do was shake his head and say, "I might be stupid. But even I'm not stupid enough to marry a one-legged, gold-digging fucking whore who took me to the cleaners to the tune of 40 million dollars just for the privilege of getting rid of her."
Update: As tbird points out in his comment it was 38.9 million and I have corrected my typo (and rounded up). I guess I should be more accurate even when I'm making up quotes. I wholeheartedly agree with tbird that is still some majorly expensive poon, even if amputee sex is your bag, baby.
So it shouldn't come as any surprise, I suppose, that he would see a kindred spirit in our own Narcissist in Chief, Barack the Magnificent. The two leading members of their own fan clubs got together the other night in honor of Sir Paul receiving the Gershwin Prize. After kissing the rather large ass of the First Lady by dedicating the treacly chestnut "Michelle" to her, Sir Paul, the private jet flying environmentalist, had to throw a dig at George Bush while planting his nose firmly between the butt cheeks of the current president. Here's what the Mozart who wrote "Silly Love Songs" said, [Referencing the Library of Congress] "After the last eight years, it's great to have a president who knows what a library is." After this brilliant bon mot all the attending sycophants, suck-ups and Washington leeches hooted and clapped like the good little trained seals they are. Here's the clip.
You see. It's funny because EVERYBODY knows that George W. Bush was the stupidest man to ever occupy the Oval Office. (Except when he was being an Evil Genius of Machiavellian proportions.) And EVERYBODY knows that Barack Hussein Obama is a whiz kid of uniquely boundless intellect and leadership abilities that are beyond the understanding of us ungrateful wretches that he deigns to give His governance over. No affirmative action hire He.
Poor George Bush. When reached for comment regarding Sir Paul's assessment of his lack of intellectual firepower all Dubya could do was shake his head and say, "I might be stupid. But even I'm not stupid enough to marry a one-legged, gold-digging fucking whore who took me to the cleaners to the tune of 40 million dollars just for the privilege of getting rid of her."
Update: As tbird points out in his comment it was 38.9 million and I have corrected my typo (and rounded up). I guess I should be more accurate even when I'm making up quotes. I wholeheartedly agree with tbird that is still some majorly expensive poon, even if amputee sex is your bag, baby.
Third in line for the presidency. I'm truly frightened.
I meant to post this a couple of days ago but I got busy with DP. (No, that's not Double Penetration you filthy minded heathens. That's Dead People.)
The only way to explain this is either too many meds or too few meds. That, coupled with the fact that Nancy Pelosi is the dumbest female politician in California history, beating out even Barbara Boxer and Linda and Loretta, the dimwitted Sanchez sisters.
My own guess is that Nancy's dermatologist injected her head with helium instead of her usual quart of botox. Here it is if you haven't seen it.
There. Do you know what the fuck she's talking about? The Word is her favorite word? Is she trying to talk about Christianity without using the name Christ? Is the bird the word? Is Grease the word? Say the word and you'll be free, Say the word and be like me?
Can you imagine if George Bush said something this moronic? Oh, wait, George W. Bush would be excoriated for trying to turn the nation into a theocracy.
If she was trying to testify as to her religious beliefs, all I can say is I've had a more coherent explanation of spirituality at 3:00 in the morning from a bass player who just shot a speedball.
The only way to explain this is either too many meds or too few meds. That, coupled with the fact that Nancy Pelosi is the dumbest female politician in California history, beating out even Barbara Boxer and Linda and Loretta, the dimwitted Sanchez sisters.
My own guess is that Nancy's dermatologist injected her head with helium instead of her usual quart of botox. Here it is if you haven't seen it.
There. Do you know what the fuck she's talking about? The Word is her favorite word? Is she trying to talk about Christianity without using the name Christ? Is the bird the word? Is Grease the word? Say the word and you'll be free, Say the word and be like me?
Can you imagine if George Bush said something this moronic? Oh, wait, George W. Bush would be excoriated for trying to turn the nation into a theocracy.
If she was trying to testify as to her religious beliefs, all I can say is I've had a more coherent explanation of spirituality at 3:00 in the morning from a bass player who just shot a speedball.
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