by Frank Rhombus
Did anybody else see Kansas City Royals manager/turd Ned Yost at last night’s presser after his team’s improbable 9-8 extra-inning win over the Athletics? Was he wearing eye shadow? Either way, he looked like absolute shit, and that’s also probably the best way to describe the way that lucky fucker managed last night’s game.
by Tommy Gimler
We’re not sure who is having more difficulty these days. Is it Jay Cutler beating the Green Bay Packers or Melissa McCarthy not eating for ten minutes?
by Tommy Gimler
The 2014 MLB postseason begins Tuesday night when the Royals host a playoff game for the first time since the middle of the Reagan administration. We didn’t have them amounting to jack shit this year, mainly because manager Ned Yost is a worthless turd. But outside of that, our predictions wound up resembling a Peter North’s blood lumber: pretty fucking solid. Here’s how they held up against the rest of the “experts.”
by Eddie Bagelstien
I’m not afraid to admit it: I love love, so much so, that if it weren’t for this terribly burdensome Judaism I suffer from, Love would most certainly be my religion. Because I’m such a lover, and because there are no commandments against it, I obviously love the Kiss Cam.
by Eddie Bagelstein
Is there anything more enjoyable than laughing at another man’s pain when the root cause of such hurting is his own, thick-skulled idiocy? Perhaps sex with two hookers at once, when the red head is paid dearly to keep her lips on your balls the entire time. And Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, the real kind, not that fucking fro-yo crap.
by Rakesh the Intern
I’ll tell you what, bro. Rakesh hit so many bets last weekend that bookie call me up and say, “Hey Rakesh, how about I let you fuck my wife instead of paying you Rupee?” But I will tell you something, my friend, I collect Rupee anyway because Rakesh not into fat Asian women, bro.