9 January 2012

I’m convinced that football announcers are engaged in some sort of competition for who can say the word “football” the most. Rarely will they just say “ball,” “team,” or “game”; instead, it’s always “football,” “football team,” or “football game,” as in “this football team needs to take better care of the football better if they’re going to win this football game.” Do we really need constant reminders of what sport we’re watching? Is there really some confused soul out there who would otherwise think he’s watching bobsledding?

Speaking of football, last night I watched the injury-plagued Pittsburgh Steelers lose painfully to the Denver Broncos, thanks in part to a good performance by the Broncos’ below-average-yet-inexplicably-popular quarterback, Tim Tebow. Tebow is known for his open displays of his Christian faith, such as kneeling in prayer during games and crediting the lord for his performances. Many have mocked him for this, but I have not yet taken the opportunity to do so publicly. I’d just like to make two points:

1) Tebow, who is 24 years old, has a conception of religion more simplistic and juvenile than that of an average six-year-old . Apparently he thinks of God as a personal fairy godmother who can’t be bothered to stop famine or earthquakes, but will gladly make an opponent miss a field goal if his pal Timmy asks him nicely.

2) He’s a virgin. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

What a Christ-humping douche.


Danica Who?

11 June 2010

You know what pisses me off?  The fact that I know who Danica Patrick is.  I don’t give a flying fuck about racing and can hardly name any good drivers, let alone anyone as mediocre as she is. But every time SportsCenter covers a racing event in which Danica Patrick competed, the main story is how she did (poorly, invariably); the winner is barely mentioned.  They do the same thing with Tiger Woods, but there’s an important difference: Tiger is the greatest golfer of all time.  At the time of this writing, Patrick has been in 89 races; she’s won exactly one of them and has zero titles to her name.  From 2005-2009, her IndyCar ranks were 12th, 9th, 7th, 6th, and 5th; she’s currently ranked 11th in the 2010 season.

So why is she famous?  Because she competes with men?  It’s  driving; why shouldn’t women be able to compete with men? (Then again, you could say the same thing about chess, in which women have their own competitions and titles.)  And don’t say it’s because she’s attractive.  Anna Kournikova, who also sucked at her sport, is attractive.  As for Danica, maybe she would be considered attractive around the trailer park in which she was probably spawned, but the bitch is downright homely:

Get me a six-pack and a paper bag, stat!

Sure, she looks passable in the magazine spreads she’s done and those godawful GoDaddy commercials, but she must spend hours in the makeup studio before those shoots.  Those makeup artists are so good that they could have meathead Maxim readers jacking off to me.

Finally, what the fuck kind of name is Danica?  It’s like her redneck parents were trying to decide between Danielle and Jessica and just said, “gawrsh, how ’bout both?”  This is an example of the increasing trend among white people to give their kids ridiculous names.  Just look at this list: the top boy name in 2009 was “Aiden.”  Are you fucking kidding me?  And it doesn’t stop there.  Look through the list and you’ll find lots of names that fall into one or more of the following categories:

1) Last names: Madison, Carter, Taylor, Connor.  These are last names.  Enough said.  Often overlap with…

2) Occupations: Porter, Cooper, Hunter.  What’s next, “Janitor?”

3) White trash names: Hayley, Kayla, Cailyn, Kadence, Bailey.  As you can see, the girls tend to get stuck with these.  If you want your daughter to be a stripper, just give her one of these names, which often feature…

4) Misspellings: Natalee, Ashleigh, Allisyn, Jakob.  Great way to make everyone think your kid is stupid (and they’re probably right).

5) Pussy names: Aiden, Tristan, Brayden.  Giving your son one of these names increases tenfold his odds of ending up on the business end of a gloryhole.

Where did this trend come from? These retarded names are even more obnoxious than the ridiculous names black people give their children, which at least can often be original and amusing.  Parents, when it comes to names, don’t try to get cute; remember that you’re not the one who’s going to have to live with the name for the rest of your life.  Keep it simple and classic: Tom, Bob, Al, Mary, Alice, Beth, etc.  There are plenty to choose from.

Tiger’s Wood

1 March 2010

For the past few months, all the major “news” outlets have been abuzz with the following “scandal”: Tiger Woods, the greatest golfer of all time, the wealthiest athlete in history,  a charismatic young billionaire who also happens to be strikingly handsome, likes to fuck women who aren’t his wife.

I’ll pause for a moment to allow that stunning revelation to sink in.

Seriously, though: why is this news?  Of course Tiger Woods lays pipe; that’s the whole point of being a rich superstar athlete.  Do people really expect this Nietzschean Übermensch to jack off to softcore porn in his hotel room like the rest of us when there are beautiful women queuing up to satisfy his every sexual fantasy?  Come off it.

I could have sex with him and it wouldn't even be gay.

More importantly, why do we even know about this? How is Tiger’s sex life anyone’s business?  This is the stuff of trashy tabloids, and yet it’s the top story on CNN, MSNBC, the New York Times, and other so-called “legitimate” news outlets.  I suppose I can’t place all the blame on the media, since they only report what will bring in ratings.  We’re a nation of prudish busybodies that cares more about what a golfer does with his cock than about issues of genuine importance; how pathetic is that?

Back to Basics

21 October 2009

Several Moral Hazard readers have recently complained that the blog has become too cheerful in tone.  Actually, that’s a lie; nobody reads this blog.  Nonetheless, I’ll devote today’s post to doing what I do best: bitching and moaning about utterly insignificant bullshit.  Without further ado, here’s the latest installment of Things That Piss Me Off ©.

1. “College” t-shirts.

Comic legend.

Comic legend.

Unoriginal douchebag and probable circle-jerker.

Unoriginal douchebag and probable circle-jerker.

When John Belushi wore this shirt in the National Lampoon classic Animal House, it was original and clever.  When some closet case fratboy asshole does so over 20 years later, it is neither.  I bet a lot of these idiots don’t even get the joke.

2. The standard system.

Question: how many inches are in a mile?  Answer: nobody knows.  The standard “system” (a loosely used term if there ever was one) makes it impossible to make these sorts of everyday calculations.  Compare that to the metric system: if you want to know how many centimeters are in a kilometer, you just move the decimal point.  The standard units of volume are almost as bad: you’ve got tablespoons, cups, pints, quarts, gallons, and who the fuck knows what else.

I don’t get it: the base 10 number system was around when the standard system was invented, and yet for some reason they thought that 12 inches in a foot, 3 feet in a yard, and 5,280 feet in a mile sounded about right.  Really, what were they thinking?  At least they have the excuse of living in an age before science, however; what’s the United States’ excuse for continuing to use this cumbersome nonsense?  Probably that Europe uses the metric system, so switching would be unpatriotic.  This is the same reason we don’t have universal health care.

3. Those push-button faucets in public toilets.

You know the ones I’m talking about, right?  The ones where you push down on the faucet(s) and water comes out for about 1.5 seconds?  Those fucking things drive me absolutely nuts.  You push the faucet with your soapy hands and race to get them under the brief flow of water, but you don’t have time to rinse them completely.  You have to push the faucet again, getting more soap on your hands in the process; this cycle continues until you give up and wipe your hands while there’s still soap on them, leaving behind a most unpleasant residue.  These faucets should be banned as a crime against humanity; they’ve caused at least as much human suffering as land mines.

4. Dogs with human names.

The other day I stopped to pet a dog in Frick Park.  I asked its owner what its name was; “Joe,” he replied.  “Joe?” I asked.  “You named your dog Joe? You must be the least creative motherfucker on the planet!  It’s a dog, not a person; give it a badass name like Cujo or Bonecrusher,” I suggested.   “Alternatively, you could go for humor; Steve Martin had a dog named ‘Shithead’ in The Jerk.  Anything, absolutely anything, would be better than Joe!”

I would have continued, but by then he had motored pretty far away on his Rascal scooter.

Meet my dog, Pete.

Meet my dog, Jerry.

5. Lottery drawings during sports games.

I don’t have a problem with the lottery, which is really just a tax on people who don’t understand probability.  If they want to flash the day’s winning numbers across the bottom of the screen during a ballgame, I’d be fine with it.   But no; they devote 3/4 of the screen to showing the little white balls being drawn, distorting the game and reducing it to the size of a postage stamp.  As there are several drawings, this can go on for several minutes.  Why is this necessary?  Do people really need to see the drawing to confirm that it’s not rigged and that their chance really is one in 300 million?  I hate everyone.


9 August 2009

Damn near sporting event I watch is attended by at least one ass clown with a sign that says something to the effect of:

“Gas for trip from [some pissant town]: $X.

2 tickets to [sports facility]: $Y.

[Shitty domestic lager] and [meat products made from horse anus]: $Z

Seeing [sports team] beat [other sports team]: PRICELESS!”

First of all, those MasterCard commercials are at least a decade old.  Second, so many dipshits have parodied them that the parodies are actually more cliché than the commercials themselves.  And yet each one of those dipshits brandishes his sign proudly, as though he’s the first ever to think of the idea.

Really creative, asshole.

Really creative, asshole.

Finally, attending a ballgame is not “priceless.”  Winning a gold medal at the Olympics is priceless.  Having a threesome with Jessica Alba and Pamela Anderson is priceless.  Kicking one of these cretins in the sack would be priceless.  Going to a Twins game…looks like it ran this particular cretin about $800.

If you’re going to try to whore yourself out to the TV cameras by making a sign, at least be original, like the guy I saw at the 2001 World Series in Arizona.  Diamondbacks pitcher Randy Johnson, who had dominated the Yankees in his previous outing, was on the mound; the fellow’s sign said, “it takes more than 9 Yanks to beat our Johnson.”  Well played, sir.

SportsCenter Fumbles Again

17 March 2009

SportsCenter is generally a fine show, featuring sleek production, skillful anchormen, and up-to-the-minute coverage.  Sometimes, though, they drop the ball, usually when the show strays from its main purpose of showing highlights (this is what has made Baseball Tonight unwatchable for at least the last five years); witness the overlong segments of cliched “analysis” by meathead ex-jocks or last month’s unbelievably retarded “Mount Rushmore of Sports.”

Such fuck-ups are relatively minor, as one can simply stop watching for the duration of the segment.  For the past two days, however, they’ve ruined the entire show.  How?  They’ve dedicated a third of the screen to displaying the first round matchups of the NCAA tournament.  Now, I love March Madness; though I’m mainly a baseball fan, I consider the tournament the most exciting sporting event of the year.  But why the fuck do I need to see the pairings in real time?  They were released several days ago and haven’t changed since.  Anyone who’s interested in the tournament can see them in the newspaper or online;  it’s impossible to keep track of the brackets when they’re displayed two at a time anyway.  Even more maddening, to what is half the show devoted?  THE FUCKING NCAA TOURNAMENT.  And, as if that wasn’t enough redundancy for one hour, they’re even showing the brackets for the women’s tournament, which will only be watched by the players’ mothers.

I hope someone gets fired for this.

Welcome Back, Chuck

9 March 2009

Charles Barkley is the man.  Known as “The Round Mound of Rebound” during his playing days, Barkley racked up 12,546 rebounds in his 16-year career despite being a 6’4″ fatass.  Upon retiring, he joined the TNT broadcast team.  As I’ve mentioned in an earlier post, former athletes generally make poor commentators, but Chuck is an exception.  He’s knowledgeable, insightful, articulate, and very funny.  I remember a broadcast a few years ago during which Chuck referred to a team with a size disadvantage as “midgets,” as he had often done.  He quickly caught himself, saying (I’m paraphrasing), “excuse me: ‘little people.’  I got a letter from the little people society, and they don’t want me to use that word anymore.”  As the camera panned out for a commercial break, I heard him quip, “hey, don’t be mad at me, be mad at God.”

Sir Charles was released from prison today after spending three days in the joint for a DUI.   This past New Year’s Eve, Barkley was pulled over in Scottsdale, Arizona after running a stop sign.  After blowing a .15, he explained to the officer that he had run the stop sign because he was in a hurry to pick up the girl in his passenger seat.  Why the rush?  Chuck told the cop that he was going to go around the corner and get a blowjob; the girl had given him one a week earlier and it was the best he’d ever had.  Check out the police report here.

It was worth it.

It was worth it.

Oral sex may not seem like justification for driving drunk, but think about it for a moment.  As an NBA star, Chuck must have recieved thousands of blowjobs; if this was the best he’d ever had, it must have been a hummer the likes of which the average man cannot even fathom.  Because of the size of his sample, it’s bound to contain some extreme outliers.  To illustrate this point, suppose that blowjob skill has a standard normal distribution.  Suppose further that you’ve received blowjobs from 10 different women, compared to 1,000 for Chuck (a conservative estimate).  I used a statistics package to simulate the quality of blowjobs each of you has received.  Your best was .74, well within one standard deviation from the mean of zero; Chuck’s best was an astonishing 3.74, nearly four standard deviations from the mean.  If that’s not reason to drive drunk, nothing is.