Paris Hilton. Doesn't the term scuzzy jizz-bucket just fly into your mind?
'Taint issues are not for the feint of heart, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
The anti-gay baker reminds me of the joke of two cupcakes in an oven. One cupcake says, "Man, it is hot in here." The other cupcake says, "Holy crap, a talking cupcake."
"Family Feud" hosted by Steve Harvey features the Wests versus the Kardashians. It is closed captioned for the idiot impaired.
The head of Starbucks, Howard Schultz, is stepping down. He wants to spend more time misspelling his family's names.
"Howard Schultz" is stepping down as the head of Starbucks. Starbucks is giving him a gold watch with "Howerd Sholse" inscribed on it.
Although they have a curd, grate cheese jokes are a muenster to make and are not gouda be a bries to whey in and make room to feta in here. #NationalCheeseDay
In a Denver bar, an FBI agent shot a patron - who is going to be OK- when he did a flip and his gun fell out and fired. The dance move is now officially called a Full Giuliani.
In an interview with Piers Morgan, Tom Arnold confirmed his ex, Roseanne Barr, is a racist. That story again, Roseanne is not paying Tom Arnold any more spousal support.
"Leave the gun, take the guacamole." #ThingsNotSaidInTheGodfather
In game two, LeBron James's poked left eye was so nasty looking it actually took people's mind off of his suit shorts.
Since you asked:
“Steph Curry set an NBA Finals game record with nine three-pointers in Golden State’s 122-103 win over Cleveland in Game 2.”
That line is an object lesson in how statistics cannot tell the story. Curry's shots were so electrifying and crazy, the crowd lost its ever-loving mind.
When you see LeBron’s petulant behavior and sulking, especially during the break before overtime in Game 1 after JR Smith’s brain-fart, you know Cleveland is toast. LeBron does not possess enough leadership to overcome a more talented Golden State team.
Nobody is better than LeBron James. But Cleveland does not have anyone else better than the four stars on the Warriors, Steph Curry, Klay Thompson, Kevin Durant and Draymond Green. Maybe Kevin Love, but that’s it. Tristan Thompson should stick to dating Kardashians.
Due to his endless crotch-slamming and his default “You called a foul on me?” expression, I was not a Draymond Green fan. But his scrappy play, tough defense, rebounding and passing have made me convert.
Rest in Peace, Dwight Clark. Class act. That 1982 "The Catch" team really epitomized the blending of a town and the team. Montana, Rice, Clark, Roger Craig and especially coach Bill Walsh. They just looked like they fit in with the cool, foggy San Francisco, the nice wines, and fish and steak houses.
The 1982 Forty Niners look like Stanford students with Bill Walsh as their professor. They look like they're on a winery tour and Bill Walsh is showing them how the tannins appear on the side of the glass.
The 1975 Steelers were the same fit with Pittsburgh as were the 1983 Chargers with Dan Fouts in San Diego and the 1967 Green Bay Packers with Bart Starr.
The 1985 Bears were just the right combination of Chicago blue collar tough guys with yellow power tie yuppies. Perfect example, Gary Fencik.
Unfortunately, with way higher salaries and soaring egos, the fans and NFL players have never been further apart emotionally or socially. There is not one team that resembles its city. New England? Please. Tom Brady is a super model's super model. Rob Gronkowski is a little closer, but he is still Hollywood.
No, players now are all Tesla, Lamborghini, Nike and Rebook. No personality.
The days of fans drinking with the Oakland Raiders in waterfront Oakland dive bar have gone forever.
So we mourn more than just the classy and handsome Dwight Clark. We mourn the end of a team, city and their players fitting like a hand in glove.
Bill Clinton infuriated me with his classless egomaniacal horniness with a chubby intern staining the image of the Oval Office forever.
But compared to Trump, Clinton was the Jackie Kennedy of White House class. This tiny-fisted corn-silk-haired oaf has degraded the image of the presidency to a point it will never get 100% clean again.
Rest in Peace, Dwight Clark. Class act. That 1982 "The Catch" team really epitomized the blending of a town and the team. Montana, Rice, Clark, Roger Craig and especially coach Bill Walsh. They just looked like they fit in with the cool, foggy San Francisco, the nice wines, and fish and steak houses.
The 1982 Forty Niners look like Stanford students with Bill Walsh as their professor. They look like they're on a winery tour and Bill Walsh is showing them how the tannins appear on the side of the glass.
The 1975 Steelers were the same fit with Pittsburgh as were the 1983 Chargers with Dan Fouts in San Diego and the 1967 Green Bay Packers with Bart Starr.
The 1985 Bears were just the right combination of Chicago blue collar tough guys with yellow power tie yuppies. Perfect example, Gary Fencik.
Unfortunately, with way higher salaries and soaring egos, the fans and NFL players have never been further apart emotionally or socially. There is not one team that resembles its city. New England? Please. Tom Brady is a super model's super model. Rob Gronkowski is a little closer, but he is still Hollywood.
No, players now are all Tesla, Lamborghini, Nike and Rebook. No personality.
The days of fans drinking with the Oakland Raiders in waterfront Oakland dive bar have gone forever.
So we mourn more than just the classy and handsome Dwight Clark. We mourn the end of a team, city and their players fitting like a hand in glove.
Bill Clinton infuriated me with his classless egomaniacal horniness with a chubby intern staining the image of the Oval Office forever.
But compared to Trump, Clinton was the Jackie Kennedy of White House class. This tiny-fisted corn-silk-haired oaf has degraded the image of the presidency to a point it will never get 100% clean again.
posted by Alex at
12:07 PM
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