In my pants. Said party commences immediately, now that you have some time and energy after swimming one of the most grueling programs in the history of the Olympics, winning more gold medals than any Olympian EVER, winning more gold medals in a single Olympics than anyone EVER, and breaking SEVEN world records in the process.
Also encouraged to attend the party in my pants are your eight gold medals, your seven world records, and all of your relay teammates, ESPECIALLY one Mr. Jason Hotass Lezak. You're pretty fucking awesome, Phelps, but we all know this wouldn't have been possible without that other lightning fast hotness.
Required attire: Nothing but swim caps, baby. Actually, Phelps is the only one required to wear the cap. For my own personal reason.
The shindig should look like this, but with less clothing:
Oooooh.
I can't even, like, form a coherent thought when I look at that group of manflesh. I wish there were a way for me to be the meat in that quadruple decker sammich. Perhaps I can work something out with the magic of Photoshop? I dunno.
It's been a long seven days of suspense, people, so let's just sit back and look at that bod, think nasty thoughts, and then look at the bod again:
Speedo, I do believe I owe you some royalties for the appearances these trunks make in my dreams. But just a very small percentage, since they're not on for long.
Oh, to be the person attached to that hand (without the artificial nails, of course). Or even that granola bar. Hell, at this point I'll take what I can get.
Um......
Phelps, I love you so much I don't even care that you cup your left breast during the National Anthem. You know that's not where your heart is, right? Well, you're a superhuman, so perhaps that IS where your heart is located...
Not only is this fine gold medal winning machine an excellent athlete AND easy on the eyes, HE'S ALSO TRYING TO SAVE ELLIS ISLAND:
Are you fucking serious, Favre? I should have known the prospect of not having to listen to various commentators verbally fellate you every Sunday was too good to be true. I'll admit that I cheered a little (okay, a lot) when you kicked the Seahawks' ass in the playoffs. Believe it or not, I actually hate Matt Hasselbeck even more than I hate you. That's one of the two things you had going for you. Now I think this retirement bullshit is just an excuse for you to have a good public cry every year without anyone calling you a pussy.
Do us all a favor, Favre. Give it up. Live on your farm in Mississippi, ride around on your tractor, go fishing, and watch NASCAR until your plaid La-Z-Boy chair has your ass print permanently embedded in it. Do whatever it is you rednecks love to do in your downtime. Stay away from the football field. I appreciate your contribution to the game, sir, but if I wanted to watch a middle-aged man engage in self-destructive behavior, I'd watch The Two Coreys.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The epically boring first round of the 2008 NFL Draft is over, and thus ends our liveblogging. I know you all are devastated (or thrilled, depending on whether or not you're a humorless asshole). And now, because that travesty that didn't even feature ONE PERSON I COULD LAUGH AT sucked away four hours of my life that I can never get back, I'm going to go take a nap and waste two more hours of my life that I can never get back.
Maggie: Aqib Talib is a pothead? I kind of love this.
Lisa: HAHA. REDSKINS GOT PWNED
Maggie: WAIT, WHAT HAPPENED?
Lisa: Aw, Sean Taylor. They just replayed the Pats/Skins game. The 52-7one.
Maggie: Oh. That game was beautiful.
Lisa: Sean Taylor still makes me sad.
Maggie: Well, it's kind of a whole depressing thing. Has it been, like, a half an hour since the last pick, or is it just me?
Lisa: It seems like it. GOD DAMN, QUIT TRADING. Sam Baker looks Amish.
Maggie: What the FUCK is Atlanta doing? GOD DAMN, WHY ARE YOU THROWING PICKS AFTER THIS? Wait, have we seriously not seen any WRs drafted?
Lisa: I do not believe we have, no.
Maggie: THAT? Is deeply strange.
Lisa: This draft is kind of boring.
Maggie: You're just bored because you can't mock Brady Quinn this year.
Lisa: There's NO ONE to mock this year. Very sad. Oh, here we go. This had better not be a trade.
Maggie: For real. I will cut a bitch. Dude, Felix Jones looks like he's forty years old.
Lisa: He does. Perhaps we have another Miguel Tejada on our hands.
Maggie: I think we have to. No way is that guy 23 or under.
Lisa: Perhaps we need to do some investigative journalism.
Maggie: Like what? 'Hey, anyone know how old Felix Jones is?' Oh, hey, Steelers drafted a running back. Sweet.
Lisa: I fell asleep for a minute, this draft is so boring.
Maggie: This is, in fact, boring as shit. How many fucking picks do we have left in the first round.
Lisa: Devin Thomas looks pissed at the world. Eight. What is the purpose of Keyshawn's tie clip?
Maggie: To make my brain bleed. Why is he SHOUTING? And why is his pocket square green? Nothing else in that outfit is even close to green.
Lisa:To match the color of nausea one feels when they see his outfit. And the little checks on his shirt are green. It's GREEN GINGHAM, for God's sake.
Maggie: Okay, they look navy. I have been fooled by the gingham.
Lisa: Does Chris Johnson have gold teeth?
Maggie: Either that, or a terrible dentist. Jesus. Note: Still no Devin Thomas selection. I feel like he might start getting a little mad if they keep putting him on camera.
Lisa: Even I feel bad, and I enjoy other people's misery.
Maggie: Seriously, wasn't he supposed to go, like, fifteen picks ago? Aqib the pothead went before him. And this is officially the dumbest conversation ever on my TV. Drafted wide receivers rarely make an immediate impact? SAY IT AIN'T SO.
Lisa: Seriously, all I hear is 'BLAH BLAH BAL, BLAH!'
Maggie: Oh, poor DeSean Jackson, playing with his phone, like, 'Well, maybe it's broken.'
Lisa: Houston should take him. Wait, LIMAS SWEED? WHAT THE HELL IS WITH THESE NAMES?
Maggie: I have no idea. Dallas takes Mike Jenkins and we STILL haven't drafted a single WR. What the fish?
Lisa: It's an overrated position.
Maggie: Still. Apparently, this is the year of the defensive back. Is it funny or horrifying that Seattle gets Pearl Jam for its music?
Lisa: Horrifying.
Maggie: Which makes it funny. Oh, GOD, this is the longest first round ever.
Lisa: Horrifying is always funny. Unless it's a clown or a tweezer to the eye.
Maggie: Thank you for that eye image. I'm calling you at 3 AM when I can't sleep.
Lisa: I wish the Germ would get traded already. Can you fail a physical because of herpes?
Maggie: No. Just ask Ron Mexico.
Lisa: I think prison physicals are less stringent. Like, they only involve a glove and a finger.
Maggie: Mmm. Smells like romance.
Lisa: Smells like ghetto romance.
Darren McFadden and Felix Jones, or your newest Raider and Cowboy, respectively. Yep. I'm going to get a lot of mileage out of this one.
MaggieI think Chris Berman is mocking Arizona. I think it's awesome.
LisaI hate them all. Dude, that suit.It gets worse with time.
Maggie: I keep hoping it's all been a hallucination brought on by too many hot wings and too much beer.
Lisa: I have had neither, and I can see it.
Maggie: Shit. There goes that dream.
Lisa: Mel Kiper Jr. reminds me of Sam Eagle from the Muppets.
Maggie: Exactly this. Except a little more dweeby. Like Sam Eagle with a pocket protector.
Lisa: Time for Matt Millen's annual fuckup. Which WR shall we take this year?
Maggie: Maybe they'll shock us and do something effective. Maybe the rivers will run red with blood, too.
Lisa:Well, Jon Kitna IS thisclose to Jesus. So it's possible.
Maggie: That's true. They are BFFs. I bet they'd braid each other's hair if Kitna had any. Oh, here we go. What? The Lions drafted Cherilus? Tackle. Well.
Lisa: GODSDER? SERIOUSLY? You should name your first child XOSDER. You know, for Red Sox.
Maggie: I totally should. And then I should name my second one 'My mom is a dumbass.'
Lisa: I like it.
Maggie: Sweet damn, Joe Flacco has one eyebrow.
Lisa: HELLO, UNIBROW. Kyle Boller, watch your butt. I will be as well. ZING!
Oh, Flaccos, you should not be this excited about your son moving to Baltimore. Trust me.
Maggie: How in the hell does UDel have a 1st round QB? This hurts my soul.
Lisa: Did these people have a Ravens hat standing by?
Maggie: I would imagine they bought all of them, just in case. I mean, the kid's about to get paid, it's not like they can't afford it.
Lisa: But...hats are expensive.
Maggie: Kid's about to get PAID.
Lisa: Well, maybe he can afford an eyebrow wax.
Maggie: UGH. Tell me I didn't just hear an Eagles chant. I hate that chant. I hate that chant with every fiber of my dark and twisted soul. And how fucking SHOCKING, Philly gets the 'Rocky' theme as their music. Shut up, all of you.
Lisa: I really hate Ron Jaworski.
Maggie: I'm not allowed to hate him. They kill people for that in Philly. Why do you think we have such a high murder rate? PS: Every one of those Eagles fans have been drunk since Thursday. Aaaaaaaaaaaand they trade the pick. Shocking. What the fuck did we even get for that? I say 'we' like I don't hate the Eagles.
Lisa: You get to suck it, Philly.
Maggie: Oh, the military is on stage. I was wondering what was up with the U!S!A! chant. What's with the guy in the Texas jersey? Does Texas love America more than the rest of us? Wait, what is with that trade? Oh, dear, I think the Eagles just did something vaguely smart. I don't think I can handle this.
Lisa: If my internet doesn't stop cutting out I will cut a bitch. Lauren just came in here and said, "What in the fuck is Keyshawn wearing?"
Maggie: That's awesome. Who are they booing? Oh, the Patriots are up. FUCK ALL Y'ALL, HATERS. Wait, we drafted Jerod Mayo? It is going to HURT MY SOUL to root for a dude form Tennessee.
Lisa: Fangirl whore
Maggie: Well, fuck you, too.
Lisa: Not you, dumbass, the actual fangirl whore they just showed clapping her hands.
Maggie: Oh, okay. In that case, I concur. Fuck that dumb bitch.
Lisa: At least she wasn't wearing pink.
Maggie: First person to make a wiseass comment about a black dude playing in Boston gets punched.
Lisa: I never knew until this season that Boston had a racist stigma.
Maggie: Yeah, well. Haters need fuel. Motherfuckers.
Lisa: Jesus Christ, that suit. Looking at Keyshawn's suit must be what people felt like when they first saw the Wizard of Oz in technicolor.
Maggie: I cannot even begin to DEAL with that suit. I also cannot deal with the fact that I just thought to myself 'Self, Steve Young is a good looking man.'
Lisa: But he IS, Mags. There is nothing disturbing about it.
Maggie: Yeah, but it's STEVE YOUNG. I hate the 49ers.
Lisa: He is no longer a 49er. Leodis McKelvin to Buffalo? Leodis? The hell?
Maggie: I don't even know who that is, but Leodis might be my new favorite name ever.
Lisa: It is awesome, I will give you that
Maggie: I DO NOT CARE ABOUT AUTO RACING. DRAFT, FUCKERS, DRAFT. Also, I'm just going to mock those Chicago fans. Seriously, it's a special kind of awesome when your team drafts a brand new tackle with their first pick and the camera cuts to the fans who are all 'Who?' Poor Chris Williams. Oh, look, they're playing the tomahawk chop music for the Chiefs. How deliciously racist.
Jerod Mayo is very happy about getting to play for the Pats. As he should be. Shut up, haters.
I have but seven true loves in my life. They are as follows:
7. Jeremy Shockey
6. Days which have a high temperature of 60 degrees and under
5. Corn on the cob
4. A well executed public Rickroll
3. New Kids On The Block (make fun of me and I will SMITE YOU)
2. The NFL
1. People getting booed at the Draft
That's right, folks. I take pleasure in these poor fools, most of whom can barely even rent a car, getting humiliated on a national stage. And if the people doing the humiliating are middle-aged drunk bastards wearing face paint? Even better. I mean, it literally took me 5 minutes to stop crying from glee after this gem:
The unfortunate thing about the dark period that begins the first Sunday after the Pro Bowl (you bet you sweet ass I watch it) and ends with the start of mandatory training camp, is that my life becomes a black abyss completely void of all sports, and therefore, joy. Basketball? Wake me up after the playoffs end in roughly 10 years. NASCAR? Hell no. Golf? Only if I'm playing it on a Wii. Baseball? Well, the best description of baseball I ever read was in my most favorite book of all time ever, A Prayer For Owen Meany, in which it was described as "a game with increasingly heightened anticipation of increasingly limited action." Word, John Irving. Word.
But I digress. In order to protect my precious brain from those things which bore the ever-loving shit out of me, I completely stop watching ESPN in the offseason. That, combined with the fact that I could give a rat's ass about college football (unless it's the Longhorns - Hook 'Em!), means that I know virtually NOTHING about this year's draft class. The only player I'm familiar with is Chris Long, and that's just because I wanted to see if his head is as square as his father's (Answer: yes - although if you look here, you will see that it vaguely resembles the state of Ohio).
I'm trying to school myself on the future of the NFL, but I find myself unable to get past this Wikipedia entry on Darren McFadden filed, interestingly, under "Character Concerns":
" McFadden's selection number in the upcoming draft is subject to varying speculation. He has been criticized for possible character concerns that stem from two nightclub altercations and the hiring of a lawyer to handle his paternity problems. McFadden is expecting a potential child later this year, as one of two paternity tests came back negative, with the other test results due sometime in mid-April."
Potential children? Nightclub altercations? If he makes it rain, you can sign me right the hell up for that train wreck.
If we can look past the rankings, value charts, and debates over who is going to be this year's Mike Williams, I think we can all agree that this year we won't see a moment as enjoyable as a crestfallen Brady Quinn seeing his NFL dreams slip quickly out of his grasp, or anything remotely close to being as completely fucking AWESOME as this:
My main concern with this draft isn't who my SUPER BOWL CHAMPION GIANTS (SUCK IT PATRIOTS, SUCK. IT. HARD.) are going to pick up to help them make another run at kicking the shit out of Tom Brady (yes, I know I'm kidding myself here), it's who's going to get booed. I don't know about you people, but I'm hoping it's Mel Kiper, Jr. Perhaps the concentrated ire directed straight at his dome piece will finally be enough to get his hair to deflate. C'mon Saturday!
