Pass The What Now?

27 03 2013

Smack dab in the middle of Holy Week, a few days into Passover, and just a hop, skip, and a jump away from all those God fearing souls getting to once again openly partake in the lovely, tasty, and intoxicating things that they’ve been lying about abstaining from for the past 40 days. What a perfect time for some more ramblings from the religious correspondents desk, eh? My thoughts exactly.

Seriously though, Lent is like the half retarded offspring of New Year’s resolutions and rehab after a 7 minute teenage closet romp, think about it; it comes with twice the guilt ramifications if you can’t follow through and take care of it, or like forget it at the mall or something. But fear not ye Sunday morning sodomites, lent is not on the chopping block, this week I will be focusing on your Hebrew brethren.

Given that grizzly beards and a proficiency with numeros are not inherent traits to the men of my family, I had to do some digging to find out what this Passover thing is really about. Let me tell ya, its a pretty wacky party. Apparently, a couple years back a little dude named Moses, yep, that guy, got tired of scrapping sand out of his crack while being whipped a top a pyramid and decided to do something about it.

But given his passive aggressive nature, clearly depicted here, he thought it best to just walk it off rather than throw down with an early member of what is now known as the Mossad. So he rounds up his crew, lights up a fatty and goes for a little stroll round the block to cool down. However, a mixture of short term memory loss and a powerful lust for camel’s milk causes Moses to lead his buddies on a little detour into the dessert, where they spend the next 40 years wandering around. Effectively carving in stone the rule that has been passed down through the ages; you never leave the high dude in charge of the directions. Thanks chief, now we know.

Obviously Moses needs to be celebrated for his blunderous discovery that has saved the future generations hours of aimless driving around. Well, except those two jokers in the movie who refused to just order a damn happy meal at the nearest drive through. Must not have heard this story growing up, though if memory serves they were neighbors with a couple of pot heads with ‘stein’ in their last names, thought they may have mentioned it. Nevertheless, I think I’m going to far surpass my allowed limit for stereotypes in this one, so we’ll leave trying to rationalize the chaotic decision making that comes from Asians getting behind the wheel to the professionals.

Ha, good stuff. Back to the man of the hour. How does one properly celebrate this monumental hero who buckled up and doubled the amount of coarse fragments between his cheeks for the good of us all? Most would be calling for strippers and cocaine, but no way Bubba, no amount of white girl, powdered or popping naked out of a cake, can hold a candle to what these party animals got going on.

They kick er off in the same fashion as any good bender, with a big meal; or ‘Seder’ as it is known in the Kingdom of Judah. However, the meal is prepared in a way to commiserate their ancestors who followed Stoner Jew out into the desert not knowing they would be walking for 40 years. Most of them wore through their sandals within the first week, and because of this the Jewish children are served the soles from last years back to school shoes, aka ‘Matzah’ as a way of paying homage.

Even Obama was enjoying chowin down on his old basketball sneaker earlier this week in Israel.



From there its seven more days of none stop orgy like craziness. They got pyrotechnics, sing a longs, trivia games, endurance contests, and enough distilled wheat liquor and wine to drown Ireland.

Anyone else ready to convert?

I’m Sold.


Your unofficial religious correspondent,

How Did They Even Make It This Far?

13 03 2013

First off I gotta throw out a little apology to my main man JD and all the loyal followers of the Underrated Hottie. Unbeknownst to me, you guys had already gotten the low down on that stone cold fox Gina C back in May of last year. Wasn’t trying to steal your thunda big dog, though I will say she certainly is of the caliber worthy of a second look. In fact, if anyone wants to do a little compare and contrast on our mild obsession with the woman warrior, here is his briefs-crowding wisdom:

Ok, I’m gona go out on a limb here and try and break in a new on going category for the mime, so let me know what you think. This list could go for days and days and will feature some of the DUMBEST human beings to ever have walked God’s green earth. I know, I know, how will we ever choose, right? Well, it will be tough but luckily there is no shortage of inspiration for this one and your friends here at the mime are willing to roll up our shirt sleeves and sift through the shit for ya to find the true gems.

If your one of those people who thinks it bad form to speak ill of the dead then fair warning, this list will not be for you. But think about it, if you are on the level of shire idiocy as the sorry sacks who’s names end up appearing below, without a doubt at some point your moronic behaviors will lead to your demise. And this is America after all, we love poking fun at other peoples shortcomings. So buck up.

Without further ado here we go.

Having the distinct honor of being our first ever character that natural selection should have stripped from this world a long, long time ago we have… Drum roll please…


That’s right, its Natasha Harris; everyone’s favorite ‘coke head’ and no I’m not talking about those delicious nose clams that rhyme with propane here, Coca-Cola was her drug of choice. Yep, she actually managed to drink herself to death on soda pop. And before you wisenhimers jump all up in my grill, no Coke is not putting cocaine in their product again. But that would be ammmaaizzziiing!

However, this is old news, well her death is at least, but it has recently been brought up in a new light due to a coroner’s findings that this mother of 8 who met her maker back in 2010 was addicted to the sugary beverage.

Let me be clear here on what I mean by “addicted” cause we aint talking a few cans a day or any sort of equivalency to you so called “caffeine addicts” still chugging along with us today. This New Zealander would throw back more than two gallons of polar bear syrup a day! Yea you read it right, A DAY! But c’mon GBz, she was a big ol gal, she could probably handle her intake, right? Meh, I’m no doctor, but apparently she also mixed in a few packs of cigs and had a food intake similar to that of a Sudanese orphan. Jesus, maybe eat a Big Mac every now and again and you wouldn’t have to fuel up on straight diabetes to stay awake you loon! Might not be the best example but you get what I’m sayin.

What did Natasha have to show for her addiction? Well, she had developed cardiac arrhythmia, an enlarged liver, her teeth had been removed because of decay and she had heroin addict like withdrawals that would even turn violent when she couldn’t get her carbonated fix. And of course, there is the biggy- a ticker that quit on her at age 31. What the hell did you think was going to happen woman?

However, this coroner that did the autopsy seems like hes a few eggs short of a dozen himself. He doesn’t think that Coca-Cola should be held financially responsible for Harris’ death, obviously; though some type of frivolous law suit attempt will surely come out of this. He does suggest the Coke consider putting a warning label on its drinks.

Buddy, what would that actually accomplish? Clearly this woman was straight up illiterate because even a pre-schooler can read the god damn health chart pyramid.


See that word near the top next to sugar-“sparingly” yea, either she needed an updated version of Webster’s or this cow just flat out couldn’t read. However, those fancy book learned types who threw this chart together thought of those special few among us who still can’t get a grasp on the kings english as well. The food groupings are arranged by size!!! If you can’t figure that out, no warning label on the side of a can is going to help.

And regardless of education or literacy level, if you don’t think there is a direct correlation between consuming 11 times the recommended amount of any substance every single day of your life and your laundry list of health problems, then well, you deserve to be either locked up or put 6 feet under. Bottom line. Certainly your kids didn’t deserve the self inflicted early departure of their mother though, bitch. See, here at the mime we do have a heart:)

If she couldn’t put two and two together then how the hell did she even get that far in life, that’s what I want to know.

A little common sense people! That’s all we’re asking for!


OW: Barry Bonds not a Hall of Famer, Earth now flat again

9 01 2013

By Kleinz 57

Barry Bonds hall of fame thumbs upHey Buckaroos. I know everyone’s probably got playoff football on their collective mind. After all, it is literally any day in America ever. But in true-to-form buzz kill fashion, I’m here to bum the nation out for a few minutes with its soon-to-be-third-favorite pastime, BEISBOL.

Earlier this afternoon, the Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA) released its voting results for inducting the 2013 Hall of Fame class. And this year was a DOOZY, with the likes of Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, a returning Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Tim Raines, Craig Biggio, Jeff Bagwell, Mike Piazza. Really, just Google a cover from a 989 Sports baseball game from the late 90’s. Chances are one of those dudes was eligible this year. This year’s class was stacked with guys who broke home run records, put up massive OBP rates and strikeout totals, and won multiple Cy Young and MVP awards.

And nobody was voted in.

Now wait just a second there, you assy windbag. Bonds? Clemens? MCGWIRE? These guys were cheaters — a bunch of ‘roid ragers. These guys ‘roided all over the 90’s! ‘Roidin’ up and down the block, and ‘roidin’ across the plate, and ‘roidin’ all around the concessions stand. I don’t even know what a ‘roid’ is. Just like sayin’ it! HEEHAWW!

Now that’s a slight reduction of many of the BBWAA voters from this year. But only slightly. ESPN’s Howard Bryant was among at least eight other writers who turned in blank ballots. They didn’t vote for anyone, because it’s… like poetic and symbolicalizing and stuff. In other words, sportswriters in an organization that entrusts itself with the duty of recognizing contributions to the sport of baseball made this whole election about themselves.

And if you think that’s cause for revoking their votes, it’s actually been worse. TJ Quinn, another member of the World Wide Leader’s battle fleet, admitted he still has a vote in the Hall of Fame, despite not having covered the sport since 2002.

Clearly this is an operation with a few holes in its rules and structure. But instead of pontificating on locker room gossip or Mike Piazza’s bacne, let’s look at the facts surrounding steroids:

First and foremost, we don’t actually know what steroids can and can’t do, specifically to the great sport of baseball. Do anabolic supplements improve hand-eye coordination? Do they make you swing the bat more quickly or run the bases faster?

To save you the trouble, the short answer is: nobody fucking knows anything.

Seriously. Do a Google search for “Androstenedione’s effects on athletic performance” That awkward long jumble of letters isn’t a Dr. Seuss character by the way – it’s the actual name of what people mean when they say Mark McGwire admitted to using “tha roids” ya’ll. I spent over an hour looking for scientific studies, but since UW’s Library system won’t respond to my emails about access to women’s medical journals, I have no way of getting at important evidence for my little stump speech here. Nevertheless, I did find two studies from 1999.

Still, 13 year old research seems a bit out of touch, even in arguing against sports writers who still talk about “pitching to the score” or a starter’s W-L record like they actually mean something. So here’s some info pulled directly from the Mayo Clinic’s web page on the medical effects of THUH ROIDZ:

“Scientific studies that refute these claims show that supplemental androstenedione doesn’t increase testosterone and that your muscles don’t get stronger with andro use. In fact, almost all of the andro is rapidly converted to estrogen, the primary hormone in females.” 

In other words, Mark McGwire probably had a SWEET rack underneath that jersey. There’s even a bit about steroid use in general and its effects on athletic performance:

“Why are these drugs so appealing to athletes? Besides making muscles bigger, anabolic steroids may help athletes recover from a hard workout more quickly by reducing the muscle damage that occurs during the session. This enables athletes to work out harder and more frequently without overtraining. In addition, some athletes may like the aggressive feelings they get when they take the drugs.”

In other words, Mark McGwire probably had a SWEET rack underneath that jersey.

Yes, McGwire actually admitted to using andro during his career, as did Rafael Palmeiro and Joe Canseco. But why do those other guys get singled out? There’s such shaky evidence supporting most of these arguments that it really doesn’t make sense. More importantly why does it matter? WE DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT STEROIDS DO.

Barry Bonds garnered a measly 36.2% of the vote (you need 75% to be inducted). These writers are at best, very confused and at worst, gigantic idiots. We know Barry Bonds is a gigantic douche nozzle. We also know he holds the single season and all-time records for home run totals, 7 MVP awards, a 34 stolen base average over his first 13 seasons and a wicked .298/.444/.607 career slash line. He’s inarguably one of greatest baseball players of all time.

Who gives a shit right? The BBWAA is an archaic fossil record anyway, and once their more regressive voters stop contributing or end the crusading or simply die out, I have optimism that some of these guys will get the recognition they deserve. The Hall of Fame is voted on by members of the sports media outside of Major League Baseball i.e. those same people who deal out Cy Young awards and MVPs every year. To be deemed a “Hall of Famer” has about as much clout behind it as a Gold Glove. But the issue here is that the BBWAA doesn’t want to recognize Bonds’ contributions at all — and make no mistake that’s exactly what they’re doing through abstention — because he allegedly shot himself up with a foreign substance. A substance against which MLB had no policy at the time, mind you. And this makes him a cheater?

As it turns out, Bonds would already have company if were miraculously inducted this afternoon. John McGraw, Gaylord Perry, Whitey Ford, HANK FUCKING AARON are all technically “cheaters” in baseball. There’s even a current inductee who’s allegedly mixed a few “Jose Canseco milkshakesin his day. Now ‘allegedly” is far from rock solid evidence, but — nope. That’s it right there. A flimsy argument deserves a flimsy rebuttal. Plus, a “Jose Canseco milkshake” is horrifying either way you interpret it.

The real question is this: Is the hall a museum or a cathedral? All I know is Barry Bonds sure ain’t a saint, and Candy Cummings is no God. Possibly a pornstar, though.

OW: Ray Lewis Retirement

2 01 2013


Earlier today Ray Lewis aka Ray muder aka Ray Ray McTacklinbitches announced he’s going to retire after this season’s playoffs. Like most people, I’m terrified of Ray and automatically respect his decision. I haven’t crunched the numbers, but from what I remember he’s been in the league since 1972 so it seems like his retirement is well overdue. Now easy, Ray, not in the sense that you can’t compete any more, instead in the sense that I think you’ve pretty much dished out enough brain damage by now. As a big NFL fan, it’s kind of sad news. I mean, he’s pretty much the last of the mohicans in terms of old school linebackers still in the league. Gone are the days of Bill Romanowski literally ripping dudes heads off, and Ray was the king of that. Sure we’ve got beasts like Clay Matthews and Patrick Willis crushing skulls, but the NFL is amidst a new era where everybody is more concerned with concussion syndromes and less concerned with watching dudes get lit the fuck up on crossing routes.

Personally, I understand that things are the way they are in the NFL now. Can’t have a generation of brain dead NFL legends suing the shit out of the league in 20 years. But a little bit of me misses the days of “He got JACK’D UP!” and watching Ed McCaffrey unconscious on the 25 yard line for the sixth time in the same season. Ray Lewis was a nice weekly reminder of that era. And soon, he’ll be gone. Left to live only in our hearts…and the archive reels of NFL Films.

So the question becomes, what does a man beast like Ray Lewis do once his football playing days are over? Dudes 37 years old. And since he’s been feasting on the souls of countless NFL scrubs since the 90s, he’s still got a lot left in the tank I guarantee you that. The standard response would be, JD, he’ll probably be an analyst or announcer for ESPN or CBS. Every big name sports personality does it. He’s also a boss at giving pump up speeches so maybe he’ll be a motivational speaker? Could be, but if I know Ray like I think I do he won’t do either of those things. Motivational speeches only work if everyone doesn’t die of fear after the speech is over and pretty sure if Ray spoke to the annual Des Moines Insurance conference he’d cause the deaths at least four fat insurance agents mid-speech.

So in usual mime fashion, we’re going to suggest a few post-NFL career paths for our pal Ray. Feel free to thumb through these, Ray, and maybe even chose two! The world is your oyster homes.


1. Street Justice Coordinator


Simple idea here. Someone robs you? Maybe your boss is a total dick? Maybe a couple dudes stole your car? Don’t bother calling 911, cops are a bunch of pussies. Instead, call up the street justice coordinator. He’ll make things right.

2. Office Linebacker

office linebacker

Terry Tate’s been out of the game for too long. Offices all across the country are in disarray. Bitches stealing food from the fridge that’s not theirs, dudes jamming the copy machine and sleeking back to their desk without fixing it. Get Ray on an office linebacker tour and he’ll straighten out America’s workplaces in no time. Fiscal cliff my ass.

3. Hippo Wrangler


All I hear about is how Hippos are the most dangerous animal in Africa. Everyone thinks they’re all hungry hungry and cute but in reality they’re chomping up little African kids left and right. Admittedly I don’t know the official statistics but from what I gather millions of African children go to fill their water jugs at the local pond and turn into hippo lunch. Forget AIDS, we’ve got a global Hippo crisis. Well not if Ray is the resident Hippo wrangler. Hippo gonna to think twice about eating villagers if Ray Lewis is lake-side ready to beat some ass.

4. Broadway Actor


I’ve never been to a musical but you can bet your white ass I’d be there in a New York minute if Ray was the lead in West Side Story.

5. Bar Douche Puncher

Bar douche

5Piece touched on it last summer, but I think it’s common knowledge that Americas bars are filled with douches. A lot of these douches are actually pretty cut up dudes. Sure, they’re basically all glory muscles and they couldn’t do anything in an actual fight, but for regular dudes like myself punching them is a risky option. And make no mistake, they all deserve a swift upper cut to the meat hole. Picture Ray on a bar tour, have him shake a few hands, sign a few autographs, punch a few douches, make $4,000 an appearance. Not too shabby an option.

6. Nickleback’s personal bodyguard


Everyone loves to hate Nickleback. We’ve been over it a million times. I bet half the population wants to murder them too. That means Chad n co. are basically walking into threat level orange scenarios everywhere they go. So far, we’ve been lucky and they haven’t been shanked. But it’s only a matter of time folks. At some point Nickle-B’s current bodyguards aren’t going to make the cut. That’s where Ray comes in.

7. Dudes Break-Up Therapist


Guys have been taking break ups real hard since the time of the Dinosaurs. That’s just a scientific fact. I blame a serious lack of effective break up therapists in our society. Nobody there to growl in your face and get you amped to bang some randos. Who better to fill that void? Get Ray in there, ditch the fish in the sea talk and go straight to the unadulterated rage in your face and you’ll forget all about Susie in no time.

8. Florida Cop


I was hesitant to suggest this one given Shaq Diesel tried it and from what I know, hasn’t had much success. But then I remembered that’s Shaq and this is Ray. Both giant black men, but Shaq is a gentle giant. Ray doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. Plus, Florida is in fucking ruins these days. Every second I turn around I hear about how shitty that state is. They need proper law enforcement from the enforcer of all enforcers.


That ought to get you started on your job search, Mr. Lewis. Don’t forget to fine tune the shit out of your resume. Employers really look at those things closely these days. It’s a cutthroat world we live in, but I’ve got faith you’ll make it in post-NFL life juuuust fine.

– JD

Overreaction Thursday: Squirrels

27 12 2012


This time of year everyone likes to look back at stuff. Shit, I just wrote a post on the top 15 mime posts from the last year. It’s just what we do as the year winds down. Well one of those things we like to look back on is viral videos. OMG remember that fat kid dancing on Youtube? And on and on it goes.

Well per usual, Yahoo! wants in on the action. Hey guuuuys, whatcha doin? Remembering viral videos? Cool, can I play? Is how I imagine the conversation might go. So on their homepage this afternoon was a trip down viral video lane. What viral smash hit was it, you ask? A video of a squirrel jumping out of a window! Remember that one? Yeah neither do I.

Here’s the link.

Pretty impressive jump nonetheless, but how far out of touch can Yahoo! possibly be? Pretty sure like four Asian people on tumblr have seen this vid and that’s it.

So it got me thinking about squirrels, specifically flying squirrels or sugar gliders. Seems like a good time to let the loyal Mime army in on my experience with those fuckers. So here goes.

Junior year of college I lived in an old halfway house with a bunch of degenerate hobos. Two of those hobos decided it would be really cool to get a couple sugar gliders for our house pets. If you’ve never seen a sugar glider they’re basically furry rats with wings. So they bought em, brought em home and put em in a cage in one of their rooms. Like most tiny pets, within ehhh 48 hours they were irrelevant. Nobody wanted to fuck with them for fear of getting bit, or worse, getting squirrel AIDS. It’s an epidemic, y’all. Months went by and everyone, including the dudes who own them, forgot about the squirrels. Sure they squeaked during kinky squirrel sex at night and maybe poked their head out of their squirrel sex pouch every once in a while but they never really did much.

Let’s fast forward to senior year. We move into a new house and naturally, the squirrels come with. Instead of their cage being located in this one guys room, he decided to pop it in the main hallway. I guess to dampen squirrel-loving ladies panties at parties, maybe so they don’t get lonely, I’m not sure. Needless to say, it was a terrible idea. Meanwhile, one squirrel had died but not before he impregnated the shit out of the lady squirrel. Not surprising since I’m confident he was layin squirrel pipe like all day every day. So lady squirrel has the babies and they’re tiny as shit. Then she dies or something, I’m not really sure. So we’re left with a couple baby sugar gliders squeaking their tits off, being all annoying. Well one fine day in, let’s say, early October, these squirrels figure out they can escape from the cage and have free roam of the house.

Thus beginning the squirrel invasion.

And I when I say invasion, I mean a fucking full out assault on precinct 13, if precinct 13 is our house. These fuckers get out whenever they want and go wherever they want. At this point most of you are thinking, dude they’re tiny rats with wings, who gives a shit? One swift kick of a steel toed boot and they’re dead. Right? Wrong, my friends. Turns out sugar gliders are the ninjas of the marsupial family (apparently they’re marsupials not rodents, a fact I learned on the interwebs). My room was right next to their cage and you bet your ass I had er barricaded like I was hiding Anne Frank in that bitch. First of all, these fuckers would get out and run a train on all my food. I’d have a couple bananas chilling in a bag in the pantry, I’d wake up in the morning and they’d be chewed through like a pouch of Big League Chew. One time I opened my box of Apple Jacks to have a little cereal before an early morning exam and one of them was in there ravaging my cereal stash. When I tried to shut the box and throw it in the fireplace, the squirrel would simply fly out, do twelve summersaults and be in the other room in .04 seconds. They’d get into the dish washer, they’d be under the toilet seat, one time I found one nibbling on my Speed Stick.

So we started going on the defensive, every single night. Pretty much sleeping with one eye open, for fear one might slide up my butthole and pop my rear cherry at 3AM. It was sheer terror. The house was a duplex, and the guys upstairs just thought it was all real hilarious UNTIL the sugar ninjas figured out how to get up there. I’d be playing Mario Kart and I’d hear a blood curdling scream, sure enough, a squirrel had got into my dear roomate Nicholas’ snuggie as sugar plums danced in his head.

Around mid-December we decided to confront the owners of these demon squirrels, tell them they have got to go. Their response? C’mon man, I just need to spend a little more quality time with them, get to know them better. No joke that was the response. Quality time with a squirrel. Just unheard of stupidity. So the sugar gliders continued their reign of terror.

Then one day in December, I assume amidst a moment of clarity, they decided they’d try to sell the squirrels, make a little dough. I was like fuck yeah. At this point I was basically sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber constructed of steel wool blankets so they couldn’t get in and nibble my testes. So they start shopping them around. No easy task. Hey want a couple of demon flying squirrels? After about a week, for some godforsaken reason, a couple girls wanted to buy them. Maybe they were into kinky squirrel lesbo sex? I’m not sure. Unfortunately, the deal falls through. Later, I learned the asking price was like 12 grand. Just astronomically high. Girls didn’t want to pawn their Toyota Corolla to buy a couple squirrels, so they declined.

Again we slept in fear.

Finally, in a bizarre divine intervention one cold January night, we experienced a house fire and were forced to evacuate the building. Had to move out. All of us moved into studio apartments and nobody heard from the squirrels again. I like to think they burned to a crisp in the fire, but knowing they possessed ninja focus, they probably escaped to another nearby domicile and have been terrorizing the owners ever since.

The moral of the story, kids? Don’t buy sugar gliders. Don’t do it. Fucking don’t. They’ll ruin your life.

So fuck squirrels. Even if they’re cute and they can nibble on acorns and build nests and shit, they’re evil creatures.

– JD

OW Part 2: Christian and Samantha Sittin’ In A Tree

19 12 2012


K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes twitter rumors, then comes…getting married on Monday in a Hudson, WI courtroom?

Since today’s first OW left us all a bit unsettled in the wiener region, I figured I’d drop a part 2 because, hey why the hell not? Also because this news that Christian Ponder and Samantha Steele got married two days ago is some seriously depressing stuff. I’ve never heard of the Leader Telegram news source before, but you can punch yourself in the face if you think I’m not on the edge of my seat reading their article. Sammy Steele has been a mime favorite for months since her underrated hottie debut back in October. Just cute-ing up my television all fall long. From her awkward interview with Nick Saban to blowing the shit out of some sort of rams horn, she’s filled in for Erin Andrews and then some.

Sadly, though, it was made public in October that she was dating Minnesota Vikings suck-tastic quarterback, Christian Ponder. The world was shocked. How could it be? How could Sam settle for such a scrub? Does she realize he can’t throw a football more than ten yards? Apparently she does not. Well as it turns out, their relationship escalated rather quickly and just two days ago, they were officially hitched.

Son of a bitch.

What an idiot! Sounds super romantic too, Christian. In a courthouse in Hudson, WI? You couldn’t manage to give the little lady a fairytale wedding and instead drove her in your Chevy Tahoe to Hudson for a couple quick I do’s? Proves yet again that Christian Ponder is an all around terrible person.

Let’s look at the facts. Sam Steele started as a hostess at ESPN Zone in NYC, put in work, and more importantly was hot and next thing you know she’s a sideline reporter for ESPN. Rags to riches story if I’ve ever seen one. While Sam was slaving away in the kitchens at the ESPN Zone, working her way to the top like an American hero, Christian Ponder was in high school in the Dallas area putting up slightly above average numbers (note: this will be a trend in Christian’s life story). He then went to Florida State University where his only bowl win was the Champs Sports Bowl in 2008, and where he put up slightly above average numbers and was drafted by the Minnesota Vikings 12th overall in the 2011 NFL Draft. Most experts considered this a totally retarded pick, knowing the Vikings could’ve waited to get him in later rounds. Since he got the starting job with the Vikings in October of 2011, he’s been putting up slightly above average numbers (see the trend I was talking about) and by slightly above average I mean like just barely slightly above average. This season, for example, in which Christian has started every game, he’s averaging 180 yards per game and he’s thrown 14 TDs and 12 INTs. A real nice 78.6 quarterback rating.

Enough about Christian. The point I’m making is THE GUY DOESN’T DESERVE SAMANTHA STEELE!!! Sam deserves a QB rating of at least 95 or higher and that’s just science right there. I know, I know, Christian graduated from FSU in two years with a degree in finance and an MBA. Cool dude. Congrats. Keep that diploma, chances are you’re going to need it real soon. But JD, he’s led the Vikings to an 8-6 record and if the season ended today, a spot in a NFC wildcard game! Correction brocif, Adrian Peterson led the Vikings to the wildcard. Chrissy P has basically just been along for the ride. I think he put up 130 yards and no TDs last weekend? Hell of a game.

So sam, if you’re reading this, please tell me you snuck a pre-nup in there. Because in 10 years, scratch that 2 years, when you’ve cemented your status as the hottest sideline reporter ESPN has ever seen, your ass clown husband’s third string QB for the Jaguars contract runs out, and he’s forced to apply for a gig at H&R Block, you’ll probably want out. When that time comes, hit me up! My money long. Just kidding, I’m poor.


– JD

OW: Wait, So Ray Elbe’s Dick Snapped Off?

19 12 2012


I was very hesitant to use this as today’s OW material, considering even now I’m sweating and extremely uncomfortable just thinking about the injury, but it’s too good to pass by. As I’m sure everybody has heard by now, earlier this week a story emerged about up-and-coming MMA fighter, Ray Elbe, “breaking his penis bone” during sex with his girlfriend. Here’s a link to the story. Don’t read it if you’re a dude. Trust me. Poke your eyes out and jump into oncoming traffic instead. Keep reading the mime though, we’re cool.

Apparently, through some unimaginable bad luck and a girlfriend who apparently has a undercarriage made of forged titanium, he fractured his dong and tore his urinary tract. He then tried to get up and run to the bathroom, didn’t quite make it there, passed out and smashed his face, breaking off a couple teeth.

Sorry, had to take a quick breather to cry for about 20 minutes. What kind of horrible shit did this guy do to deserve this? 

Basically Ray lived through every dude ever’s worst nightmare. Not only did he shatter his dick into 20 pieces, which I didn’t even know was possible, but he then passed out and smashed his face and to top things off, now the entire world knows about it. I’d rather contract AIDS from a rhino who makes me watch The Big Bang Theory for 48 hours straight.

The most obvious question everyone is wondering is how can you break your wiener bone? Last I checked, there isn’t a bone in there. We’ve heard of people pulling the groin muscle, maybe a lacerated scrotum, christ I’ve even heard of a man getting a line drive baseball to the testicles. But breaking your wang? Uncharted territory, folks. So to clear the air, yesterday Ray Ray made a youtube video describing his shaft fracture in great detail. Thanks Ray. Listen buddy, no man on earth wants to know how it happened. In fact, no man on earth wanted to know it happened, period. Too late for that I guess, oh well. Take Dr. JD’s advice, pop a walking cast on that trouser snake and RICE it up. You’ll be back in 6-8 weeks.

But since it’s an OW, we better take a look at how it went down. Ray claims his girl bounced a little too high. DUDE. Were you guys playing slam-ball? Did you mount a mini trampoline to your pelvis? Were you guys getting down in the diving pool at the Beijing Water Cube? It just makes no sense. In this day and age we through around the terms “dick wrecker” and “damn that chick would snap your dick off” a lot, but did anyone really think one day it would become a reality? I saw a picture of Ray’s gal pal and she doesn’t scream boner snapper like, ehh J-Woww does.


Hold up, yeah she kind of does.

But, to make matters even worse, if that’s even possible at this point, I read this morning that Ray is looking to sell the pictures of his schlong injury to the highest bidder. Bro. Come on now. NOBODY wants to see those. And how do you have pictures of that? I mean I guess it’s an injury you don’t see every day but if my johnson was snapped in two I wouldn’t let anyone with a cell phone within 500 yards of me, let alone a camera. Nobody and I mean nobody is getting any Dorothea Lange angles on this trainwreck. Just sew er up and let’s never bring it up again.

I think it’s clear that Ray here is doing what most people do in shitty situations, life gave him a broken weenis and he’s making lemonade. Just like Columbus, or that one dude who invented the cotton gin, there has to be a first for everything. Ray is just a trailblazer for fractured dicks. It was only a matter of time before it happened to someone, right? Thank the LORD it wasn’t one of us. And Ray, do us all a major solid and burn those pictures.

– JD