ITS ABOUT DAMN TIME….we have a reason to care about Sochi now. Sorry Shaun, but you can’t stay relevant in America for more than a decade when you look like a mix between a leprechaun and Freddy Kruger. Stuffing your kilbasa into skintight costumes, strapping a couple of dangerous weapons to your feet and bursting out of the closet with a double layback spin might get you a 9.5 from the judges, but America just isn’t having it. Solution? The classic. Get Russians. Get nude. Well, you had my curiosity. Now you have my attention.
Someone over in Sochi is applying the Newtonian Boner Transitive Theory to help the American male community associate a wicked torque with a gold medal in the skeleton bob. This isn’t fucking Norway. And as sound as that theory may or may not be, I’m just stoked to be along for the ride…
Maybe if all 4 people working over at the WNBA hadn’t missed the day in marketing class where they tell you that “sex sells”, they wouldn’t be getting kicked out of their arena by Disney On Ice. America managed to fill a full 12 rosters with women I’d rather see in a heavy parka than dancing around a pole in sparkly lingerie…impressive stuff. Your move, Ireland.
Bottom line? We only tuned in to the Games back in ’12 to feel vaguely uncomfortable that the entire gymnastics team was like a smoking hot version of High School Musical, and were only watching now to cross our fingers and hope that a maverick slalom pole snags loose material and takes the rest of some unpronounceable smokes speedsuit with it. And thats just good old-fashioned American pride, you guys. YOO ESS AY! YOO ESS AY!
Alright, perhaps I was a bit overzealous in declaring the recently waived Stak5 a potential messiah of Los Angeles basketball in 2014, but my dude is still swangin’. Straight up Instagram All-Star. Normally I’m not a fan of people blown’ up my news feed with 14 tasteless photogs per day, but when they’re this good, who am I to complain? Homie put on a clinic…
#HittinEm with some first-class comedy. Bravo, Stevie. Happy Black History Month.
P.S. While we’re on the topic of the grams, here’s the dumbest thing I saw today:
Anthony Kiedis doesn’t twerk…Safe to say whatever shit-eating, do-goodist soccer mom from the bible belt that came up with this incongruous logic ought to pack up her capri-sun filled ’97 Ford Winstar and drive it straight off a local bridge. Won’t be a tragedy. #HitEm
After thousands upon thousands of complaints, HitEmWhereTheyAint is proud to present its first cut of DARK MEAT! Introducing Marcus from Babson. With a smile that can’t quit, this hard-bodied muscleman can be found on the runway, running down the B-Ball court, or in your dreams!
I’m not even going to check my coat at the door. Because when I fuck, I fuck full suit. Straight up
Only hot dudes wear argyle. Fact.
Looks like a young Lt. Daniels from the Wire. You feel safe in the arms of this black Adonis.
So, ladies, do yourself a favor: loosen up with some Frankie Beverly and Maze, cheap Chardonnay, and a finger where it gets all hot and nasty and comment for this aspiring hunk of Das hunks
Anyone who inadvertendly knocks himself out while masterbating and then-there-after covers up the Jason Biggs-esque blunder with, “Oh, yea, sorry about the post-oral surgery orbital bruising, Shits fucked up.” is a champion in my book. I Scallenge anyone to look worse on media day. Including you, Kris Humphries. #HitEm
If you haven’t peeped the bio, we’re Cambridge bred. We’re also Beaver Country Day Alums. Jacquil Taylor is both. And as of last night, Jacquil pledged the presumed next four years of his life to Head Coach Matt Painter of the Purdue Boilermakers. Despite the looming concerns of a broken foot, the 6’10 rim protector battled with a determination and resiliency characteristic of this city’s basketball culture. The likes of the University of Miami, Kansas State, VCU and George Mason soon came knocking, but in the end, all things set sail towards West Lafayette, Indiana. And now Jacquil becomes part of a pantheon of high major commits that most notably includes Patrick Ewing (yup), Michigan’s own Rumeal Robinson, Michael Carter-Williams (he’s from Cambridge!) and the LEGEND formally known as Wayne Turner (Wayne might have the most intriguing narrative of all Kentucky alum. Yes, better than Nazr Mohammad). Some crazy company to join.
A kid near flawless in the department of character, Taylor brings a defensive oriented skill set to go along with an intriguing ceiling for development on the offensive end. From a critics perspective, Jacquil’s skillset doesn’t exactly come full circle via this snid-bit highlight tape—most highlight tapes often times fail in doing a player’s game justice for better or worse. Nonetheless, Jacquil balls. Fluid, fully extended jump hooks to his strong (left) hand, an ever-evolving stroke with the potential to extend out to 20 plus feet, HANDS, a defensive mainstay who will forever and always challenge anything at the rim. Of course, the learning of curve of having to adjust to the size, strength and physicality of the next level will take its toll; just ask all our freshman here at the University of Miami—you dont’ know what this level is really like until you play alongside nine other high profile guys with two to three years of collegiate experience on the same floor. Eye opening to say the least. But that ain’t nothing but a thing of down the road concern. For now, the focus is on enjoying the moment and a full year’s worth of development. Salute to you, your brother Mo Mo (Question: Is ballin’ at North Carolina A&T not the best thing ever?) and the rest of the family. Crazy respect for the homie Jacquil. #HitEm
P.S. Mo Mo, I want an interview about this in about 4 months.
a.) This is the most outlandish outfit ever rocked to a Teen Choice Awards.
b.) If Russ had enough hair to pull the sides and top back, he’d more or less look like a Geisha
c.) Russ is “Swangin’” as opposed to “Swaggin’”. I’m going out on an porn live sex accurate limb here and calling the word “Swag” forever outdated. Like, I saw some squid in Martha’s Vineyard wearing a Nike “Swag Unit” t-shirt and immediately decided the word shall no longer be uttered. At least in Chris Kattan’s vicinity, that is. I’ll projectile vomit. “Swag”: Out. “Swangin’”: In.
No. The synchronization and the kid on the water slide presumptuously make the attempt more impressive than it actually is. Break down its most basic elements and the dunk is essentially a lob from some fat shween in yellow trunks. Nonetheless, I’ll begrudgingly give those titties two thumbs up. Not to mention points are awarded to kimberly oja pokies dude who emphatically finishes the play. The geometry of that pool gives me the creeps. Serious balls to come on in hot.
Ultimately, with regards to the pantheon of group pool dunkers, it definitely beats these losers
These jamokes might take the cake
And these little shitheads should go kill themselves.
Do I need say much more than, “Oh, my Sweet Jesus”? And, yes, he came down hard on some pussy with a stomach full of sashimi later that night. And when I mean that night, I mean in a shower post jumping into a pond full of shit. But, hey, he got it done at least. Senior Week, Brother.
I’d shit my pants if I ever had to fight this former night club manager/ex-bus driver. I’d shit my pants for a full week if I had to fight this nightmare come true looking like the Clown from Stephen King’s IT (Believe it or not, this shithead enters the ring dressed as a Clown on occasion. Yikes). The Clown from IT used to terrorize me in my dreams. Fuck that noise. If I did have the balls to fight Colin “The Freakshow” Fletcher, however, I’d throw the, “Sweet dude. You might win this fight. But you’ll still end up going home as a mediocrely paid European Lightweight Champion looking like whack version of Baraka from Mortal Combat. You don’t look cool. You look like a psychopath who has an 85% chance of suffering from manic depression when you retire. Loser.”