This video of the Dallas Stars’ Ice Girls frolicking in bikinis on a yacht is a couple days old now, but I never posted it over the holidays and today is slow as hell, so here you go. Titties and sunshine. Makes me feel awesome about it being December in New York City.

[Fan IQ]

Ben Rhodes and Steve Morrison will be sailing for England in the Olympics, but the IOC has nixed the name of their boat: "Jackie Big Tits," a reference to the song by the Kooks.  Rhodes and Morrison, who have a history of naming their boats after songs and musicians, handled the setback in stride.

[W]ith Olympic bigwigs sticking their oar in, Stevie and Ben have no choice but to give up their Big T**s. They will now compete under the banner Little Miss Pipedream, after THE WOMBATS’ track.

What a bunch of pussies, changing the name just so they can participate in the stupid Olympics.  I would've been all, "Sure, sure, we'll change it."  Then on race day, BAM!  Blowjob Betty.

[This Suit Is Not Black] 

This too clever by half introduction video for the Harvard Sailing Team is certainly worth, if not a full belly laugh, at least a few knowing titters. It almost makes you forget for a moment that Ivy Leaguers are generally horrible careerist assholes who use their alma mater as a self-defining quality and only associate with one another. Also, these particular Harvard kids enjoy sailing, which is totally out of character for the privileged. What's not to hate?

That tall bespectacled guy is a little prematurely bald, so he's probably not worthy of your complete contempt. Oh, who am I kidding? My real concern is about as convincing as the forced empathy these students are trying to feign in the video. I knew I shouldn't have made my application essay about eating the rich.

Note: Some helpful commenter pointed out the Harvard Sailing Team is a NYC-based comedy troupe. Eh, I stand by my contempt of the Ivies. Damn my state college-addled brain!

A British man sailing solo across the Atlantic suffered an injury on the deck of his yacht, prompting him to call his local pub for help and making me want to get a LifeAlert necklace that connected me to

Alan Thompson, 61, was 600 miles (960 kilometres) off the coast of Bermuda when he injured his pelvis in a fall on his 37-foot (11.3-metre) yacht, the Padolu, on Saturday. But rather than putting out a general SOS, he picked up his satellite phone and called the landlord of his local, the Bull's Head, in Fishbourne near the port city of Southampton. "We received a call from him saying he was in trouble. He said he'd been on deck and taken a fall," said 62-year-old publican Roger Pocock … 

How badly do I want a BoozeCall necklace right now?  "Help… I'm sober, and I need a beer!" Dispatcher: "We're sending a cocktail immediately, Mr. Ufford." 

The Briton, whose yacht was not insured, initially did not want to leave the vessel. "He was upset at the fact he was going to have to leave it," said a spokesman for Falmouth Coastguard

Dude, don't even get me started on how expensive yacht insurance is.  That's one of the biggest problems our country has in terms of taking care of rich people.

If you're anything like me, your tolerance for alcohol has steadily improved since your First Holy Communion party when you were 7.  Unfortunately, we have all sorts of crazy laws in this country preventing one from driving to one whiskey bar after another, so I'm forced to sip my J.J.&S in my mother's car-hold.  I could always employ another conveyance, like my yacht, but not in Spain:

Yacht owners in Spanish resorts may be breathalysed after police found revellers were sailing home from parties to avoid being caught drink-driving . . . "We have reason to believe that some boat owners are not using their car after drinking but are using their yachts," said Luis Gestoso, the head of Murcia's civil protection body.

Whenever the Coast Guard pulls my canoe over, I just tell them I'm competing in the America's Cup and lost my way.  Those drunken Spaniards could try that tactic.  Either that, or say you're part of the Spanish Armada.  Just tell them you hit a time warp in the seas near the Hebrides – cops are very receptive to explanations involving a cosmic rip in the space-time continuum.  Anyway, at least we can party on the waterways in this country.  There's always a canal, inlet or fjord around if you look hard enough. -KD