Monday, September 11, 2017

If You Didn't Watch the Miss America Pageant Last Night Then You Are Living a Goddamn Lie

Google Image search: "Miss America's freshly shaved armpits."

Yeah yeah yeah, we get it, Hurricane Irma hit and destroyed a bunch of homes and killed a bunch of people and it's also 9/11 and we'll all #neverforget and black lives matter and Colin Kaepernick died but omg get over it51 chicks were on TV last night strutting around in bikinis and high heels and if you didn't think I would blog about it then you clearly have no idea how the human male penis works.

Normally I would've taken notes and come up with a whole theme for this post, but it's honestly amazing that I still remember the password to this blog. So I'm just gonna share the four most bonkers things that happened last night because I don't even come close to caring about you or this website.

Let's go.

Miss South Carolina...

... knows everything about aliens.

Pretty incredible considering that literally no one in the world knows anything about aliens.


Not one thing.

And there is not one scientist, not one professor, not one NASA ASTRONAUT whose job is to EXPLORE THE UNIVERSE who has ever uncovered any information on aliens whatsoever... but Miss South Carolina knows everything about them.


Miss New Jersey on the other hand...

... can eat fire.

She can eat fire.

Miss New Jersey can eat fire.

And yet she decided that for the talent portion of the show she would be puttin' on the ritz instead of swallowing a goddamn North Korean nuclear missile. Also, I'm no alien expert, but I'm pretty sure that eating fire is not even a thing. Like, you can't do that. You can eat nachos. You can eat a doorknob. But you can't actually eat and digest a giant ball of flames.

Or maybe you can?

What do I know?

I got a D in high school biology and I'm not even sure if eating fire would fall under the umbrella of studying biology. Is it chemistry? I think it might be both. I also think that I just figured out what biochemistry is. Be honest do you think I'm the smartest person who has ever lived? BE HONEST.

And helloooooooooooo, Miss Pennsylvania! 

Forget about the saxophone.


Nothing says "crown me America's ultimate sweetheart" quite like a Hillary Rodham Clinton #pantsuit. They should've just given her the title right then and there.

And then snatched it off her nasty ass head, because...

Just your standard, run-of-the-mill, double yodeling ventriloquist. 

Sadly, I couldn't find Miss Louisiana's performance from last night on YouTube (probably because Chris Harrison's an asshole), but I did find a different Miss Louisiana (from 1988) who was ALSO a ventriloquist.

Also Dak Prescott threw for 268 yards and a touchdown to lead the Cowboys past the Giants and a few guys got brain injuries that will probably lead them to one day blow their brains out.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Bachelorette: Breaking Down the Micropeens

I do not talk about this man once in this post. Not once. 

A chick I know recently had her heart ripped out, stepped all over and thrown against a refrigerator. In the months since her ex-boyf broke up with her, she has contemplated sui, experimented with essential oils and downloaded various sex apps on her telephone.

She now has three rules when it comes to dating:

1. No cats
2. No Samsung Galaxies
3. No micropenises

Sadly, the producers of The Bachelorette do not have the same set of standards. This season, they chose to cast the biggest bunch of bozos we've ever seen on this show (including one guy who wore a #vest).

So, even though the only thing I hate more than this TV show is this blog, I figured I'd rank these new contestants based on the size of their micro peens. Because if there's one thing in this world I know about, it's other men's dicks.

Let's rank them from macro to micro, starting with:

Fred (legit hammer cock)

Real one.

I don't care how many brothers Josiah had to cut down from trees, nothing can be more traumatizing than growing up with the name Fred. What an amazing, hilarious thing to call a person. Dogs are named Fred. Car mechanics are named Fred. Fred Flintstone is named Fred. I can guarantee that Fred has a huge, huge dick. I know this because he is black.

Literally Every Other Black Guy (totally normal-sized peens for black guys)

Hi guys. 

Three hundred years of persecution. Thousands upon thousands of dope dance moves. And six full seasons of Martin. Yet, all it took was 20 minutes of this show to shatter my lifelong belief that black people are naturally cool.

The guy who kept licking his lips? Nope. Could not handle him. The grown man who calls himself Diggy? Stop it. I liked Larry the wrestler. And the dude who constantly talked shit. But even Josiah -- and yes, very sad, very very sad about Josiah -- but dude, you don't need to tell us your whole life story on day one. Save a little something for next week. Save a little something for when you're about to be sent home. And after all that, after that judge gave you a second chance and saved your life and steered you away from a life of crime... you went and became a lawyer?

My friend Kenny Rosenbaum is a lawyer. There's nothing special about being a lawyer. Lawyers wear shirts, with buttons, and go to work and be boring. I thought Josiah was gonna say that he went on to do something that actually mattered. Like started a nonprofit for the homeless. Or resurrected the civil rights movement. Or played small forward for the Pistons. But no, he's just another stiff who wears slacks. Nice guy though. As is Kenny Rosenbaum. If you're reading this Kenny, hi Kenny.

Rachel's Dog (dog dick)

Nice doggie.

This dog definitely has a dog dick. I can tell because he is a dog.

Also, ABC dedicated three separate segments to a guy named Jamey, but only gave Ruffles 15 seconds of airtime? Unacceptable.

Guy Who Wore a Fireman Outfit (slightly above average sized dork)

I hate writing this blog so so much.

I'm sorry, anyone who has the confidence to wear a double-breasted fireman suit must be packing heat. Because I have never, not once, not ever ever ever, met a cool fireman. I know that people think they exist. I've seen the shirtless calendars. I remember after 9/11 when the NYFD guys were going on Ellen's show and being all brave and stuff. But firemen, EMTs, dudes who are into anime, bloggers: all 100%, USA-grade, certifiable micropeens.

The Colombian Guy (cold, refrigerated, pre-cooked hot dog)

You can almost feel how cold and wet that dog is from the pic, can't you?

I appreciate this guy going on national television and taking his tongue and touching it against a black woman's tongue, but anyone who acts that aggressively must be overcompensating for something. This man is nothing special. Also, when kisses Rachel on the cheek he makes a stupid "mwah" sound and my wife can't stand when people do that and I support her in every way possible so I officially LOATHE him.

Whablammo Guy (Mike and Ike)

What is that right-shoulder lean/dip move?
And why are those Mike and Ike's so blurry?
And why would I possibly care?

Obviously I hated this guy, but I also didn't hate him. But I hated him. But I also didn't. But I did.  Like, I want him to be murdered, but I don't hate him. But I do. My wife had to walk out of the room when he came on screen. I kinda liked him. But I still want him to die the most horrific painful death imaginable.

Blake the Physical Trainer who Claims to Have a Golden Dick (Combo)

I can't.

Somehow, this dude was more embarrassing than the Whablam guy.

Quick side note: You can totally tell when I've had enough of writing this stuff, because it just becomes one-line answer-city. Let it be known, you are now entering one-line-answer city.

Another side note: Update on my boner potion that I'm taking. For those of you who didn't read my last post, my friend Guitar Jr. recently sent me some boner potion that is supposed to be "The Viagra of the Amazon." I am currently on Day 4 of taking the potion (three times a day) and I miiiiiiiiight be starting to feel the effects. Not that I'm walking around all day with a full-fledged jackhammer, but I did wake up this morning harder than Chinese arithmetic. So I've got that goin' for me.

Now back to your regularly scheduled blorg post.

Jonathan the Tickle Monster (Tic Tac)

I've never.

Clearly this guy is on the spectsh, right?

I am not a violent person (mainly because I have zero muscle tone on my body), but if a grown man were to ever have me close my eyes, stick my hands out and then tickle my rib cage, I would slug him in the face with a stapler. This man is certifiable.

Chris Harrison (slimy, shriveled-up mushroom)

Google image search: "Soggy, Wet Mushroom"

At one point in the show on the show on Monday, Chris Harrison referred to After the Final Rose as "AFR."

Guy who told Rachel "I wanna go black and never go back" (inverted turtle head that literally sits inside his own asshole)

Yo. Fuck this guy.

This song, entitled "Coffee," is a certified banger. When I played it for my friend, Hart (and keep in mind, the hook goes "black coffee no sugar no cream black coffee no sugar no cream"), he thought it was actually about coffee. Turns out it's not. Take a listen and see if you can find the deeper meaning. Hint: It's about having sex with a black man. 

See you next week. 


Thursday, May 18, 2017

Mommy Dead and Dearest: Wooooooooooooo, Dusty!

Wowzers bowzers.

There's not many things in this world that deserve a "wowzers bowzers."

The view from Macchu Picchu? Wowzers bowzers.

Those hot breakfast scrambles that come in an iron skillet with biscuits and gravy and full-throttle, level-19 diarrhea? Wowzers bowzers.

Kim Jong-un's haircut?

I'll take "Wow Bow" for 800, Alex. 

But now you can add a new wow bow to the list: Mommy Dead and Dearest, HBO's latest documentary about a sick, sick, sick mother who keeps her daughter captive until her daughter finds an autistic pervert to slit her throat. This story, my friend, is a certifiable wowzers bowzers.

Honestly the whole thing is just gut wrenching. And horrible. And downright bonkers. With so many bonkers characters and so many bonkers moments that a good portion of the bonkersness gets lost in the bonks because you're so busy freaking out about the bonks. They could've made an entire documentary just on Gypsy Rose's dad's hats.

So seeing that you probably missed out on some bonks while you were bonking out, let's go over some of the other wowzers bowzers that didn't get nearly enough attention in the doc.

Such as:

Oh, hello. 


I absolutely loved Dee Dee's nephew, or cousin, or whoever he was--you know, the former lead singer of Seether. What was he? A welder? I didn't even know welding was still a profession.

Although to be honest, I couldn't get over the fact that he was wearing that stupid winter hat during his interview. I figured he was probably bald and/or trying to get a VH1 reality dating show, but turns out he has a nice full head of hair. I found him on the 'Gram. He also happens to be one of those fitness dudes who cares way too much about his bod. Check out his Instagram page; lots of pics of him with his shirt off, and also this picture of his super boring breakfast.

Underscore Kim Underscore Broussard likes it. 


And then of course there's Nicholas Godejohn, you know, the guy who slashed Dee Dee's throat and said he might want to rape her, but no no no he's not into necrophilia, not at all, he wouldn't rub his dork on a dead woman's body, never, never, but he would masturbate in a McDonald's for NINE STRAIGHT HOURS.

How is that even possible?

You gotta think that after, oh, I dunno, four minutes? someone woulda said SOMETHIN'. And by the  eight-minute mark, someone would've thrown a Filet 'o Fish at him. Maybe, mayyyyyyyyybe, if he was quietly JACKING HIS DORK RIGHT OFF HIS BODY, with some sort of ball gag in his mouth to muzzle his grunts, he coulda slid under the radar for, oh, I dunno, 11 minutes? But nine hours?! How is that even fun?

In somewhat related/not that related news, my buddy Guitar Jr. recently got wayyyyyyyyy into essential oils, and gave me some sort of organic aphrodisiac potion that's supposed to help your boners. Not that I need help with my boners, I mean, I can still get a bone job, I can, I totally can, I will go to any McDonald's right now and get a full-fledged bone job, but it's just that, you know, when you turn 40 (and yes, ugh, I recently turned 40), your bone jobs aren't quite the bone jobs they once were. Sure, sure, they still bone okay, but they don't quite bone out like they did when you were 19. That being said, I have yet to try the bone job potion because I'm scared I might break my bone. To be continued, I guess.

Amazing that this could be the second creepiest dude at your local McDawgs.


Back to the Gypsinator. I know. I know. It's ridiculously sad that Gypsy Rose was being treated for cancer without actually having cancer, but her singing performance at that cancer charity benefit was downright shitty. I'm guessing she was trying to sing that shitty because her mother told her to sing that shitty, but that singing was really, really shitty.

But regardless of how shitty she sang, how did she (and Dee Dee) get by all those doctors? That's the scariest part of this whole thing (even scarier than that pic of Gypsy Rose licking a knife, which, you gotta admit, was kinda hot?), that doctors can be so stupid.

My wife (who is real) gets very upset when I make fun of doctors, because her mother, father, brother and stater-in-law are all docs, but a lot of doctors (and people) are just plain ole fucking idiots. How they managed to let Gypsy Rose slip through the cracks--so, so sad. And I understand that Dee Dee was a master manipulator, but still. Ugh.

I couldn't find a picture of Gypsy Rose singing,
so here is a picture of her stepmom's all-white New Balances instead. 


But maybe the most bonkers storyline that slipped under the radar involved Dee Dee's stepmom. You know, the old ass lady with the all-white New Balances who might've been from Louisiana, but also very well could've been from some former country in the Eastern Bloc. Anyway, how about the fact that Dee Dee tried to kill her by feeding her ROUNDUP?!

What does that even mean?

She sprayed Roundup into her Cream of Wheat?

I mean, I'm all for pulling a prank from time to time. In college, I filled up my friend Noodle's Brita with salt and waited under his bed to watch him drink it, and after he took one sip and almost barfed all over the place I felt so bad that I immediately popped out and apologized. He ended up beating the shit out of me and pulling my pants down in front of pretttttttttyyyyy much every chick in our entire dorm. Lucky for me, I could still pull off a somewhat respectable bone job at the time.

Anyway, pretty good documentary.

I recommend it.

Moving on, The Bachelorette starts this Monday and I do not not not want to watch or blog about it. But many of my readers (three) asked me to, so maybe I will (I won't). I mean, I have written (on just this blog alone) over ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY posts about that stupid sexxxual game show. I just can't anymore. But I might. Anyway, I went to Dollywood last week. Here's a picture of Dolly Parton with Kermit the Frog.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Observations While Eating Pancakes on a Random Tuesday in a South Philly Diner

This is a picture of pancakes because this article
has something to do with pancakes. 

I used to work with this guy named Brad, and he's exactly the type of Brad that you think he'd Brad.

He drank Muscle Milk. And put paste his hair. And one time when we were out to lunch he called a waitress "doll" when he asked her for more oyster crackers. I was mortified. By the time the young lady had brought Brad his crackers, I had crawled under the table, crab-walked out of the restaurant and put in my two-weeks notice back at the office.

You see, there are very few people in this world who can pull off calling someone "doll". One is my Aunt Frayda (who is not my real aunt). Another is Don Draper (who is not a real person). And then there are waitresses in South Philly diners, the type of women who not only smoke a pack of Newports a day, but probably eat them.

This was not my waitress but it might as well have been.

As I stopped into a South Philly diner last week, I was greeted by one of those waitressesDonna, dark-haired woman with even darker mascara who might've served in Vietnam.

"Just the one today, Doll?" Donna asked me.

"Yep," I said as I nodded by head, even though I'm now realizing that saying "yep" and nodding your head are basically doing the same thing.

"Sit anywhere you'd like, Hun."

"Thank you terrifying woman," I said.

And so I did, grabbing one of those big ole booths with the long leather seats. The kind of booths where you need to slide on in, like getting into the front bench seat of a 1963 Buick Skylark, not that I've ever been in a 1963 Buick Skylark, or even know what a Buick Skylark is, but it just seemed like the right analogy here so let's just go with it. 

Immediately after sitting down, another waitress (who was wearing Skechers Shape-ups) came over to me and also asked, "Just the one today, Doll?"

This question somehow stung a bit more than the first time it was asked. Possibly because this new waitress spoke in a much louder tone so everyone in the place could hear her. But then again, who cares, there's nothing wrong with eating alone. Plus, there were only like three other people eating in the restaurant, and two of them were over the age of 90 and possibly dead. Regardless, I nodded and she gave me a menu. It was 86 pages long.

I obviously didn't need a menu. No one who goes to a diner needs a menu. They're all the same, and have everything you'd ever want to eat: omelettes, veal parmesan, raisins. Besides, I had come for pancakes, and planned to get whatever version of the Hungry Man's Special that this diner offered (they offered 12). So I put my menu down and took a look around. Donna was playing pinball. 

Over the speakers, Billy Joel was playing on the radio because every time anyone has ever eaten in a diner Billy Joel has played on the radio. In fact, after the Billy Joel song ended ("Only the Good Die Young"), another Billy Joel song came on ("It's Still Rock n Roll to Me"). I'm not lying. I know that I have a tendency to lie a lot, especially in this blog, and I even lied in the first paragraph about Brad being named Brad. His real name is Josh. I just called him Brad because I didn't want to hurt the real Josh's feelings if he ever read this post. But I know that Josh isn't much of a reader, so I doubt that he'd even read this far down anyway. Either way, Josh is actually a really nice guy, and a good friend, and he probably loves Billy Joel. As does my Aunt Frayda and literally every other Jewish person you will ever meet.

The rest of the diner looked pretty normal. There was a counter. And a bunch of booths. And people who looked like they were going through serious bouts of depression. I felt right at home. 

This is a picture of a diner. 

The pancakes and eggs and sausage and bacon were all pretty ordinary (in that they were fantastic). I gobbled it up quick and drank a cup of coffee and took notes for this post that said things like "whipped butter is bout dat LYFE." But I did see something that I'd never seen before in my 39 years on this earth: a man eating two bowls of soup.

He didn't eat them at the same time, that would be ridiculous. But he still ate two bowls (which is somehow almost as ridiculous). After he finished his first bowl (pea soup, I believe), he simply slid his bowl over to the waitress and said, "Give me another."

Such confidence. 

Such rudeness! 

But such confidence!

Who eats two bowls of soup?! This guy apparently, who proceeded to slurp up his second bowl while yelling at a woman on his cellphone. He kept telling her, "Damn girl you must be pregnant because you don't normally act like this." As of the writing of this article, it is unclear if he or she is still alive. 

As I sat there in awe—at both the fact that a man would eat two bowls of soup AND talk to a pregnant woman that way—I suddenly felt a rumble bumble in my stomach. I took a deep breath, shoved some more pancakes into my fat slut mouth, and tried to ignore it. Then I felt another rumble. And another. Then I prayed to Jesus. I was going to shit my pants.

I looked around for my waitress to get my check, but she was nowhere to be found. I figured maybe she was sitting in the back enjoying a nice warm bowl of raisins. After around 15 seconds, and seven more rumbles, and sweating through my entire shirt, I got up to try and find her. We had a crisis on our hands. And potentially in my pants.

As I walked up to the counter, searching for someone, anyone, good god where are these people, and who the hell eats pea soup, I was pretty much shuffling around the place like James Brown. Then finally, my beautiful disgusting rough wonderful waitress walked out of the kitchen.

"Oh hey!" I yelled, voice cracking, waving nine dollars in the air. "Is it possible to get my check?"

"Nope, not possible," she said with a sarcastic smile, clearly unaware that at any moment I might blow the doors off the entire block. 

I fake laughed and threw a wad of bills at her. No idea how much I threw. Could've been $20. Could've been six. I can't even believe I was carrying cash. But I just chucked it as far as I could and duck-waddled to the nearest bathroom. It was occupied, obviously, so I grabbed a fork off a nearby table and smashed it into my shin. Then I thought about using the ladies room. Then I decided to use the ladies room. Then I got scared to use the ladies room and power-walked five city blocks back to my office where I had a full-blown seizure in an elevator before I destroyed the industrial strength plumbing in my building.

Not really sure what the point of this whole story is. 

I think maybe it's that pancakes are delicious—and that you need to seriously reevaluate the type of things you're reading on the internet.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Songs by Black People that are Way Better than Songs by White People: "Why I Love You" by MAJOR

There's a lot goin' on with that collar. 

If you don't know MAJOR, you better ask somebody. Preferably a black person, because I asked around 12 different white people if they had ever heard of him and none of them had. But then I asked the one black chick I work with, Brenda, if she had heard of MAJOR and she was like, "Fuck yeah, Evan!" and then she was like, "How you know him?" and I was like, "C'mon Brenda, I'm a muthafuckin starboy," and then she gave me a pound and called me her "Black Jew" which is BY FAR the greatest nickname anyone has ever given memuch better than "Mr. Mouthbreather" (given to me by my wife) and "Captain Fuck" (also given to me by my wife).

MAJOR's debut single, "Why I Love You," is some real, grown-up type shit. Nothing like that hashtag millennial JuJu on that beat type shit, or that thirty-something Michael Buble sipping on that rooibus tea type shitI'm talking real, sweet, sensual, I'm gonna put a baby inside your vagina and then help you raise that baby and also show up to his soccer games and clarinet recitals and later go to couples therapy with you and work on being more present and communicating better and LISTENING, truly listening, and taking in what you're saying and not just nodding and smiling but really learning how to accept your answers at face value and not think that you have some sort of hidden agenda type shit.

Listen to the song here.

MAJOR (and yes his name is really written in all caps, in fact it's actually spelled with a period at the end too, like this: "MAJOR." but I left the period out of this post because my readers (all six of them) tend to read at a fourth grade level and I can't imagine they'd be able to follow a post with random periods thrown into the middle of sentences) (in fact I'm guessing that most of them are just skimming at this point or have moved onto

MAJOR's real name is really Major (his mom wanted him to make an IMPACT, and he is). "Why I Love You" was the first single off his debut album, and it went to #12 on Billboard's R&B charts. He's also got another banger, "Keep On", and recently sang at the Soul Train Music Awards and yes the Soul Train Music Awards are still a thing. Patti LaBelle also covered the song at a recent concert of hers and yes Patti LaBelle is still a thing. Major sounds a little like John Legj and a little like Stevie Wonder and absolutely nothing like Patti LaBelle who is very old (and lovely!).

Omg close the drapes it's so goddamn sunny are you serious with that?

If I have one critique of the songand it's not even the song really, it's the videoit's the way it starts: with MAJOR waking up some chick from a deep slumber by pushing her hair out of her face. I once tried to wake up my wife to tell her that we were an hour and a half late for a flight and that I knew she was cheating on me because there was another man sleeping next to her and she spit her mouthguard in my face (even though that she finds it very soothing and comforting to wear). Plus, the all-marble bathroom in this video is wayyyyyyyyyy bigger than any normal person's bathroom, and MAJOR only has 4,061 Twitter followers so I can't imagine he's really living dat marble bathroom lyfe. Still, dope ass song. Bomb ass video. And I highly recommend getting a mouthguard to sleep with if you grind your teeth like my very real and not made-up wife.

All right, you've heard enough from me.

Let's hear from some real black people now, courtesy of the always absolutely fucking incredible YouTube comments sectsh:

Good point, lee yoojin.

Pretty sure Misty Cotton is the first person to throw an "ing" at the end of JK.

Oookkaaaayyyyy, Nesha.

And RIP to Nesha's boyf!



If you're interested in learning about another song by a black person that's way better than any song by a white person, check out my post about Ciara's "Ride" here. Or don't. I don't give a shit. I really, really don't give a shit. 

Thursday, December 8, 2016

An In-Depth Breakdown of the New Bachelor Contestants' Shoe Choices

There are plenty of ways to judge the new lady contestants on the Bachelor: Breast size, vagina size, a new formula I've come up with that compares the size of a woman's breasts to how deep their vaginas go. Unfortunately, ABC does not provide their viewing audience with such detailed analytics -- so instead we are forced to rely on simple full bod shots in order to form our first impressions.

Soooooo, seeing as my blog is already blocked on my friend Dave's work computer server, I figured why not perv it up a bit and write a blog post about a subject/fetish that my therapist says is "somewhat healthy and probably fine."

Okay? Okay. Let's check out the ladies' ever-important taste in footwear.

To the shoes!

Elizabeth S.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Elizabeth is rockin' the classic Corkboard Chunk-o-Rama ($69, Evan Picone), easily the worst shoe anyone has ever worn in the history of life. The wedge heel looks like a goddamn wooden roller coaster -- and the wicker straps (are those wicker? I think they're wicker) is sure to cause deep, deep skin abrasions. This woman should be ASHAMED of herself. I expect her to make it to hometowns.


Christen, Christen, Christen. Forget about the jelly roll snap bracelets that are wrapped around the top of your ankles, why is there a loose piece of string dangling off the bottom of your right pant leg? I know this post is supposed to be about footwear, but c'mon Christen, you're on a nationally televised prostitution game show! Clearly when you went on this photo shoot you had to be aware that grown men all over the internet would be magnifying pictures of your feet and writing about it on their (one-time very popular to mildly popular) blogs. Also, what is up with the slalom ski stance that she's posing in?

Shout out Alberto Tomba!

This is Alberto Tomba!

Elizabeth W.

I'm really doing this, huh? I'm really writing an entire post where I just talk about the new Bachelor contestants' footwear? Okay, well, these seem like a decent pair of standard beige pumps, the same color as literally every room in my mother's home, but what's with the platform sole? That just SCREAMS low class. And yeah, I get it, it makes it easier to walk in, but I've never met a woman who snagged herself a man because she could walk. I've also never met a live, non-mouth-breathing woman.


FINALLY something worth masturbating to!

The stringy tie thingies are perfect for wrapping around a man's throat, and the pointy heels could dig into your jugular at just the right angle. This woman clearly knows how to have sex with a man on national television the night before a different woman has sex with the same man (just in a slightly different hotel suite). Haircut's a little too Jewy though.


Ugh, Astrid's rockin' the Pottery Barn special. These shoes look like they were meant to be displayed on some dumb coffee table right next to a bowl of fake apples and flimsy wicker balls. It's a shame because her innie belly button is ON POINT. Unfortunately this is not a blog post about belly buttons this is a blog post about hold up this woman's name is Astrid?!


Pretty sure Rachel had these shoes made by her local cobbler. Ugh, they're horrible. Just horrible. I've also never heard of a black woman named Rachel. Rachel Cobbleberg.



Who knew that Spalding was throwing their hat into the shoe game? If she rotated her shoe a mere 45 degrees to the left you'd see Roger Goodell's signature on the other side. And what's with the cork board heel?! I wanna thumbtack my phone number on there and offer up some SAT prep tutoring. This might be Sacajawea's signature shoe.


Apparently Lacey just finished up touring with Soundgarden. Yeesh. Although I do sort of like that little peek-a-boo ankle. And the buckles are kinda hot too. Don't these women get blisters? I might be gay.



Here is a woman who knows how to perform a colonoscopy. I love everything about Corrinne's shoes: the pointy toe, the spikey heel, the Ukee Washington wrap-a-round straps. Doesn't hurt that her pants are tighter than Fort Knox. This lady is BOUT DAT LYFE. I'm not sure which life that is, I have never actually had a conversation with the kind of woman who'd wear these type of shoes, but I would pay top dollar (probably six bucks) to watch Corrinne smash a watermelon between her thighs.


Well, there's not much Halley can do with those size 14 floppers is there? But I appreciate the simple three-strap leather sandal (also $69 from Evan Piccone). Her feet kind of look like platypuses though, right? Either way, this is a woman who can go to a casual gastro pub by day and frog kick her way across the Pacific Ocean at night. #Respect

Jasmine B.

Chunky heel much?!?! I don't mind the fabric, the fabric is fine (what is that, velvet?) but why is her heel firmly planted on two of Hacksaw Jim Duggan's 2x4's? There is no way that this woman knows who Hacksaw Jim Duggan is.

This is Hacksaw Jim Duggan.


Baby Iiiiii don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight... I LOVE CHEAP THRILLS.

Raven will be starring in the upcoming Marvel movie, "Silver Nips," where she attempts to fight off bloggers who smell her hair whenever they walk past her on the street. That being said, I don't hate Raven's silverados. Also, for the record, there's a guy at work who I'm friends with and our entire relationship is based around talking about Marvel movies except that I have yet to tell him that I have never once seen a Marvel movie.

That'll probably end well.



Ugh, Briana's shoes are disgusting (and her pants don't even fit!).



This is an insult to Dominique Wilkins. What is even going on here?!



I feel like Taylor should be holding a clutch here. With chap stick and lip stick and her ID and credit card and AAA card that expired three years ago but still works because she's hot as fuck and can bat her eyelashes and get anything she wants. How did Hillary Clinton lose the presidency? How do women not run everything? We are seriously the stupidest species on the planet. Her feet look so soft by the way (you can't deny it!).


Her shoes are filthy. Her shoes are legitimately filthy.


While I appreciate the high arching left foot, it's hard not to focus on her enormous, enormous, enormous breasts (and exposed midriff). I can't believe I went this long not talking about chicks' breasts. The rest of the post will be used to do just that.


God dammit.


Monday, October 24, 2016

2016 Sixers Thoughts, Complaints and Other Stuff that I Felt Like Posting on my Blog and my Blog Only and No One Else's

Name a more iconic duo. I'll wait. 

It's been almost 1,000 days since Joel Embiid last stuffed a basketball down a white person's throat.

1,500 since the Sixers were relevant.

And nearly 4,000 since Metta World Peace ran into a crowd and tried to fight an entire city.

And while the whole Malice in the Palace thing has nothing to do with the Sixers' upcoming season, it's important to sometimes sit back and remember that an NBA player once leaped into the stands and ran up 27 rows to pummel an innocent man (and his friend). The Pacers/Pistons melee remains the most incredible sports moment I have ever seen in my life, right along with that time Clint Malarchuk got his throat slashed by a man's ice skate and anytime Manute Bol did anything, ever.

But now the Sixers are ready to do some stuff!

Finally armed with a roster that does not include Isaiah Canaan, it's time to almost sort of maybe care about Sixers basketball. A few weeks ago, when I woke up on the day of Joel Embiid's first preseason game, I registered a whopping 17-feet 3-inches on the JoJo #bonetracker.

When I got home later that evening, I had trouble fitting through my own doorway -- and then subsequently knocked over three lamps on my way to the couch to watch the game. Suffice it to say, Sixers fans are FLYER'D UP for this coming season.

So let's take a look at some of the most compelling storylines going in -- while also complaining about stuff because this is my blog and I can do what I want.

All right, JoJo, enough with the twirly bird shit. 
It's time to ram on people's necks.

Look, we get it. The guy's got good footwork. And I love seeing his little dipsy do's just as much as the next dipshit. But when JoJo catches the ball in the post, faces up, and then shoots that little 15-footer, HE IS BAILING HIS DEFENDER OUT. Not that his jumper's not wet. It is. It is so, so wet. But at 7-foot-9, 485 pounds, not even Hakeem Olajuwon and his magical dream dick can stop him.

There were two possessions this preseason when JoJo seemed to recognize this. On the first, he had a MOUSE IN THE HOUSE and demanded the ball down low, but was called for an offensive foul for being too big and strong for his wimpy defender. On the second, he got the ball, lowered his shoulder and barrelled to the hoop -- and was once again called for an offensive foul. But you know what?


This isn't a goddamn tickle fight!

Make the refs blow their whistles!

In this era of small ball -- as little midgets are running around and whining to the refs any time they get breathed on -- you gotta turn into a guy's chest, stick your elbow in his throat, go straight up and capitalize words at the end of sentences for EMPHASIS.

As a former point guard who played high school ball with Jesse Federman, I like to think that GUARDS.R.E.A.M, but the truth is that big men dominate. That being said, I do love watching JoJo launch threes like Glen Rice, so yeah, I'm honestly not really sure if I really agree with anything I just wrote in this section ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Nik Stauskus is TRASH

I'm sure Nik Stauskus is a very nice person. In fact, I interviewed him once and he was just that: very, very nice. Had the personality of a mailbox, but nice. There was just something missing with him.

Ugh, Nik and his dad look so happy. Now I feel bad for calling him trash. 

That pretty much sums up Nik's game, too. For a knockdown shooter, Nik rarely knocks down shots (which should be enough of a scouting report right there), but he also coughs up the ball anytime anyone applies even the slightest bit of heat on him. And sure, sometimes he'll drive down the lane and mega two-hand ram on some guy's tits and you'll be like, "WHOA, NIK STAUSKUS WITH THE TIT-RAM" but the only reason you react that way is because you would never expect Nik Stauskus to ram on a guy's tits. Because he sucks.

Once again, nice guy. Loved that vid of him hitting 46 straight threes in the rain. Loved when he blew kisses to Michigan State's fans after taking them down. Even loved that corny-ass handshake that he did with his dad on draft night. Just a terrible, terrible basketball player who I will now be calling "Trashcan Johnson" from here on out.

Shoulda signed Matt Barnes!

The biggest mistake the Sixers made this offseason was not going after unrestricted free agent and undeniable lunatic, Matt Barnes. Barnes is known around the league as one of the absolute best teammates (listen to JJ Redick interview him on his podcast -- great story about how in Orlando, Jason Williams called everyone "Bubbs" and when Redick moved to the Clips, he started calling everyone "Bubbs" and then the Clippers flipped it on him and now everyone calls JJ Redick, "Bubbs."). Anyway, Barnes will stand up for his guys on the court and teach them how to shove a guy's face into a Cuisinart off of it. I'm not saying Matt Barnes woulda signed here, but we could've at least offered him more than the paltry 2 years/12 milly that Sactown gave him. C'MON.

Is it real son, is it really real son, let me know it's real son, if it's really real. 

Richaun Holmes is better than Nerlens Noel 

Chew on this bad boy for a sec: In 2011, Nerlens Noel was voted USA Today's High School Player of the Year (Ben Simmons won the award in 2015, Jahlil Okafor in 2014).

For those of you who don't understand words when you read them, that means that Nerlens Noel was considered THE BEST high school player in the country a mere five years ago.

Since then, he has played one year at Kentucky, spent one year rehabbing his knee with a professional basketball organization, and played two years of NBA basketball -- and yet he has still yet to develop one single solitary offensive skill.

On one play this preseason, Nerlens caught a pass in the paint (which is a whole thing in and of itself), then turned and flipped up a right-handed jump hook that missed the entire basket. And while, okay, whatever, sometimes people miss the entire basket, and there are many reasons why a person might miss the entire basket: the ball slipped, the person felt dizzy after running up and down the floor over and over and over again, the person's name is Shawn Bradley, but this type of missing-the-entire-basket-stuff happens with Nerlens ALL THE TIME.

I know, I know, he's a great defensive player. He can guard all five positions. He might be the first player ever to complete a flip dunk. But dude only averaged 1.5 blocks a game last year (which is not that many blocks!) and now he's having a minor surgery on his knee because the words "minor" and "surgery" normally go really well together and that's fine.

Hi Richaun

Then there's Richaun Holmes -- who has no business being better than Nerlens Noel, but is way better than Nerlens Noel. Richaun finishes at the rim. He throws people's shots. And he doesn't blindly fling the ball at the hoop with his off hand like my next-door neighbor Irene. Maybe Nerlens will be better in the future, I don't know. But as far as I can tell, his NBA ceiling is someone like Taj Gibson. And Richaun Holmes's ceiling is also someone like Taj Gibson. And Taj Gibson is not going to make or break your roster, so it's time to cut ties with Nerlens and trade him for a running back who can hold onto the ball when we're trying to milk the clock late in the fourth quarter.

Also, for the record, I think I am one of the 11 people left in the Philadelphia metropolitan area who still thinks that Jahlil Okafor is good. And I get it, I'm not sure if he can co-exist with JoJo either, but at least he can take a round leather ball and put it through a ten-foot hoop. Plus, as a Duke guy, he must know how to play basketball a little bit, and normally when you take a guy who knows how to play basketball and put him next to other guys who also know how to play basketball, they end up all being pretty good at playing basketball together.

I read this article a few weeks ago by Don Nelson about Nellie Ball. Basically, all Nellie was trying to do was find a way to get his five best players on the court at the same time, regardless of position. Essentially, let players who are good at basketball play basketball together and they'll figure it out. I'm not saying the Sixers should do that (especially with a surplus of bigs), but if they did, their best five would be: Ben Richard Simmons Simmons, Dario Saric, Jahlil Okafor, Joel Embiid and a half-pound plastic bag of Cooper Sharp cheese. That being said, I will fucks with Cooper Sharp cheese (and Ben Richard Simmons Simmons) any day of the week.

Shameless plug alert!

A few weeks ago, the Kobe-Evster vid that we made on Comcast Sportsnet won a (regional) Emmy for "Best Sports Interview/Discussion."

First of all, yes, regional Emmys are a thing. I know, I didn't believe it either, but they actually give you real Emmy statues when you win one (sort of). Sadly (and fucking bullshit'ly), CSN did not list my name in the credits as one of the six (6) people who contributed to the video, despite the fact that the Emmy literally has the words "Kobe and Evster Reunited" engraved on it. They also did not give me a trophy, because I'm not a "full-time employee." But hey, as the great Chuck D said, "WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT A GODDAMN GRAMMY?!"

BFF Forevs

TJ McConnell and Sergio Rodriguez are both semi-decent point guards who are perfectly fine and at least know how to play basketball (which is nice)

I know this fall we're supposed to be all excited about Dario Saric and drinking tea and wearing #vests, but it is still REALLY FREAKING SAD that Ben Richard Simmons Simmons got hurt. Don't forget, you're allowed to be sad about that. It's a major, major, major body blow to this franchise. That dude would make this team SO much better, but still, TJ and Sergio are both very capable point guards who in no way, shape or form suck.

Personally, I think Sergio is better at basketball than TJ -- but that TJ is the better basketball player. Does that make sense? I feel like that makes sense. Sergio is niftier, has better skills, a better beard, a wayyyyyyyyy better haircut. But TJ ain't no muthafuckin slouch. He grinds. Has great vision. And is not afraid to get all up in Isaiah Thomas's face when Isaiah is trying to bring the ball up the floor all business casual-like. Also, TJ (ugh, I'm embarrassed to even think this out loud let alone write this) does all the little things that help teams win (sorry).

Other stuff that may or may not be worth talking about

- I think Jerami Grant is not horrible/somewhat good? I like that he attacks he rim. I like that he takes pride in his defense. I'm not saying dude can be Dennis Rodman, but maybe dude can be Dennis Rogbert (my next-door neighbor Irene's father whose name is actually Dan and is absolutely nothing like Dennis Rodman or Dennis Rogbert (who is not real)).

- I know that Brett Brown has had noooooooooo talent whatsoever before this year (and still lacks real talent), but he needs to do SOMETHING with this team. The sheer fact that he played Isaiah Canaan EVER made me really question his basketball IQ. And yes, I realize that I'm a guy who once wrote a 5,000-word article demanding that the Sixers sign Chaz Villanueva, but I stand by that article and by his totally bonkers wife. Brett Brown on the other hand? I dunno. He needs to lay down the hammer more. I still think that Chuck Villanueva would be a solid veteran pickup by the way, especially as a guy who could show Ben Richard Simmons Simmons how to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on Lamborghinis.


- I think Gerald Henderson is fine, whatever.

- Robert Covington is also fine, sure.

- Jerryd Bayless is muh dude.

- I was really skeptical about how KD would fit in with Golden State this year. Based on the Hakeem/Clyde/Charles/Scottie Rockets and the Shaq/Kobe/GP/Mailman Lakers and the Kobe/Pau/Nash/Dwight Lakers and the Rodman/Rogbert/Dan/Ding Dong Bing Bongs, I really wasn't sure what to expect. Then I watched one of their first preseason games and they kept popping the ball around, swinging it from side to side, passing and moving and passing and moving like they always do, and then the ball got to KD and he just pounded the dribble and jacked up an off-balance 20-footer and I thought this is going to be a nightmare. Then, a week later, I saw this video and am now convinced that they are going to be the greatest team in the history of everything.

- I saw a great movie the other day on Netflix called Güeros. It's a Mexican film, and it's really slow and really dry, but it's also really funny and really subtle and really well-shot and really sweet and I absolutely loved it. It's basically about a little brother who is sent to live with his older, slacker brother in Mexico City, and the two of them and their idiot roommate go on a little journey to find some dying musician. But the movie's not really about that, it's about other stuff, and I can't imagine that any of you fuck face Billy Ripkens will actually watch it, but if you do I will give you a free subscription to TVMWMWMMWWM for life.

- Here are some guys who I am looking forward to see play this year: Zach Lavine, Kris Dunn, Karl Anthony-Towns, Andrew Wigglesworth, every single player in the history of the T-Wolves franchise, Eric Bledsoe, Kristaps Porzingis, Tomas Satoransky (he's a foreign dude on the Wizards and he's absolutely incredible), John Wall, Russy (obvs), everyone on the Warriors (obvs), literally everyone in the whole league, Kawhi, Kyrie, Bron-Bron, Dame Dolla, Kemba, Rondo, D-Wade and Butler together (I mean, all three dudes know how to play basketball, how are they not gonna be good?), Blake, DeAndre, DeAndre, DeAndre, J-Crossover, Nic Batum, literally everyone, Julius Randle, how could you possibly still be reading this, Jabari Parker, Kenneth Faried, Elfrid Payton, Emmanuel Mudiay, seriously everyone, Dario Saric, how did I not talk about Dario more in this article, Gary Harris, Steven Adams, Andre Iguodala, Joakim Noah, Dennis Rogbert, Dennis Frogbert, Dennis Johnson RIP, Dennis the Menace, my brother's next-door neighbor who is named TJ and honestly reminds me so much of Dennis the Menace, he sometimes shows up at their house and knocks on all their windows to see if they're home and I recently played a game with him called "let's throw sticks at that tree" where we took sticks and threw them at a tree, Matt Barnes, Lance Stephenson.

All right, enough of all this blibber blabber!

Enjoy the season, everybody!

It's showtime!