Well, mostly. The other point of this blog was to tell the truth about chicks who dig sports, and one of those cold truths? We ogle. Oh, we can rattle off batting averages and ERA and WHIP and yards rushed and goals attempted and shit like that until the cows come home, but when it comes down to it, sometimes a girl just has to check out some soccer calves, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
Or you could just look at Cesc Fabregas, now that he's gotten rid of his horrifying mullet. I'm a soccer fangirl. Don't you judge me.
So we're instituting Fangirl Fridays. These are the days when all our principles go out the window and we just ogle the pretty. Sometimes, we'll have a point. (An All-Star Fangirl Friday before the All-Star game, A Frozen Four Fangirl Friday, maybe an NCAA Fangirl Friday that I'll just stare at as it goes by, wondering who in the hell the other ladies are talking about.) Most of the time? It's a free for all. Feel free to suggest your own Fangirl Friday hotties in the comments. We'll try to find you something pretty.
Before we get to the pretty this week, we'd be remiss if we didn't wise the divine Queen E congratulations today. Today, our little baby girl graduates from the finest school in the land (not that I'm biased), the University of Pittsburgh. As a fellow alum, I can tell you that Queen E and I insist that the next time you're in Pittsburgh, you simply must chow down on some Fuel and Fuddle Nachos. (Truly, she's about to learn that those nachos are the first thing you miss when you move out of Souf Oaklin.) Congratulations, Queen E. We're all so very proud of you.
Without further ado, I bring you this week's Friday Fangirl.
First up, we have Queen E's selections.
Michael Beasley sad makes me go "Awwwww," and just wanna rub his broad shoulders and kiss his red head and tell him it'll be okayyy...okay so maybe not that innocent but uhhhh...he's only 19.
I still want to bash Gerald Henderson Junior in the face, but it's a pretty, pretty face. And him getting dunked on is HOTT.
And finally, Terrence Williams has a sleeve. 'Nuff said. Nobody has made me happier the last 2 years when I've seen him in person. He told a drunk girl in the Pitt crowd last year to shush, and then hit a fallaway three pointer. I want his children.
Laser Rocket Arm says:
Here is some Joshua Patrick. Please to be posting him.
Maggie here. Here's a story about Josh Beckett, whom you will find I affectionately call Hot Pockets. Why, you may ask, would I call him Hot Pockets? Well, you see, I was watching the 2007 ALCS with some good friends. (HA. What I mean is that I was sitting on the couch with my laptop on my lap and chatting with some lovely ladies all across this vibrant land. Hi, Ladies of the Cinco Ocho Nacho Mojo.) Anyway, Beckett was dealing, as he does in the postseason, and threw a particularly sexy fastball right across the plate to close out an inning and stalked off the mound while some genius (and I am not being sarcastic in the least- this may have been the best bumper music decision OF ALL TIME) cued up The Pixies' 'Here Comes Your Man.' (Seriously, it may have been the single hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire adult life.) After we managed to stop ourselves from trying to make out with the television, we were listing things he'd have to give us in order to make out with him. 'I'd let him make out with me for a free taco from Taco Bell,' 'I'd let him make out with me for some fries and a cookie' and, finally, 'I'd let him make out with me for a coupon for some Hot Pockets.' Look, it may not seem all that hilarious now, but when you're three glasses of wine down and playoffs-tired, it's fucking hilarious. Thus, I'd make out with Josh Beckett for a coupon for Hot Pockets.
Uh, as you were. Don't judge me.
And, since I already explained to you the inherent hotness of a good baseball fight, I'll let Lisa weigh in with our final Fangirl Friday selection.
You see, Lisa joins me in having a whole lot of seriously sicksadwrong crushes on some diseased thugs simply because we find things out that certain diseased thugs once stiffarm tackled a guy into a coma in high school. (Seriously, that's hot. How is that not hot?)
And then when she finds pictures like the below of certain sicksadwrong crushes (Hi, Shockey. Please get traded so I don't have to feel bad about wanting to make out with you, provided you get a full physical and an okay from three doctors, kthnx.) the logical thing to do is provide all and sundry with a map of her perviness. Y'all, this kind of shit is why we love Lisa.
