Oh yeah! Muthafuckin GOLF!!! Drivers! Fine-ass cheerstrippers! This is EXXXTREME GOLF! Wait, golf's too much of a pussy word! This is THUNDERBALL!!! Putting? FUCK putting! You want sand traps? We've got QUICKSAND traps! Mayhem! Chaos! Feel the burn! Buzzwords!!!
You can watch this video if you want, but I guarantee you're only gonna get dumber.
Upper Deck, in a futile effort to make baseball cards interesting and relevant again, has produced a new line of cards SO rare, SO valuable that your mind will be unable to fathom the creativity that led to this: cards of deceased players and historical figures featuring a piece of that person's hair. For really real. From the Upper Deck press release via SportsStuff at the Orlando Sentinel:
What did people collect before baseball cards? Well, some truly passionate collectors would sometimes write to their heroes asking for a lock of hair. After all, what could be more personal than that? Frequently locks of hair were garnered from famous U.S. Presidents, war heroes and other personalities throughout history and passed on through their families.
After acquiring locks of hair from a variety of famous personalities along with extremely rare cut signatures, Upper Deck is pleased to bring “Hair Cuts” cards to the market beginning with 2008 SP Legendary Cuts Baseball…
“One hundred years ago, if someone famous came to town, you didn’t ask for an autograph, you asked for a snippet of their hair and this is something that is steeped in Victorian tradition,” said [archivist John] Reznikoff.
Oh yeah, Victorian tradition. That's something we should all hold in high regard. Especially their hygiene and medical practices. "Hey guys, I'm not feeling well — think I'm gonna head down to the barbershop and get cut so I lose some of this bad blood." "Right on, dude. Way to keep it real Victorian-style."
Wizards loudmouth DeShawn Stevenson — he of the "I can't feel my face" gesture when his team is losing by 15 — was obviously unhappy with merely calling LeBron James overrated and playing defense with flagrant fouls against the best player in the Eastern Conference (also known as the "Rape-a-Bron" tactic). None of those actions alienated the full 100% of casual fans glancing at the Cavs-Wiz series.
So yeah, showing up in a Michael Vick jersey should probably do it.
Whatever, he doesn't have any balls until he wears a Rae Carruth jersey. Because only 98 or 99 percent of all people are against dogfighting. You really need to come out in support of murdering pregnant girlfriends if you want to make sure people know you're a dick.
I tried to avoid this story because it's an obvious ploy for attention and — even worse — it's about hockey, but here it is: New York Rangers bad boy Sean Avery will serve as an unpaid intern at Vogue magazine this summer, meaning that he's moving from one dying industry right into another.
Avery, who makes $2 million a year with the Rangers and has cavorted with starlets since his days with the Los Angeles Kings, initiated the contact with Vogue editor Anna Wintour. "He is ridiculously obsessed with fashion," Avery's publicist Nicole Chabot told ABCNews.com. "He loves it more than anything in the world. It's something he has always wanted to do."
Chabot admits Avery is an agitator in the "old-style" of hockey and a "blabber mouth," but off ice the player is "surprisingly articulate, creative and savvy," she said. He's also charming, she noted. "There is not a woman that doesn't fall in love with him in five minutes."
Chabot must not be up to speed on her blog-reading, because Sean Avery is pretty much the only dude to ever get turned down by Paris Hilton.
And dude, I don't care how much you love Project Runway, no straight man — even a millionaire sports star — should ever try to brave the Vogue offices. Those stylish, thin creatures working there only look like women; they've long since lost any connection to humanity. It's like going to work in a beehive, if you filled a beehive with cats.
Cowboys All-Pro wide receiver Terrell Owens makes a chance appearance (thumbnail below) in this very, VERY NSFW (not safe for work, in case you're new) collection of hardcore pornographic images at BangBros, surprising the two or three people who held on to some kind of pitiful hope that he wasn't a self-absorbed idiot. I'm cool with appearing in pornography — who doesn't dabble in a little gay bondage to get through college? — but I imagine this is the sort of thing that NFL ReichsCommizioner Herr Goodell won't look upon fondly. Here's the story that goes along with the, ahem, "photo essay" at BangBros.
I was cruising the Beach this week on Spring Break. I was looking for hot young babes who were into a little fun. Preferably the ones that take off all their clothes on camera and suck dick. I saw a lot of hot babes along the beach, but none that were willing [Ed. note: Prudes]. That's when I ran into Vanessa Lee, a hot babe that had done a couple shoots with us, she was bored walking around and as soon as she saw me she wanted to tag along. I got her to show me her ass and her titties in the back of my Jeep while we were cruising around the beach. In front of everyone she took off her panties and showed off her round, luscious, big, tanned Vanessa Lee ass. That Ass was incredible, it was so perfect you can put a drink on it and it would be stable. So I watched her play with herself for a while, until
You can imagine where it goes from there. I kept hoping they'd have tea and discuss Robespierre, but if they did it's only available to paying members of the site.
[HT: The Dirty] UPDATE: 289 got his hands on a screencap of TO's laptpop (above).
When you spend all day on the Internet like I do, you see some fucked up and pathetic things. But this may take the cake. I hope, I pray, I plead to my aloof God that this website is an elaborate ruse. It's called "Can the Cubs Mend My Heart?" and there's not really any way I can put it into words. A man in Chicago dated a woman for nine months, she broke up with him, and now he's made a website about the break-up, his broken heart, and (I suppose, eventually) about the Cubs. By all means, explore for yourselves. This isn't even CLOSE to the most pathetic excerpt:
Not sure if I’m over reacting… being a whiny little puss… taking a major risk and putting myself WAY out there for some major embarrassment (boy did this take some HUGE cojones). But, hey… I did it! I went nuts and made this site. Seriously… nuts. I worked on it for 15 straight hours today, didn’t leave the house, and all I ate were some raisins I found in the cabinet (I travel so much for work, that there’s basically no friggin food in my house… and of course, [my girlfriend] always made wonderful things for me to eat). Man, my mom’s gonna kill me when she reads that. [...]
p.s. What if she realizes she made a huge mistake, and comes back? What do I do? (She told me that it’s possible she’s making a mistake, but right now this is how she feels. I told her I can’t sit around and wait for her… I’ve gotta move on. She knows that. )
Oh man this guy's gonna get DESTROYED. The first rule of the Internet is that you don't talk about your feelings unless you're cloaked in at least four layers of irony and/or anonymity. Those are the twin beacons of safety in the Wild Web West. Sincere people on the Internet are like an 18th century infant with small pox and polio: their life will be a cruel, short existence.
Dude, there's only one effective salve for a broken heart: time away from the broad and copious amounts of whiskey. It sure as fuck ain't the Cubs. Not with Kerry Wood as the closer.
