Just Give This Guy the "Coach of the Year" Award Now

I should be getting ready for the Yankee game right now, but this was just too good to pass up. Mike Leach is the fucking man. It's one thing to call out your team to try to inspire them to play better, but it's a completely different thing to bring their fat little girlfriends into it. 100 bucks says Texas Tech wrecks whoever they play this weekend by at least 50 points and here's why:

Everybody knows fat chicks suck. It's just science. They're loud, obnoxious beasts whose sole purpose on this Earth is to hog the natural resources from us smaller, more productive members of the human race. And the only thing worse than a fat chick is a fat chick with a boyfriend. She becomes even more loud, more obnoxious, more needy, and more annoying to everybody around her when she has a guy to hang on. If you have a guy with a lardass chickie, take a look at him the next time you're hanging out. If you catch it at the right moment, you can actually see the life being sucked out of him and being deposited right into her fat stomach.

Now I don't go to Texas Tech so I don't know what kind of tail their players are pulling. Typically D-1 athletes get the most prime cuts of campus pussy, but far be it for me to call Mike Leach a liar; if the guy says his players have fat little girlfriends then they probably have fat little girlfriends. Now here's the key; when those fat little girlfriends find out what Leach said about them, they are going to take it out on their boyfriends and bitch and moan to a degree never before experienced by these guys. The only thing the guys will be able to do to avoid killing themselves is go out on Saturday and take out all their anger and hatred for their fat little girlfriends on whatever poor saps are across the line of scrimmage. It's genius.

Just like behind every successful man is a good woman, behind every underachieving football player there's a fat little girlfriend. You motivate the fat little girlfriends, you motivate the team; it's coaching 101. Knute Rockne never thought this shit up.

Oh Come On!!! by That Guy

Now this story and video has been making the rounds on the internet and TV over the last day or 2, but I called bullshit on this within the first 10 seconds of watching it.

Notice the phrase "training to be a pro football cheerleader." All it takes to be an NFL cheerleader is a set of tits and a decent haircut, so if this chick, who is at least a 7-7.5 out of 10, can't hack it as a cheerleader for one of the worst teams in the league then she's pretty much hit rock bottom. So she cooked up a cute little story about getting a flu shot a few days ago and then suddenly starting to walk like a freakshow combination of the "Thriller" dance and Gollum from "LOTR," and talk like a deaf "Sesame Street" character, and suddenly her tragic tale would be all over TV, catapulting her into the spotlight she so desperately craves.

Nice try, bitch, but you have to wake up a little earlier in the morning to pull an amateur hour shenanigan like this over on me. You can feed me all the lines about dystonia and doctors being amazed by this one-in-a-million case, but unless I'm looking at a doctor's report and seeing a diagram tracing back this supposed disease through this chick's family tree, I'm not buying it. And then when she takes it to a whole new level with the added "I can walk backwards and jog just fine, and even talk right when I'm jogging. Golly gee, what a craaaaaaaaaaaazy mystery!"-routine, I'm putting all my money on "Bullshit" to win.

For Christ's sake, she doesn't even stop jogging before she starts spazzing out again at the 1:28-1:29 mark. If you're going to try to pull one over on America, at least rehearse a little more and keep a little consistency in your side effects. This "Inside Edition" dude should just fucking quit his job now. If that were me in that case, I would have pulled a Walter Sobchack on her, yanked her up off of that couch, and exposed her as the walker that she is.

If you really want to enjoy this story, try this version instead.



I laughed my fucking ass off watching this twice in a row. Am I going to hell? Absolutely. But at least I'm not lying about it like this bitch.

Infants: Cute and Cuddly or Seriously Sinister?

We see it everywhere. Babies. Parents smothering and ogling their little bundles of joy...but really, what have you seriously brought into the world...here are the top 10 reasons why infants are going to be our destruction...

1. They Steal, They Climb, They Are Hungry, doesn't this sound a bit too much like a horror film?


Advice: Run away right now, before it gets it realizes you just took a picture of it...It will not tolerate such treatment except whilst asleep. From this picture I wouldn't doubt that it could scurry up your leg, while stealing your wallet and biting your nose, look at that thing. *shivers*

2. Babies EAT OTHER BABIES!


Advice: Keep it away from other children, or maybe we should just lock them all together for a toothless bloodbath? I don't even know what to do about this...terrible.
This plays right along into my next point...

3. Babies Can Be Zombies Too


Imagine a zombie baby CLIMBING on your head, tearing out your eyes!
Advice: Pick axe through the skull. Seriously. Do it now. It is a win-win. Right? I mean...let's say the baby becomes a zombie...then you are screwed. But if you kill it, then you solved all your problems since the "Damn, I should have pulled out" moment.

4. Angriest creatures ever.



'nuff said.
Advice: Turn the baby upside down for extended amounts of time. Eventually gravity will confuse and it will smile more than frown. Or punt the baby from a balcony.

5. Babies can KILL YOU with THEIR EYES!


Look at that!! My ears started bleeding after a while...evil.
Advice? What advice can possibly be given to stop that!

6. They were this kinda shit on their heads.



It makes me paranoid...
Advice: Don't smoke or use any unlabeled pills and then look at your kids head.

7. The want the world to kiss their ass...they don't give a damn what you think.


Advice: Smack that bitch.

8. They hate everything created FOR THEM!
Like Mickey Mouse...


Or even kittens...


Advice: Ball and Chain. Lake.

9. OH MY GOD!!! This is reason enough to leave your infant in a dumpster.



Advice...Butt plugs.

10. Hitler was a baby too.




I think I have rested my case. Have a baby-free night.

~Garrett R

PBR Is "Hip" Now by That Guy

Sales of Pabst Blue Ribbon are up a whopping 25 percent this year, according to Information Resources Inc.

"Well, of course," you say. In this economy, consumers are looking for low-cost options, and cheaper beers are going to do better than more expensive ones.

But Pabst raised its prices last year and now it isn't as cheap as you may think: The beer now costs $1.50 more than MillerCoors' Keystone, $1 more than Anheuser-Busch's Busch and Natural brands, and 50 cents more than Miller High Life, Crain's reports.

Yet, despite being more expensive, PBR is doing remarkably better than all those brands in profits.

Pabst managed to pull of a strangely effective word-of-mouth campaign that made the long-declining brand an "ironic downscale chic choice for bike messengers and other younger drinkers who viewed the beer as a statement of non-mainstream taste," reports Crain's.

Let's call a spade a spade: Those "non-mainstream," "younger drinkers" are hipsters.

Usually found smoking European cigarettes and/or cloves, hipsters are known for their despise of anything "mainstream" and their fondness for irony. They listen to bands that no one has ever heard of and start fashion trends that are cool because of their "uncoolness", e.g., trucker hats or vintage plaid shirts.

This is where Pabst Blue Ribbon comes in.

"It's an anti-establishment badge," said a major market wholesaler. "It seems to play to the retro, nonconformist crowd pretty well."

Hipsters enjoy drinking a beer that isn't as "established" as other better-known brands, asserting themselves are more "genuine" and "unique" than the mainstream that surrounds them.

They should be careful though. With the incredible rise in sales, Pabst Blue Ribbon could become so popular, it may enter the mainstream, and hipsters will have to abandon it in favor of another "cheap" beer. (story courtesy of NBC Los Angeles)



First off, did I miss the fucking boat on PBR being considered a "good" beer? I've drank my fair share of that stuff and I think it sucks something fierce. If you don't pound that shit down right out of the fridge it gets pretty skanky after about 20 minutes, even more so when it's canned and not bottled. Pabst is fucking garbage, plain and simple, and the people that brew it and bars that sell it know that. You can find "$1 Pabst" promotions at half the bars in the country, but you don't see too many "2-for-1 Guinness" or "Half-Off Sierra Nevada" deals do you?

So fucking what if they stuff is $1.50 more than Keystone or Natty Light? Stating that your beer costs slightly more than Keystone as if it's a good thing is like saying a girl you want to bang is slightly sluttier than Paris Hilton and that's why you want to bang her. You can pretty much buy an entire canning line of Natty Light for 13 bucks so how is a slightly higher price a sign of that much better quality?

A 6-pack of REAL good beer is going to cost you more than a case of Keystone or Natty or PBR and there are plenty of non-conforming microbrews out there that are a hell of a lot better than Pabst. Not to mention the fact that the Pabst Brewing Company has been around since the mid-1800s, so saying they aren't "established" is like saying the Dallas Cowboys are an expansion team.

Secondly, when the fuck did wearing goofy clothes and listening to obscure bands make you a "hipster?" Where I come from, we call those guys douche bags or losers. I thought the phrase "hipster" went out the window as soon as "Happy Days" went off the air but it appears I was wrong in that thought also. The whole concept of being "different" and "non-conformist" by conforming to awkward things is bullshit anyway, so the fact that this sub-group of middle-class white kids has managed to bring PBR into mainstream focus is a fucking riot to me. Nothing like drinking what everybody else is drinking because it's suddenly "cool" to express your individuality, huh?

I'm going to call this what it is; a bunch of un-original lemmings latching onto something that they thought was cool and different but in actuality has been around since it was still legal to own black people. The real reason these so-called hipsters probably bought PBR was because they had spent the rest of their money on trucker hats and Flaming Lips vinyl records and couldn't afford a good 6-pack of Big Sky or Left Hand Brewery beer and resorted to PBR because they know Keystone and Natty sucks.

P.S.- Anybody who thinks PBR is better than Miller High Life is a fucking moron.

A Letter...by Garrett Radant

My Dearest Empty Page,

What am I today? I am a soldier. Shrapnel hurling through the air, bullets echo across the skies, firefight. You are the piercing pain in my knees as I crawl into a bunker coated in glass, tears of regret coarse my soot covered cheeks. For I am a boy, hiding under my bed, they are fighting again. The door slams and I am alone. By myself, I walk down the aisles of this Cathedral...vacant pews and unlit candles. A place so serene and so self-served. More battles were held in this very room than anywhere else before. Looseleaf? Do you hear me? Do you believe? Because lately, no one could ever listen...between you an I...this is the only way I speak. Am I in love today? Am I so enthralled in someone that myself as a being is woven into them...they don't know it though...they never do. Are you walking away again today? Every time is the last time. Every dream is broken and every wish was made upon airplanes, for shooting stars don't soar this way. Are you making a promise today? It is easy to say you believe in something, when you rebuked it yesterday...for the morning is cleansing and the night remains a pool of unknown. In the shadows I dwell, not hiding from anything but myself. Realizations are the hardest things to accept and the simplest to ignore. I am a child chasing his dreams, I am an adult with no hope left. Strapping on these pads, stepping onto the field; sweat, blood and bone. I am the stringless guitar, I am the muted noise, I am the silent wave, I am broken. Glasses clatter against themselves, heads back, shots down. One goal in mind... drown coherency. Am I nothing in this ghastly fog? I can only hope. I run down an abandon street, lungs ache, legs burn...I give the moon a fleeting glance. Gorgeous. Rain turns to hail, I am soaken. Call it purification, call it a release. I yearn to scream...forever is only as long as life can push you on...which begs the question, how can one live...without first dying? Blood gushes, mist coated wind sprays and the sun sets as I grab your hand...I kiss you as the first stars appear in the sky. Perfection isn't always what you dream...but this time; it is. I muster everything I ever could have had. All the energy, all my soul... I whisper. Because with you dear looseleaf...I am almost heard.

Yours truly,

Silence