"As a blogger, he's one hell of a detective, but as a detective, he's one hell of a blogger!" - Miriam, Miriam's Ideas
"If his gun doesn't kill you, his humor will." - Dragon Lady, Dragon's Den
"Hitler would be proud of you." - Sean Connor
"You have no honor!" - Robert Frederick
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Flaming Car Slams Into Glasgow Airport
Good evening. My name is "Rowdy" Roddy Piper, and my native Scotland has asked me to comment on this story, which occurred earlier today. For the benefit of those of you with steroids on the brain, here is the despicable recap:
GLASGOW, Scotland - A Jeep Cherokee trailing a cascade of flames rammed into Glasgow airport on Saturday, shattering glass doors just yards from passengers at the check-in counters. Police said they believed the attack was linked to two car bombs found in London the day before.
Britain raised its terror alert to "critical" — the highest possible level — and the Bush administration announced plans to increase security at airports and on mass transit. Five bystanders were wounded, though none seriously, police said.
Police later arrested two more suspects in the plots in Cheshire county in northern England as part of a joint sweep by officers from London and Birmingham. (H/T - AP)
Are these people out of their God-damned minds?!! These (presumed) Islamic terrorist scumbags have frakked with the wrong country! Scotland is the toughest bunch of bastards the world has ever seen. Why do you think we wear nothing under our kilts? As my good friend Groundskeeper Willie would say, "This is the problem with open borders. We have to stave off Muslim dirtbags while the cheese-eatin' surrender monkeys giggle in their wine!"
Don't worry about us, though. Scotland (and to a lesser extent, England) will clean up our mess without anyone's help. However, my friends across the pond better get it through their thick heads: porous borders plus illegal immigrants leads to acts like the three we have endured this week.
Close your God-damned borders, America! And forget the repercussions from your liberal hordes. Some things are much more important than hurt feelings. Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth? Or do I have to go Jimmy Snuka on your ass with a coconut to the skull?
Oh my stars! It appears that another one of Hollywood's Pillars of the Community was inconvenienced by yet another racist cop. Someone call Al Sharpton! It is a crying shame that this ditsy broad was a day late for PIH:
Vivica A. Fox called a state patrol officer a "racist white cop" during her drunken driving arrest and repeatedly failed sobriety tests, according to an official report.
The 42-year-old actress, who is black, was pulled over in March after passing a California Highway Patrol officer who said her Cadillac was doing 80 mph and weaving in its lane on the Hollywood Freeway.
The officer noticed that Fox's eyes were red and watery and that she had a "strong odor" of alcohol, according to the report. After she failed sobriety tests, he arrested Fox for investigation of driving under the influence.
"Fox began to walk away, yelling at my partner, 'Brother, help a sister, are you going to let this racist white cop do this. ... Well, are you?'" according to the report. (H/T - Yahoo!)
Right, Vivica - if that is your real name - you blew by a CHP officer doing 80 miles per hour, then started weaving in front of him. Of course, if you were white, he would have let you go. I hear Donny Osmond can drive 140 miles per hour on the Ventura Freeway! Only when the officer caught up to your Flaming Cadillac of Death and saw that you were one of "them," did he decide to pull your drunk ass over.
I'm surprised the officer even saw you through his white hood. Idiot.
Due to this week's jocularity surrounding the 100,000th visitor, PIH is a day late. Luckily for me, two of the year's biggest local stories came out today. Goody for me! Enjoy!
The Idiots Running Wimbledon
Personally, I think this chick should get a standing ovation instead of curled lips:
LONDON (Reuters) - Wimbledon is getting its knickers in a twist. Tatiana Golovin had the Wimbledon referee reaching for his rule book when she sought to appear on court wearing red underwear. Was she violating the "predominantly white" dress code laid down by the tournament that is such a stickler for sartorial etiquette?
Explaining the decision, a Wimbledon spokesman said on Thursday: "They were cleared with the referee in advance by the player. On the basis that they are underwear, they do not have to conform to the predominantly white rule.
Jesus H. Christ! What's the big deal? The underwear was red! it's not like it was yellow or brown!
Philadelphia Mayor John F - the electorate - Street
Yeah, I know this piece of crap is a regular here, but today he finally went over the top of the Bile-o-Meter. Check this out, and try not to suffer a brain aneurysm while you read it.
And so it goes for Mayor John Street in his quest for an Apple iPhone, which he said he plans to buy with his own money. After sitting and standing in line since 3:30 a.m., waiting for the device to go on sale at 6 p.m. today at an AT&T store, he responded to critics who lambasted him for wasting city time.
Just before his remarks, 22-year-old city activist Larry West of Mount Airy confronted the mayor.
"How can you sit here with 200 murders in the city already?" West asked.
Street announced: "I'm doing my job."
Can you imagine the wontons on this guy? In the midst of 202 (and rising) homicides, this tool is sitting outside in the rain - for over twelve hours - like some geek waiting for tickets to Star Wars: Episode VII. Naturally, this story made national news, and as usual, my city was portrayed in a less than positive light. January cannot come soon enough for this piece of filth. He is easily the worst mayor in Philadelphia's history.
Philadelphia Police Commissioner Sylvester Johnson
You know, I could tolerate the fact that he nominated and aggressively backed his aide for one of the most prestigious awards in the department. She won, despite the fact she had no business even being nominated. I could also tolerate the fact that after the expected uproar from the front line troops - his front line troops - he called the officers "the most idiotic people in the world." But this I cannot tolerate.
Sylvester Johnson has proudly proclaimed that he is leaving the department in January. Since that announcement, he has become more of a lame duck that Street. Of course, the local media still fawns over him, especially in today's fluff piece in The Philadelphia Daily News. However, if you can crawl out from under the sunshine and lollipops during the author's ride-along with Johnson, two things immediately stand out.
During the ride-along, the author penned this interesting little tidbit:
With "Soul Street," XM Radio's old-school R-&-B station, on mute, Johnson drove Car One down Cumberland Street.
Who exactly is paying for XM Satellite Radio in the police commissioner's city vehicle? And while we're at it, why is the commish listening to "Soul Street" when he should be listening to the police radio?
A short while later, Johnson revealed that he is breaking the law:
Johnson calls his 10 grandchildren his "best buddies." Whenever he can, they gather at his 4,200- square-foot home in Bear, Del., that he shares with his wife. He spends weeknights at his apartment in Essington.
Philadelphia municipal regulation requiring city employees to be residents of the city held to be constitutional as a bona fide continuing residence requirement and not to violate the right of interstate travel of appellant, whose employment as a city fireman was terminated under the regulation because he moved his residence from Philadelphia to New Jersey.
After 16 years of service, appellant's employment in the Philadelphia Fire Department was terminated because he moved his permanent residence from Philadelphia to New Jersey in contravention of a municipal regulation requiring employees of the city of Philadelphia to be residents of the city.
Mr. McCarthy lost his battle. Since then, all Philadelphia city workers have been required to live inside the city limits. Many others have tried (and failed) to challenge the law, while countless others have been fired after they were found to have residences outside the city.
But wait, Wyatt! How can the commissioner reside in Bear, Delaware while working as the city's top cop?
That's what I would like to know. Unfortunately, since Simone Weichselbaum didn't bother to ask any follow-up questions, we may never know. I can tell you one thing: if I told a reporter that my family gathered at my home in Sea Isle City, New Jersey, I would be fired the next day.
The Cow And The Cow Pie Caption Contest (Source:AP) (H/T - Rachel)
Original Caption: [Philadelphia] Mayor [John] Street greets a fast food advertising mascot passing by the line outside the AT&T store this morning. The mayor was third in line to purchase Apple's new iPhone, which goes on sale at 6 p.m.
Wyatt's Snarky Editorial Comment: Our idiot mayor spent his day - which started at 3am - sitting in line to purchase a new iPhone. In an unrelated note, Philadelphia's homicide count is at 202.
Top Ten Entries: 10. He ought to milk the cow the way his milking our pockets! - Nitehawk 9. Excuse me, Mayor. Upon your election, you stated, "The brutha's and sista's are running the city!" Mind if we bovine give it a try, since you "F'd" it up so badly? How could we do any worse? - Uncle Ray 8. Cow: "I give you Indian name... sitting bulls**t" - ChrisA 7. Eat Mor Chitlins. . . eh. . . Chicken. - Deathlok 6. When the Mayor said he would be cruising the city in a "black and white", everyone assumed he meant a police vehicle. - DragonLady 5. Cow: Dude, the slaughterhouse I escaped from was safer than this town! - Pandy 4. Got iMilk? - Rodney Dill 3. While most people can sniff out cow-chips, it is a little know fact that cows can sniff out douchebags. - JimmyB 2. Cowboy Blob's Photoshop.
WINNER! - Bessie the Cow stops to admire a true bulls**t artist. - RT
In my haste to post the SYLG Roast and the 100,000th Hit Celebration, I sorta kinda forgot to post this week's edition of People I Hate. Fear not, for PIH will be posted tomorrow with the Weekend Caption Contest.
And while you're here, why not check out my latest post at First In! I am only covering for Captain America until the end of the weekend, so stop by and help the good Captain toward his 10,000th hit. Thanks!
Oh, and guys, here's something to take your minds off the Rosie O'Donnell picture I had to post. My apologies.
Good evening ladies and germs! My name is Rosie O'Donnell, and I am America's Sweetheart. Tonight we are here in the half-empty Hoboken Civic Center to honor a man who definitely needs an introduction, since no one ever heard of him. He's Wyatt Earp, and tonight we're roasting him!
What's that? It's not a literal roast? Then what the hell am I supposed to eat!!! Bastards! Cripes, let's get this over with.
Our first speaker is The Man. I thought him a decent enough guy until I heard he thought the September 11th attacks were not staged by the Bush administration. Idiot.
"Jack Bauer called. He wants 70,000 of your hits back."
Short and to the point. Nice. Our next guest is a lovely redhead with a penchant for all things GOP. Let's hear it for Pam from Blogmeister USA!
"One of the funniest sites to hit the blogosphere since eHarmony, SYLG has made 100,000 people laugh in the last two years. Actually, the same 20 people have visited the site 5,000 times in order to make Wyatt feel good. It's all in the marketing!
Wyatt Earp isn't his real name; it's Cecil Snerdly-Holmes. He calls himself Wyatt in order to make himself more appealing to the unsuspecting gullible who happen upon his site. And in case you're wondering, his gun has seen more action as a paperweight than it has protecting the people of Philadelphia. Donut run, anyone?"
Mmm, I could go for some donuts right about now. Here now is the Tennessee Titan of the blogosphere, GOP and College. Yet another Bush pawn. Ugh, it makes me sick!
"You know, I've read SYLG for the past couple years and I'll say it's been an inspiration. I mean who else can you learn how not to get carpel tunnel from than the guy that repeatedly sits at the computer and presses refresh all day. That's got to account for something!"
That gives me an idea. I can refresh the Rosie website and seem much more popular! Awesome! Our next guest was voted Teacher of the Year, primarily because she was the only one not sleeping with one of her students! Let's give a warm welcome to RT!
"Wondering about Wyatt:
Movies: Wyatt only goes to movies with men. Think he holds the popcorn in his lap?
Proof Wyatt is girly: He obsesses about his weight like a girl (hockey players do wear girdles) AND he drives a Saturn. Guess he thought driving a planet would hide his arse.
Wyatt the detective: Why was he made a detective? Because he was willing to go on the food runs and knows all the restaurants. Well, he already had the kit from the five and dime--standard issue in Philly, so I hear.
Seriously, though, Wyatt is awesome! He entertains and provokes thought. We all appreciate him very much!"
Just because a man goes to the movies with another man doesn't mean he's a bad person. He's probably just gay like me! And I'm America's Sweetheart! Up next is the hottest thing that side of the Atlantic. Give it up for Pandy!
"I'm kind of concerned about roasting anything near Wyatt. He's a self-proclaimed "Fatty McButterpants", and I am concerned that he may just eat the thing before anyone gets a chance to read it. Hopefully not. It's a low-calorie blurb, for starters, and it's about time there was some halfway decent writing on SYLG. Seriously. I only read this blog for pictures of hot babes. Furthermore- *sentence enhancer* *bleep* *censored* and MITTEN!"
Thank you, Pandy. That was, um, enlightening. Call me! Next up is the Master of Disaster, our next planet conqueror, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla, Remulak MoxArgon!
"Greetings puny Earthlings, and one particularly puny Earthling in particular.
I'd like to take a moment to talk about an Earthling blogger that has enriched the lives of thousands of people via the internet. An Earthling blogger whose witty prose and incisive analysis has set the standard for what people call truly great blogging.
I'd like to talk about that person, but instead, I have to talk about Wyatt Earp.
How can one describe a man like Wyatt without using the words fat, racist, annoying, ugly, or untalented?
Really, I'd like to know, because I'm stumped.
Anyhoo . . . Here's to Wyatt Earp, and that may all of hits be on his site, and only a few on his head. Thank you."
Bravo, Mox, bravo! Remember my warm introduction when you annihilate our planet. So . . . is that it? This toad could only get six speakers for a roast? Ouch. Well, I still get my host fee, right? Yeah, twenty boxes of Twinkies. Right. Cool. Well, I'm Rosie O'Donnell; thank you and good night!
Sorry for the delay, kids, but justice never takes a holiday. Well, unless I have something really important to do. Today was not one of those days, so I was stuck in work. Some of you may be wondering who won the 100,000th Hit Contest - well, those of you who didn't see Rachel spoil it - so I won't hold the suspense any longer . . .
The lucky visitor was RFTR! He logged on at 11:18:33pm (EDT) from his old blog, and logged off at 11:19:18pm (EDT). I was glad it was a regular, and not some toad looking for nekkid photos of Helen Thomas!
I will now pause to allow those of you who weren't the winner to call RFTR a son of a bitch.
Okay, we're back! I wanted to give a runner-up gift to DragonLady, who spent most of her evening trying to win the DVD, so for that, she gets this:
Hope it helps you with your Val Kilmer fix, DL! And now, a few thoughts on the milestone . . .
Most of you don't know this, but Rachel was right: I was going to kill the blog today. I had every intention of doing what Alan Woody (and, in a way, Crash Davis) did: I was going to hit the milestone and hang it up. I have been writing this drivel for over two years, and was afraid I was getting burned out. Bloggers usually have a shelf life of two or three years, so I figured I'd try to go out on top. Personally, I made my peace with the fact that I'll never be a great blogger that readers flock to in droves, but the thought of posting just to post was unbearable. Although I say I write for myself, in actuality, I try to write something entertaining for you, the readers. As you know, I am my own worst critic, and when I realized that my posts were less than exciting as of late, I made the decision: the blog was dead.
And then something happened. I reminded everyone that SYLG was approaching 100,000 hits, and you got a little excited. Then I got excited. The next thing I knew, I was struggling to stay awake to find out who #100,000 would be. It was pretty cool. (For the record, I was asleep when RFTR made his appearance, so I missed all the fun for the sake of not being a zombie in the division today. My loss.) Then, I started to feel good about blogging again. And although 100,000 visitors is a small accomplishment in the overall blogosphere, it was pretty awesome for a little guy like me. For the first time ever, I thought that maybe SYLG mattered to some people. And it felt pretty good, because making people laugh - or wrap their heads in duct tape - is what I've always wanted to do here.
The resulting "Era of Good Feeling" around these parts and all of the well-wishes - Hell, even Wild Bill commented here! That's awesome! - left me both humbled and speechless. And for that, I refuse to kill SYLG. In fact, I promise that I will do my best to entertain each and every one of you for as long as you'll have me. For you see, you folks, the readers of this inane blog are, in effect, the heart and soul of this thing. While I do not say it often enough, without you, SYLG is nothing. I cannot adequately express my appreciation for your support, and while I don't believe I deserve it, I am thankful for it. I hope I continue to meet your expectations.
A quadruple shooting at an Olney playground last night pushed the homicide tally to 200 for the year, leaving distressed residents and even the city's top cop beside themselves.
200? We're number one! We're number one!
The shooting was preceded by a typical heated summertime routine - two groups of young guys arguing over a girl.
She had better be one great piece o' ass.
Police Commissioner Sylvester Johnson held an impromptu news conference outside the recreation center last night as crime-scene investigators carefully combed the playground for bullet shell casings and other evidence."This is another example of gun violence in Philadelphia," said Johnson, looking worn from dashing from community meetings to the latest murder scene.
Really, Boss? A homicide is another example of gun violence? This from the man who said the posters atDomelights- of which I am one - are "the most idiotic people in the world." Physician, heal thyself.
Johnson said 89 percent of the city's 200 homicides have been committed with handguns, including the 199th of the year - a body was found with two gunshot wounds in the woods in Crescentville on Monday night."If these legislators don't realize we have a gun problem here, something's wrong," he said.
Because everyone knows that if we make handguns illegal, the criminals will NEVER get their hands on them, right? Imbecile.
The commissioner bristled when a reporter asked what he and Mayor Street were doing to combat the ever-rising wave of murders."We're not out here shooting people. They're shooting each other," he said. "We leave office January 6. If you think homicides will stop, then you're unrealistic."
Um, am I crazy, or did he not answer the question?
And therein lies the problem. The Mayor and the Police Commissioner are doing very little to really stop gun violence in Philadelphia. Sure, they are making speeches and shuffling around police personnel, but they aren't making any significant changes that can curtail the violence.
What have they done so far?
1. They took district commanders out of their offices and put them in patrol.
2. They took administrative officers out of their cushy offices and put them in patrol, for yet another "police presence" on the streets.
Look, when you take someone who has been behind a desk for half their career and put them in patrol for the summer, who is that helping? No one. They don't want to be there, so they're not going to be stopping cars and rushing to priority jobs. But, when the media asks, the brass can say, "We've increased the amount of officers on the streets!" It's a shell game.
It is very difficult to stop homicides before they happen. Of course, when the city is more concerned with pushing the Boy Scouts out of their home because they're "discriminatory," and thus, leaving thousands of youths without a place to go, they are reaping what they sow.
At this rate, Philadelphia will easily eclipse last year's homicide total of 406.
. . . that I can smell it. Or is that Sssteve that reeks? Anyway, as of this posting SYLG is only 88 hits away from number 100,000. I see you shiver with antici . . . pation. (Name the film that used that quote!)
Look, I know everyone is sick and tired of hearing about hit #100,000, and frankly, you should be. I mean, really; besides me, who gives a rat's ass? Be that as it may, it is still a pretty exciting achievement for someone who needs to write the words "Left" and "Right" on his shoes.
I also know that some of my recent posts have been lacking, and for that I apologize. Somehow, I thought posting on two blogs a few times a day would be an easy feat. I was wrong. The idea machine (read: my puny half-wit brain) can't keep up, and it keeps getting distracted by shiny things. Damned nickels! Any hoo, I wanted to remind everyone that the Tombstone DVD is there for the taking for visitor #100,000, but the lucky folks online at that moment - probably late tonight or very early Thursday morning - may want to take a few precautions:
1. Remember where you came from. Site Meter logs in the sites you visited just before and just after surfing here. If you know that, the winner will be easy to track down.
2. Leave a comment. It sounds dumb, and it only has to be a "Did I win?," but Haloscan also records the comment time. Easier to match up the winner with the winning hit.
Don't sweat it. My Techno-Yoda Rachel thinks locating the winner should be fairly easy (WE HOPE!) and after I get the lucky stiff's address, I'll ship out the prize. Oh, and don't forget to send me your last minute entries for the SYLG Roast!
And again, thanks to everyone for your pity, er, visits!
. . . sayeth the Earp. Tonight I get to redeem myself for Sunday night's hockey debacle. I almost feel pity for those poor bastards we will be playing. They don't know what's about to hit them. And in order to fire up Vinnie, Badger, and Fish, I figured I'd give them some George Patton:
"Now there's another thing I want you to remember. I don't want to get any messages saying that we are holding our position. We're not holding anything. Let the Hun do that. We are advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding onto anything except the enemy. We're going to hold onto him by the nose and we're going to kick him in the ass. We're going to kick the hell out of him all the time and we're going to go through him like crap through a goose."
When the Captain left his sprawling Kennedy-esque compound, he placed his kids' inflatable swimming pool atop the jungle gym to protect it from the many critters that roam the neighborhood. We live near a wooded area, so we see squirrels, rabbits, possums and skunks in the yards on a daily basis. Last week, we had a torrential rain shower that lasted a little over a day, and the water formed a rain pool inside the inflatable one.
Being good neighbors - and dreading a wiseass comment from the Captain - the missus went to empty the rain yesterday by overturning the pool. As she approached, she looked inside and saw . . . a soaking wet, bloated, dead squirrel. A few moments later, she was back at Casa de Wyatt telling me about her ordeal.
I said, "So, did you get rid of the squirrel?"
She replied, "Hell no. I'm leaving it there!"
Now, as much as I can understand her not wanting to fish a dead rat - and yes, without the furry tails, everyone would hate squirrels -all of our good neighborly deeds this week would be eradicated if we left them a dead squirrel in their pool. Can you imagine the blog fodder the Captain would have? This was unacceptable, but since I was going to the movies last night, Bullwinkle's friend would have to wait until today.
When we awoke, we trekked to the Captain's backyard for our fishing expedition. I wore a canvas vest and a bucket hat with hooks strewn across it. Gotta look the part, right? The missus climbed the jungle gym and peered inside. "Ew, that's disgusting!" she said. Since she was already in perfect fishing position, I figured she should make the first attempt with the rake. She agreed, as long as I kept our three-year old son Erik occupied. No reason to scare him, although he would probably want to eat it - he eats everything else.
Wifey fished Rocky out of the pool on the third attempt, and we dropped him into a plastic trash bag, before carrying him to his final resting place - the trash can. While she transported the corpse, I became "The Cleaner." I emptied the rest of the pool water, which was much heavier than I thought, and wrestled the pool from the jungle gym. Then, I placed it wet-side-up to dry in the Philly sun. Finally, I sprayed half a can of Lysol on the scene of the crime, so the uber-kids don't get fleas, ticks, crabs, or whatever the hell squirrels carry.
As we were walking home, I reiterated what good neighbors we are, while the wife demanded that they "never leave again."
I know what you're thinking. "But Wyatt, how will we know who the lucky winner is?" Um . . . good question. The contest is canceled! Actually, I can find that pertinent information courtesy of my Site Meter.
If by some strange occurrence, visitor #100,000 is a spambot, or someone who refuses to come forward and collect the prize, the winner will be the next identifiable visitor after the 100,000 mark is reached. Long story short: keep an eye on the Site Meter when you check in. It may also be a good idea to write down your entry and exit pages to further verify the winner.
Of course, the winner will have to send me their mailing address, so the prize can be shipped, but that info will remain "in the vault."
So, if you're interested, keep checking back, and keep track of the Site Meter at the bottom of the page. It could net you a copy of the coolest DVD ever! A small token of my appreciation for all of your support.
As of this posting, SYLG is about 500 visits away from number 100,000! If my hit trends follow their usual course, the blog will hit the magic number sometime on Wednesday. So, I wanted to post something unique on the big day. (Yeah, I know, 100,000 visits is small potatoes in some parts of the blogosphere, but it's awesome for a guy who can barely put a sentence together.)
So, with that, I am formally announcing the SYLG/Wyatt Earp 100,000 Hit Roast. Since you, the readers, have single-handedly helped SYLG reach this milestone, I am going to let you all participate in its success. Here is how the roast will work:
* Any reader who wishes to participate (whether you have a blog or not) can write an entry for the Roast. The topic should cover either SYLG or myself, but the content is purely of your own design. Try to use symbols to cover up your "sentence enhancers," if possible. No subject is off-limits except my family, of course.
* Entries should not exceed 99 words - that's my old lacrosse/ice hockey number - but as long as you are close to that number, I'll allow it. I'm not going to be a word Nazi.
* Entries must be received by midnight (EDT) on Tuesday, so they can be posted the day SYLG hits the mark. And if you have a blog, make sure you include your address, so I can give you some linky love in the compilation post. After the Roast entries are collected, I will compile them (unedited, save for a few "sentence enhancers") into one post, and publish them on 100,000 day.
* Finally, please don't submit your entries in the Comments section. Send them to my blog e-mail (philly_lawman (AT) yahoo (DOT) com) so as to not spoil the surprise for the readers. Good luck, and have at it!
Fish (in blue) fighting for the puck in the corner.
Well, after a twelve-day hiatus, our ice hockey team was back in the rink tonight. (If you're searching through the archives to see the write-up of our last game: don't bother. Long story short: we lost to a team with only five skaters (no subs) by one goal. Goodbye undefeated record. Now you're caught up.) Tonight we played the first place team, The Death Dealers. Coming into the matchup, they were 5-0, with only 2 goals against all season.
Now we know why. This was a "C" League team like I am a 28-inch waist.
No one on this squad was older than 22. No one on this squad was slow. No one on this team was an average player. They all kicked ass. Correction: they all kicked our ass! And they crushed us by a score of 7-0. Not cool.
Vinnie (white helmet) and Ronnie during a break.
But what was even more uncool was our lackluster play. No one hustled for a puck. No one crashed the opposing net. No one gave Badger and help clearing his crease. What's worse is that most of the guys had their heads down on the bench after the first period. As if the game were already over. If Randal were playing, he would have called us all "pussies." And he would have been right.
I was so mad at the way we were playing - and the possibility of my two-game goal streak, and three-game point streak ending - that for the first time in weeks, I was sitting on the bench muttering, "Get me the f**k on the ice!" I had a confidence not seen in a while, and I believed that I could light a spark under everyone's ass. I didn't score, but I had two chances in front, and stole the puck from their defenseman in their zone. It was eerie. And I hope it is the start of the new me.
I swear to you: on Tuesday, our opponent is going to be my bitch!
Editor's Note: The following post contains many of Pandy's "sentence enhancers." I apologize if it is offensive to any readers, but I am truly fired up about this. Thank you.
CANTON, Ohio - The boyfriend of a missing pregnant woman was arrested on two counts of murder Saturday, and a body believed to be hers was found a week after she vanished from her home, authorities said. Jessie Davis, 26, was due to deliver a baby girl on July 3. Her mother found Davis' 2-year-old son alone in her home, where bedroom furniture was toppled and bleach spilled on the floor on June 15.
I would like to address the boyfriend at this time. Fuck you, you fucking piece of filth! I hope you rot in hell with murderers and unwed mothers! Okay, the last part was a joke.
Thousands of volunteers had searched for Davis over several days, while investigators continued to question Bobby Cutts Jr., 30, a Canton police officer, who is the father of Davis' son. Her family says he also is the father of the unborn child.
And this motherfucker is a cop, too! I hope your cell mates are apprised of that information when you get to prison. Hopefully, you won't last a week before you are garroted. Hell, a week would be more than you gave Jessie Davis, you filthy fucking pig!
Investigators were mum on many details of their work until they announced Cutts was taken into custody Saturday and was to be arraigned on charges of murder in the deaths of Davis and her unborn child. (H/T - Yahoo!)
So, this piece of crap killed Jessie, her (and his) unborn child, and then dumped the body somewhere like so much discarded trash? Bobby Cutts, Jr, I hope you fucking die!
Again, sorry for the language, but I really hope this man is dead by week's end.
Man, what a day! Work was a bear, I overdid it (as usual) at the gym, and Kyle found out that his first ever hockey season starts on Wednesday. What does that mean to me? Well, after searching the garage for his helmet and gloves, I had to have Fire Boat John saw down his stick and re-tape it to his liking.
For those of you who don't play hockey, taping a new stick is one of the true pleasures for the average player. For me, it's stress relief. It's like another Happy Place - after the rink itself, I mean. Anyway, while spending time in my Happy Place, a few thoughts occurred to me:
1. Attention beautiful, gym gals with perfect bodies: when fat, disgusting, no-talent slobs like me are trying to work out, the last thing we need is to see you parading around in a half-tank-top and short-shorts rolled down from the top!!! I was enjoying me half hour on the elliptical machine - listening to my bitchin' mp3 player - until I saw a redhead (A REDHEAD! MY FAVORITE!!) strut by half-naked. I cannot remember the rest of the workout, because I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. Bitch.
2. I really miss seeing live NASCAR races. Thankfully, that drought is over. My brother Randal Graves invited me to his trip to the NASCAR race in Richmond, Virginia on September 8th! We'll be busing down - with lots of alcohol - attending the race, spending the night in a hotel, then busing back to Philly on Sunday. I haven't been to a race in about four years, so I am pretty stoked. (Oh, and if anyone will be at that particular race, and wants to meet a blog superstar like myself, drop me an e-mail.)
3. Support Your Local Gunfighter is only about 750 hits away from 100,000. This scares the hell outta me, but it also means two things: 1. I need to hold a contest, write a special post, or do something half-decent for the occasion, which will probably occur this week. 2. It's time to ask myself if I should retire this thing after I hit that milestone, a la Alan Woody.
4. I don't want to sound like a moron - well, more of a moron - but I really want to see Transformers. I know, it sounds really gay, but after seeing the previews, I am definitely hooked. Creepy.
5. I am a really big, fat, disgusting, butt-ugly person. Thankfully, I am hitting the gym more often, and hockey keeps me busy, but I am truly disgusted with the way I look. Morbidly obese would be the terms that I use. God, somebody kill me.
Something tells me this guy's nickname wasn't "Lucky."
With no rain or even clouds to warn him of the danger, death came literally out of the blue Thursday to a self-employed landscaper. The killer was a powerful bolt of lightning that cracked through perfectly clear skies.
David Canales, 41, of West Miami-Dade, was on the job at a Pinecrest home when the bolt hit. It first seared a tree, then traveled and struck Canales, standing nearby.
Experts said Canales was killed by a weather phenomenon fittingly called a ''bolt from the blue'' or ''dry lightning'' because it falls from clear, blue skies. He was pronounced dead at South Miami Hospital. (H/T - Miami Herald)
Okay, people, do y'all hear that? Maybe next time you won't doubt the existence of God, abolish the Ten Commandments from public buildings, or have abortions like they're going out of style. (Ya know, you don't get a free dinner at Stuckey's with every murdered fetus!) Otherwise, who knows? Maybe God will send a bolt of lightning your way . . . or worse!
Top Ten Entries: 10. Jimmy Joe Bob prepares a snack for one of the Deceptacons - a car club sandwich. - Pam 9. Race a ricer, make a rice cake! - Smite a Hippie 8. That was one hell of a "pile-up" on the Schuylkill this morning! - Trek Medic 7. Next time, TIP THE VALET!! - Skul 6. Production began Monday on the action movie The Stacked and the Furious. - John D 5. Once again the public is bitten in the ass by the law of unintended consequences as the Senate passes new CAFE standards. - Jim 4. When did they let Paris Hilton out? - The Man 3. Low Rider. - The Badger 2. You just can't miss Billy Joel's car collection. - Rodney Dill
WINNER! - Cowboy Blob's Photoshop. (Thanks for freaking out my kids, Cowboy!)
* BTW, the caption winners are posted at First In! as well.
. . . so why not start of the season with a little brotherly sun burn?
WASHINGTON - Boys at the top of the pecking order — either by birth or because their older siblings died — score higher on IQ tests than their younger brothers. The question of whether firstborn and only children are really smarter than those who come along later has been hotly debated for more than a century.
For those keeping score at home, I am the firstborn, and according to the Bible, I get everything!
Norwegian researchers now report that it isn't a matter of being born first, but growing up the senior child, that seems to result in the higher IQ scores.(H/T - Yahoo!)
Hear that, Randal??? I'M THE MAN!!! Chew on that, chump!
Thank God it's Thursday! Now I can unleash my hatred and pestilence upon this unsuspecting planet. Welcome to another edition of People I Hate. Don't like it? Get bent!
After his checkered past, shouldn't Kobe Bryant be the last person to be making waves about pretty much anything? But, no: jerkass has to stir the pot in L.A.
So now we have Kobe Bryant trashing teammates and management alike on some covert amateur commando video.
This coming after a statement on his Web site spoke of continued dissatisfaction with the direction of the Los Angeles Lakers and a new interest in being traded. Which came after Bryant flew to Barcelona to meet with owner Jerry Buss and, according to the Los Angeles Times, figured out he still wanted to be dealt.
All of this, of course, comes in the wake of his Memorial Day weekend schizophrenic radio tour where he alternated claiming he would never play for the Lakers again and affirming his commitment to winning a fourth title in L.A. (H/T - Yahoo!)
Look Kobe, you have lived a charmed life. You most likely forced that woman in Colorado into sex acts she wanted no part of, and walked off scot free. Then, you saved your marriage by giving your wife a seven karat diamond ring. She stayed: what a trooper. And now you're on top of the NBA world, but it's not enough for you? Maybe Buss should trade you: to al Qaeda!
Just go back to obscurity, will ya?
When Larry Birkhead looks at his 9-month-old daughter, Dannielynn, he sees her mother, Anna Nicole Smith. "She has long legs and chubby little toes exactly like Anna's; it's like a mirror image," Birkhead tells OK! magazine in its latest issue. "It's really incredible. And I think her lips are her mom's lips; especially when she pouts. ... She also gets what she wants exactly like her mom always did as soon as she'd pout."
Does anyone need to know that Anna Nicole Smith had chubby little toes? they're probably more chubby now, since they're all inflated with death and worms! Nothing like making a last grasp at fame and fortune, right? Hear that, Larry? Your fifteen minutes is wasting away. Tick, tick, tick . . .
New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg
It must be "B" week this week. Bryant, Birkhead, and this tool of tools. Bloomberg, elected as a Republican, decided to renounce his registration this week and re-registered as an independent. Why? Because he apparently wants to run for President. As a frakkin' independent!
NEW YORK - New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg did little on Wednesday to quiet the fierce speculation about a possible independent presidential bid, declaring he intends to remain in his current job but saying of the White House race: "The more people that run for office the better."
Um, Mike, I have a better chance of having a whirlwind affair with Salma Hayek, Kirsten Dunst, and Angelina Jolie than you do of winning the Presidency. Please, for the good of the country: stop the insanity! You're no John Anderson.
And she probably reached the womb's finish line in record time.
Jeff Gordon won't have to miss a race for the birth of his daughter.
NASCAR's four-time champion became a father Wednesday when his wife, model Ingrid Vandebosch, gave birth to a girl. Gordon announced on his Web site that Ella Sofia Gordon was born Wednesday morning.
"It's been an absolutely incredible experience,'' Gordon said. "Ingrid came through amazingly and we're both really happy and overjoyed. We can't wait to get home and start our lives together as a family." (H/T - Yahoo! Sports)
The Gordons named the little bundle of joy Ella Sofia. No surprise since mom is from Belgium. Congratulations!
I think it's about time Pac-Man Jones is sentenced to rehab.
LAS VEGAS (AP) -- Suspended NFL player Adam "Pacman" Jones will face two felony charges in a strip club melee that preceded a triple shooting in February, Las Vegas police and the Clark County District Attorney's office said Wednesday.
Two other people previously identified by police as friends of the troubled Tennessee cornerback also will face felony charges in the fracas inside the Minxx club, police said in a statement.
Since Jones was drafted by the Titans in April 2005, police have interviewed him in 10 separate incidents. He has been arrested five times; he hasn't been convicted of any crimes.(H/T - Yahoo! Sports)
Police have arrested Jones five times, and interviewed him ten times in two years. Are you frakkin' kidding me? Does he have his own coffee mug at the district? When he walks into the station, do the cops all yell, "Norm!"? This guy is a thug: plain and simple. The sooner the Titans release this detritus, the better off they'll be.
If someone told you this story, you would call them a frakkin' liar. I assure you, however, this post is absolutely true, and I have the photos to back it up.
On Monday afternoon, I arrived at the division for my last day of night work. Night work is great because the endless amount of administrative personnel have already left for the day, the phone only rings 100 times an hour instead of 300, and we usually go full bore on dinners. On Monday, we decided to get take out from Rustica, in the city's Fairmount - read:"hippie" - section. The restaurant has easily the best pizza in town.
Anyway, when we were ready to pick up our order - Rustica is 50 city blocks from the division, but well worth the trip - "The Godfather" and I grabbed keys and a radio, and headed out to the parking lot. This is what we found:
Yes, that's a hub cap sitting on the dashboard of one of the division's vehicles. Although an odd sight, we figured that the cap came off after the car hit one of the city's omnipotent potholes. Upon closer inspection, we found this:
Do not adjust your eyes: the left front tire is off. But where, you ask, did it go? Right here:
See, the tire is holding up the left front end of the car, like a cinder block. I know crime is bad in this town, but this is ridiculous! Welcome to the Philadelphia Police Department.
By this time, The Godfather and I are laughing. It's funny, but not "Ha, ha" funny. Someone jacked up the vehicle, removed the lug nuts, took off the tire, placed it under the wheel, and re-attached the lug nuts! Detective divisions don't have jacks and tire irons - all city vehicle tires are changed by our road service - so either a road crew came to the lot, did a half-assed job and left, or one of the local punks pulled the practical joke of a lifetime.
Whatever happened, this car was out of service. There was no ETA on the road service. When we left at the end of the tour, it was still in this condition. Town needs an enema!
I saw this spoof today, and I an a dumber person for it.
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Democratic Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton spoofed the final episode of the hit series "The Sopranos" in a video telling supporters the winning anthem for her 2008 U.S. presidential campaign was Celine Dion's "You and I."
Celine Dion, huh? That's a sure winner. I'm sure it will rake in the Canadian vote. Morons.
In a scene reminiscent of the HBO television show's unresolved ending, the candidate's video shows her sitting in a diner as her husband, former President Bill Clinton joins her and the song "Don't Stop Believin"' by the rock band Journey plays from a jukebox.
Celine Dion and Journey? Well, that seals it. I'm voting for the Hill-dabeast!
Actor Vince Curatola, who played a mob boss named Johnny "Sack" Sacramoni on "The Sopranos," makes a cameo appearance, too, glaring menacingly at the couple as he walks past them in the restaurant near the Clinton home in Chappaqua, New York. (H/T - Yahoo!)
This piece is seen as "believable" to Clinton supporters, because it "humanizes" Hillary. No small feat. While I agree with that theory, I also agree that the subject matter was a home run.
Not because The Sopranos finale was so controversial, but because the Clintons probably had Vince Foster "whacked."
(If you can stomach it, the video can be seen HERE.)
I just read a story that blew my mind! Read on, Macduff!
KUALA LUMPUR (Reuters) - A Malaysian traditional folk healer who dances in the nude while treating her patients has upset some people in the conservative, mainly Muslim country, a newspaper said Tuesday.
Healing folks with nude dancing? It hurts right here!
Mokhtar Mohamad Noor, 53, a teacher who wanted his sick wife to be cured, said the healer gave his wife a drink and spoke an incantation before she and some male followers in their 20s and 30s started dancing in the nude, the Star newspaper reported. (H/T - Yahoo!)
. . . that I have to blog-sit for Captain America, but I have to be his own private security as well?
I'm sitting in my basement, ignoring the kids and minding my own business, when the wife sends Kyle in to me. "Dad! Mom needs you outside right away!" Swell. Keep in mind that the temperature in Philly today is currently hovering at about 90 degrees, with a humidity that would melt the cottage cheese in Michael Moore's ass.
I mosey outside to see the wife, who is pointing at the Captain's house, two doors up. "There's some guy in Anja's backyard. He's looking around, and I know they didn't plan for anyone workers to come while they are on vacation." Double swell. Now I have to go up there and lock someone up on my day off, right? Ugh. It's too hot for this.
I go inside, grab the Glock and my cuffs, hastily stuff them in my shorts, and trek over to the Captain's backyard. Our neighbor, Fire Boat John - the only one in the neighborhood with more guns that JimmyB - was already in the back interrogating the guy.
Now, you have to picture this scene. John is questioning this guy in the backyard when I walk up a la Tony Soprano getting the morning paper (left). I'm disheveled, wearing a t-shirt and shorts, trying to keep my gun and cuffs from falling out. At the same time, I'm on the phone with the Captain telling him what's going on, while he's yelling, "No one's supposed to be at my house!"
When I get to the backyard, John looks at me, stifles a laugh, and says, "You can put your gun back. This guy's an off-duty cop." It turns out that the off-duty does roofing on the side, and was looking for the right house number, but he was one street west of where he was supposed to be. Apologies were exchanged all around, and the off-duty left the scene with the knowledge that my block is probably the safest in the city.
And don't do another thing until you've checked out my recent posts at First In! I ripped Hillary, posted the Weekend Caption Contest results, and added another picture of a hot babe. What more incentive do you need?
Besides, while you're there, it'll give me time to write a post for my blog!
With the help of Techno-Yoda Rachel, I have found my very post from my very first blog, "Middie Back!" Originally posted on January 29, 2004, it was lost forever when I deleted the blog. Luckily, the internet is forever, and Rachel found my old stuff through the Wayback Machine. The title of the blog was "Middie Back!" and the subtitle was "Some rants and ravings from the dumbest guy in his college clique." Prepare to be thoroughly underwhelmed . . .
Why Are We Here?
A profound question that has plagued both man and beast for eons. The answer to this particular question is two-fold: either you have logged on to my blog by mistake ("Undo!, Undo!"), and are looking for something of substance (i.e., illegal music downloads), or, you feel obligated as a friend/family member/pet to read my posts. Oh well. Whatever puts the tushies in the seats. Welcome aboard.
Why "Middie Back!"?
It's a lacrosse term used when a defensive player enters the offensive zone. The player will yell, "Middie Back!" to let his teammates know to cover his now vacant defensive position. I've always liked the term because it's a.) catchy, b.) familiar, since I played (and now coach), and c.) not lost in translation off the field. "Middie Back!" is a testosterone-driven plea for help - a Dr. Phil-less way for a guy to ask a friend for support. Since I haven't written anything worth reading since college (and even then, the jury was out), I may feel the need to shout "Middie Back!" to the audience if I get flustered. Practice makes perfect, and I hope my writing steadily improves. Thanks in advance for your patience.
Why Am I "The Dumbest Guy In His College Clique"?
I was lucky enough to attend Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia (currently #3 in the nation in men's basketball). Trust me, I was out of my league since day one. A pal from high school introduced me to "a few good men" (and women!), and we all quickly became friends. One thing led to another, and by sophomore year, my "clique" collectively joined the school newspaper (shout out to "The Hawk"). After spending countless hours in that cramped, dingy office, I realized that I was surrounded by some of the brightest people I have ever met. (Dr. Phil Alert!) Although I always felt inferior to them intellectually, they never judged me, and were always ready to lend a helping hand. For that I am grateful. I dedicate this blog to them. Thank you Tom, Chris, Donna, Bill, Matt (The Boy), Dawn, Pat, Heather, Marika, Michelle, Topher, and Alex. Go Hawks!