Sarah Palin is MILF-tastic. I could care less about her politics or shitting developmentally disabled babies out of her old dried-up uterus when she has that slutty soccer mom thing working for her.
Foreign policy lessons for America from the Byzantine Empire. Very Art of War with guerrilla warfare sprinkles on top. I agree with most of these points, however, the United States has the tremendous advantage of geographic isolation which the Byzantine Empire did not. This means we can wage wars on six continents with a slim a chance of the conflicts spilling over into our Motherland. So unless we drop bombs on Canada or Mexico, I am guessing Americans will flourish historically a lot longer than the Byzantines.
The more I see of Ice-T's wife Coco, the happier with him as a person I become. Continue to Peel Their Caps Back with your cave bitch, good sir.
After reviewing this list, I would have to say 1984 was hands down the best year for movies. I can quote countless lines of dialogue from memory on most of those films. My dad really let me watch some inappropriate films during my impressionable years. He took me to see Ghostbusters, Gremlins, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (the very first movie rated PG-13) and Police Academy in the theaters. Terminator, Red Dawn, Revenge of the Nerds, Nightmare On Elm Street and Sixteen Candles found their way to me via HBO with my dad's standard caveat, "Don't let your mother know I let you watch this." There was some excellent gratuitous nudity in those films; Police Academy, Purple Rain (Apollonia jumping into Lake Minnetonka), Revenge of the Nerds (full frontal), The Terminator (right before Sarah Connor's roommate gets "terminated") and Sixteen Candles (Caroline in the locker room shower). Sadly, there will probably never be a year of cinema packed full of winners like that again. Unless someone decides to resurrect Steve Guttenberg and Ralph Macchio's careers.
Elena Basescu, daughter of Romanian president Traian Basescu, looks like an Eastern-bloc Wynne Cooper, is running for European Parliament and likes to mount fallen horses to pose for pictures.
The saddest and happiest headstone I have ever seen.
The Sears Tower is getting renamed the Willis Tower. Nice work, Sears. I can just hear my dead grandfather Broz renouncing his brand loyalty to all Craftsmen products on the other side.
Does this generation of middle-school kids even know who Wynne Cooper is? Did they lust after her 13 year-old frame and fantasize about making out with her in Paul Pfieffer's basement after the Sadie Hawkins dance like the pubescent Matt Brozovich did?
Mr. Belding rocks the karaoke and is releasing a DVD/CD called Karaoke With Your Favorite Principal Dennis Haskins, aka Mr. Belding. I enjoyed his duet rendition of "Mustang Sally" with the ever-vapid Brook Hogan. Someone should have told Mr. B about Brooke's cock before he dropped all those sexual innuendos.
How hot dogs are made. Just look at that delicious vat of leftover blended meat pastes dipped in smoke flavor!
8-Bit Jesus is a Christmas album that features classic tracks done in the style of different Nintendo game's soundtrack. My personal favorite is "The Legend Of Noel."
A list of Manic Pixie Dream Girl characters from popular culture. I may have married Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Read this description and judge for yourself: The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is stunningly attractive, high on life, full of wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies, and inexplicably obsessed with our stuffed-shirt hero, on whom she will focus her antics until he learns to live and love.
I love me some Olympics. I love the history, the majesty, the competition, the pseudo-sport "athletes" doing lesbian modeling shoots, the underage Chinese gymnasts and the ridiculously shredded Dara Torres looking like she could punch through the ass of a thoroughbred race horse. I long for this Friday's opening ceremony in Beijing where anti-rain rockets will be fired into the atmosphere, crippling pollution will destroy the lungs of the most well-conditioned athletes and the Chinese government will slaughter kittens in the streets. I look forward to the 29th Games of Olympiad to watch the best of the world compete on a grand stage and ogle hot female Olympians. I am especially anticipating rooting for my wife's childhood friend and one of Arvada, Colorado's native sons Casey Malone, who will be representing the United States in discus for his second appearance in Olympic competition (and just in case he forgot, I wish to echo what I told him at his send-off picnic: "If you do not come home with a medal, Malone, do not come home" which loosely translates in Brozovich to, "You show them, Malone. You show the world.") Let the Women's Beach Volleyball, and the games, begin.
A 5.4 magnitude earthquake hit Los Angeles earlier today and yielded no deaths with minor damage. Where are those celebrity upskirts when you need them most?
Some Island of Dr.Moreau shit washed ashore in Montauk, Long Island. Crazy genetic mutant that escaped from Plum Island or a dried up sea turtle missing its shell? You decide.
Mr.Belding cuts a rug with some hot chicks in Vegas.
The Women of Starbucks I supported because we all have a barista in our lives that make our mornings bearable with a cute smile and fantastic breasts. The Women of Enron I rallied behind because Enron screwed a lot of its employees out of their retirement savings and, hey; nude business chicks! The Women of Home Depot I half-heartedly accepted as I once saw a semi-attractive female working in the lumber department at my neighborhood store and I may have been interested in seeing her naked if liquored up properly and nothing good was on television. The Women of Olive Garden I cannot and will not get behind due to the fact I have never seen an attractive female employee in my limited experience with the chain. An overweight, single mother with bad hair and a marinara-stained shirt maybe.
While on a conference call with a client who spent the majority of the time figuring out an easy content management system who dropped the following phrase numerous times, "Okay. Hold on just a second ...5 minutes of silence... Ohhhhhhhhhhh. That is easy!" I was left with time to ponder important Art Director decisions. Decisions like who the hottest bitches of 2008 are. According to Maxim, it is Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model Marissa Miller. Well played, Maxim. I do, however, have to take exception with your placement of Britney at 19. Seriously? 19? Did you not look at this before making your list? FHM gave the hot chick medal of honor to Megan Fox. Even though Jake is gay and has no love for her, she is slutty delicious and I look forward to seeing her rack in more overly-hyped, big budgeted, acting-anemic Michael Bay joints. Then there are the lesbians. Apparently they are all about Tina Fey. Look, I get it. She is smart, cute, has that trashy librarian vibe and is funny on 30 Rock. But number 1? You disappoint me, lesbians. Her face scar alone should drop her out of the top ten (strictly from a comparison standpoint). Lastly, I take extreme exception with Gwen Stefani not being mentioned on any of these lists (and I know from personal experience that the lesbians love Gwen Stefani). Please review this Maxim, FHM and lesbians. That is all.
Another reason besides gambling payouts to enjoy college athletics. Note to YouTube video collage guy: Have enough respect for your craft to at least have the images of your obsession sync with the music. And Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady"? Come on. Think it through.
The comics deal that put Mile High Comics and Charles Rozanski on the map.
The 20 biggest record company screw-ups of all time. Number one? The killing of Napster. Also ridiculous yet notable; the selling of Motown for peanuts, letting Bob Dylan go for a thousand bucks and the Guns N' Roses Chinese Democracy debacle.
An image gallery of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue covers from 1964-2008.
George Clooney is a bitch. All the deviants on my Thursday night ice hockey team judged me a few weeks ago for not having seen Two Girls And 1 Cup. So I gave into peer pressure and watched the scat sickness unfold before me. I am convinced the two girls were eating chocolate soft serve ice cream and not engaging in actual corpophilia. I need footage of the poop in question being shat into the cup, not the cup going off camera and than magically re-entering the frame filled with poop. Who are you judging now, Thursday night ice hockey team?
In California, science dorks are getting their panties in a twist over the first substantiated wolverine sighting since the 1920s. Yee-haw! It is a large, ferocious weasel!
Erotic Falconry is a great idea with poor execution (Read: birds of prey Photshopped into pictures of hot chicks). I was expecting topless shots of hot chicks with falconers gloves and assorted raptors affixed to them. I guess my standards are just too high. You disappoint me yet again, internet.
Kate Beckinsale. Meow. I have been a fan ever since she started fighting werewolves and vampires in a tight, black jumpsuit and bustier.
Lindsay Lohan. Doing the Marilyn thing (NSFW). Whatever. Everyone has seen her cash and prizes (NSFW) before, so getting an unobstructed view of her bare chest is not all that exciting. Regardless, the pictures are tastefully done and my maleness caused me to pause and acknowledge her befreckled fun bags. It is still too difficult to tell if the carpet matches the drapes due to her clean, close shave.
Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman. It is a strange moment when Natalie Portman becomes the grenade in any scenario, but she is standing next to Scarlett Johansson's tits. Those things are like attractive friend Kryptonite; their glory weakens any hotness within their immediate vicinity.
The always timeless Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue hits newsstands this week and SI has posted a complimentary web directory so comprehensive that it nullifies the need for a printed magazine. The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue is responsible for me spending the better half of my formidable years tacking Kathy Ireland covers to my wall, enduring repeated viewings of Necessary Roughness and making Pee-Chee folder collages with shots of Elle McPherson and her snorkeling equipment. Back then, you could not find a sport associated with bikinis so it was nigh impossible to justify a pubescent grocery store checkout line purchase to your mother. But than this happened. And it was good.
There are degrees of physical attractiveness in this world. While Jessica Biel is "Girl Next Door" hot and Diane Lane is "Cougar" hot, this specimen is the classic example of "Fucked Up" hot. Cute yet embattled face, rock hard abs, horrible tattoos and a penchant for living on the wrong side of the law. Did daddy not hug you enough, fucked-up hot girl? Or did he hug you too much? Does the weed and the booze numb you enough to emotionally handle collecting all the dollar bills from the stage at the end of your dance? Do your three illegitimate children live with your mom or are they being raised by television in a trailer park somewhere? The world may never know what drives you, fucked-up hot girl, but we will keep trying to learn through future arrests and tribal yin-yang tattoos.
Me:Interesting. Jake: Meh. She does not stun me. Who cares if she can play some golf? Me: I guess it is nice to know that she is not just a useless hot bitch. She can hit the shit out of a golf ball, too. Jake: Give me Heidi Klum playing with her tits any day. Me: Well, duh. Her tits are fantastic. Jake: "Great knockers!" Me: The Seal thing baffles me. I bet she is a size queen. It is the only explanation. Jake: Never thought of that. Me: Him and Edward James Olmos could be brothers with all that shit on their faces. Jake: Ha! Seal had lupus. Cut the guy a break. He is just trying to get by. Me: I do not call banging Heidi Klum "Getting By." I call that "Out Punting Your Coverage." "Getting By" is laying wood to someone like Britney Spears. Jake: That is not "Getting By" that is "Giving Up." Me: Nice.
I was just informed by Team Hofkamp that the following video was playing at a neighborhood CB & Potts this past Friday during the family allotted dining hour.
You made that family dinner hour your bitch, CB & Potts.
The Here I Go Again video filled my pubescent years with countless hours of masturbatory fodder. Tawny Kitaen's ruby tresses flowed in the wind as sheer linen robes exposed her bulbous breasts and buttocks while she stretched and gyrated her limber body all over the hood of David Coverdale's car. It was a sight to behold. Unfortunately for Tawny, this was the zenith of her career. Soon after she defiled that black muscle car, her life and looks degenerated in the magical world of happy dust, prescription medication and attacks on her ex-husband with a shoe.
Jake knows of my adoration for women's tennis (more specifically, of my adoration for Maria Sharapova). Today, as I ate lunch from home, he calls.
Jake:Turn it to ESPN. Me: Why? Jake: Just do it.
I turn the channel to see Maria Sharapova, adorned in her little skirt, grunting, moaning and serving heat to Japan's Ai Sugiyama at Wimbledon. In a well-played tennis match, Sharapova won 5-7, 7-5, 6-1. She will now face Lindsay Davenport in the semifinals. It is moments such as these that reinforce why I am friends with Jake.
Women's tennis has always mesmerized me (this goes back long before Anna Kournikova appeared on the scene). It is a combination of the short skirts, the athleticism, the undulating buttocks and the orgasmic cries of ladies as they whack at the ball with all their might that does it for me. Today at lunch, while Jake and I dined on brisket sandwiches from Brothers Barbecue, my obsession with women's tennis reared its ugly head. Jake was trying to make conversation with me but my attentions were transfixed on the television behind him that was broadcasting a French Open match between Vera Zvonareva and Maria Sharapova. It was an epic struggle and, just in case you care, the 18th seeded Maria Sharapova upset the 10th seeded Vera Zvonareva.
Nothing irritates me more than when women's nipples are airbrushed out of photographs. Most major men's magazines (that are not porn) are guilty of this offense (an offense, in my opinion, that should be punishable by death. Preferably a death where fire ants eat a person alive from the inside out.) America is sexually repressed. Women have tits and I want to see them poking through a tight sweater, a spandex body suit or a tiny bikini top. Even Angelina Jolie agrees with me on this one.
I have participated in the sport of paintball twice in my life (I use the term "sport" loosely). The activity is essentially a microcosm of the short story The Most Dangerous Game. The most enjoyable aspect of paintball was eliminating the high intensity assholes with semi-automatic guns and Kevlar body suits that thought they were fighting a real war. I am sure my opinion would be different if I were shooting at naked women.
Researchers theorize that there is a link between United States economic conditions and subtle changes in Playboy centerfold physiques. Readers seem to prefer stronger looking women in hard times, and softer, more vulnerable types when the market is good. Personally, I like all types of naked chicks no matter what the economy is doing.
The 2002 World Cup has popularized women in Asian countries stylizing their pubic hair into Mohawks in honor of David Beckham. When traveling to Osaka, She Who Will Not Be Named brought me back some authentic Japanese smut. The Japanese ladies tend to be quite hirsute in their nether regions. I guess you are not hip over there unless it looks like you got a midget in a scissors lock.
There are not many things I could love more than naked Eastern European broads doing gymnastics. I would probably love a 24-hour soft core porn television network, a reclining toilet seat and a lifetime supply of steak more, but nude female gymnastics is definitely on the top of list. Then again, nude female figure skating would be more awesome. Those ladies are less butch. Michelle Kwan and Katerina Witt doing a bare-assed Triple Lutz? Yes, please.
Thanks to friend of the MB John Croghan who provided this link, my thoughts are consumed with ninjas. Ninjas; mythical stealth assassins that are masters of the shadows, silently dropping from rooftops and slicing their enemy's throat only to watch them die in a pool of their own blood and excrement. Before I delve into the ridiculous, I suggest you read about the historical ninja, first. Now, diving into the ridiculous with flippers and a snorkel mask, I recommend this site to anybody who likes one or all of these things: cheerleaders, ninjas, schoolgirls, and nudity. Spend the time to watch the video clips. They will teach you things. Things like cheerleader ninjas do not wear panties.
