I call “perv”, Santa…who are you really? We can’t even see your face. I know you can magically whip up some clippers and a razor. Trim that baby llama off your face so we can see you, it’s the 21st century Santa.
I always knew you were a sadist Santa. Pepper? A lump of coal? Who does that, you sick freak.
As you know Santa, me being the health nut and all, couldn’t help but notice those “rosy red cheeks”…..yeah well, I’m pretty sure that’s rosacea. Common amongst alcoholics. you should lay off the elven moonshine. How’s your cholesterol fatso? I left you Nabisco 100 calorie thin crisps and low fat milk, but you preceded to raid the fridge and demolish ALL the chicken and collard greens, dressing and cranberry sauce, and my grandma’s red velvet cake. not cool man. Next time wash the dishes.
But hey listen, I wanted to give you a heads up. I’m a light sleeper. So before you break into my house and trip the motion sensors, how about sending me a text or something before I turn my living room into a CSI episode. M’kay? Thanks.
One more thing Santa. Who’s your agent? Because the contract deals he’s making for you are unbelievable. Do you know you beat out Halloween this year? There was Christmas stuff up in stores the 2nd week in October. I thought I’d lost 2 months. That’s crazy…you, Tony Romo and Ndamukong Suh must all have the same agent. Send me his number.
All in all Santa, you’ve given me a lot of insomnia, anxiety, mental and physical duress over the years. This horrible relationship isn’t conducive to the kind of lifestyle I like to lead. Thanks for the faulty orange 10-speed (which coincidentally led to my bike vs car accident), the boom box radio that LL Cool J was so fond of speaking of. Nevermind that it felt like 30 bee stings whenever I plugged in the crappy power cord.
It’s over. You’re out Santa, like a MLB batter facing Nolan Ryan.
FYI, I registered you on that sex offender website. STAY AWAY FROM THE KIDS YOU PERV!
Any other day, I’d bypass this subject and wouldn’t think twice about it. I’m sitting at home sick as a dog, channel surfing. I see the Tyra Banks Show (re-runs obviously) about women loving men with big bellies. And then the subject was broached on Facebook. So I have to ask ladies…REALLY?
Because I heard a lot of lies. lies. lies. Maybe it was to save face, or maybe it was the fact that they no longer consider their lover’s body part of the equation of love. Maybe it’s all about the dollars and to hell with the body. I don’t know, I’m just trying to gain a little perspective.
See…I know without a shadow of doubt that some women don’t like skinny guys. I used to be just that. Being skinny as a rail, trying to talk to a dimepiece is a futile attempt no matter what your charming smile or winning looks have done for you in the past. Some women don’t roll that way. They want a physical man who can handle himself and be able to bring food to the table. I get that.
But beer bellies? I’m heavily into the gym/fitness thing and I am a pretty sizable guy. At 42 years old, 232lbs, I still have no gut. Am I to believe, I’d lose out to the fat guy at the end of the bar with a bucket of Natural Light beer? To quote the fictional senator Clay Davis from HBO’s the Wire, “shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.”
Muscle>Fat everyday, all day.
Guys, PLEASE do not fall into this sitcom reality TV show/facebook tomfoolery. Get your asses in the gym. Nevermind what women think….ok scratch that(what was I thinking), consider your own health for a minute. Abdominal obesity can kill you (indirectly). Not to mention affecting the lead in your “pencil”. It’s a sure sign that your estrogen levels are rising. And I’m hoping I don’t have to break THAT one down to you.
Our abs are quite useful. When you find them again, you can email me and thank me for getting rid of your back pain and improving you sex life. Abs act as a stabilizer for your torso and a gyroscope for your….hell, if you didn’t know all this time, you might be outta luck on the latter.
Ladies (just the ones that like big men), tell your man the truth, yes you want a big man for the comfort and joys of life. One that can also handle himself and protect you. A guy that can be that “blanket” you want. You don’t want a guy who runs around making jokes about his “tool shed”. Encourage your big man to go walking, ease him into the cardio. Before you know it, he’ll be able to “see” himself again and won’t have to reach blindly for it.
Am I too harsh? Probably. Am I an insensitive ass? Definitely. Listen I know there are conditions which prevent some men from exercising and/or eating right. To those guys, I’m sorry…this isn’t meant for your eyes. I’m strictly referring to those 30-40 somethings who are fully ambulatory yet down kegs of beer at happy hour, talking about “yeah I’m gonna start working out again”. Meanwhile their wives and girlfriends are on the Tyra Banks Show talking about, “Tyra, my big bellied man is putting it down”.
I am not a movie critic. Nor do I express the desire to become one in the near future. But when filmmakers of the remake start to pull an R. Kelly on it’s audiences SOMETHING has to be said.
I don’t even know where to start first. Oh, wait…yes I do. WHERE IS THE 3D?!? Did I really just spend extra money on a feature that enticed me in the first place, only to see a handful of scenes ACTUALLY in 3D? At some point in the movie I snatched the stupid glasses off and watched normally. It’s gotta be a new plot to make people sit and look like asses with ineffective horned rimmed glasses on. Some producer is laughing his ass off as everyone becomes honorary members of the Geek Squad.
After realizing I’d been R Kelly’d (if you really have to ask, you should probably go lie down, its past your bedtime), I noticed something else: This movie is the “cliff notes” of the original in 1981. You know how you fast forward x 4 shows on your DVR? That’s precisely how it felt watching this movie.
To the average movie goer, It’s an dumb plot, slightly action packed CGfest. For me I felt duped, let down, my intelligence insulted, in other words, pissed on by the director of this film. I’ll have you know they actually made shit up totally incongruent with mythology. Any fan or student of Greek mythology will let you know right away that Medusa IS NOT a Titan. She’s of the Gorgon familial. What? I wasn’t a muscle head all my life, I kept my head in books. Greek Mythology was one of them.
One more thing: In the beginning of this movie they narrate to you the relationship between the Titans and the Olympic gods. The Titans are the fathers of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. They even tell you that Hades created the Kraken in order to defeat the Titans. If someone can point out to me a Titan clashing against anyone in this movie, I’ll pay you cash.
If my memory serves me correctly I can name a few Titans. Kronos, Hyperion, and Rhea. They are a few of the popular ones not in this movie. This movie was essentially about Zeus vs Hades with a frigging lightsaber thrown in for good measure (no I’m not making that last part up).
I wish I had two extra hands so I could give this movie 4 thumbs down.
To Regal Cinemas, YOU FAIL SO HARD ITS INEXPLICABLE! UPGRADE YOUR STADIUM SEATS AND HIRE PROFESSIONAL CLEANERS! Movie theaters aren’t supposed to smell like nursing homes. And anyone 6’ft and above has no leg room.
He’s coming back to the game. And as much as his peers will hate it, they will also welcome him back with open arms. All while making snide comments behind his back. No, it isn’t Brett Favre and it sure as hell ain’t Jordan. It’s Eldrick. And before you get your panties in a bunch asking who Eldrick is, I’ll tell you.
Eldrick Tont Woods…affectionately (and intimately) known as Tiger. Now, there is absolutely nothing about Tiger Woods that I could expound upon that the media hasn’t already filleted and gutted a million times already, except for one thing. Why he got caught. (no, not why he did it, why he got caught).
Tiger Woods is an island unto himself. That kinda makes it hard to do dirt when you’re visible from the weather channel’s satellites. Secondly, he went against the grain of every celeb/athlete’s mantra. He had no Entourage.
Entourage (read: boys who you pay and trust to do YOUR dirt and take the fall). These people are made up of people you know before the fame and fortune and when the shit hits the fan, will gladly scoop it up.
Celebs with entourages usually have a bad image of boozing party hounds, so Tiger refrained from having one, not realizing their true purpose. Damn, hindsight’s a bitch ain’t it?
But let me make myself really really clear. In no way do I condone Mr. Woods infidelities. He was stupid and got caught with his hands, feet and who knows what else in the cookie jar. Apparently, he thought he was a college frat boy. I remember my college days, (barely). I felt unstoppable. I vaguely remember my mother mentioning something about me burning out before I turned 25 (guess what mom, it was sooner…).
I didn’t have an entourage but I had friends I trusted impeccably. Question is, who does Tiger trust? It’s kinda funny though, because real tigers hunt solo, at night and ambush their prey. The two legged tigers we know use Patron Margaritas….or cereal.
If only he had one good friend to say “I don’t think its a good idea, let’s go” We wouldn’t be reading about all this nonsense now. But you know what, it’s not all his fault.
Let’s back up a sec. So the wifey had no idea? She was clueless? Yeah right, whatever. If the handwriting is on the wall, you just don’t apply a fresh coat of paint. Let’s not forget this has been going on for years, and she just now decided to bash his head in? A one eyed man with a cataract could see she didn’t care what Tiger did UNTIL it was about to become public knowledge.
So why are people so hellbent on what Tiger is or isn’t doing? Americans (some of us) are boring, mundane hum drum people who live their lives vicariously through someone else. Everyone wants to shake up their lives and do something wild and off the cuff but is afraid to. That’s why Vegas is so popular. What? you thought it was because of the casinos? Kill yourself now and help the census.
People like to commune socially. That’s why everyone is in everyone else’s business and personal affairs. And when celebrities and/or an athlete’s business come to light…oh boy, the fireworks fly. Tiger’s affairs were, socially speaking “a multiple orgasm” for the media and it’s endearing public.
The man liked to get his multicultural penis wet. He’s also given billions in charity benefiting children. Does this make it right? Hell no it doesn’t. Not at all. But tell me…what has your trifling baby’s daddy contributed other than his seed?
Stop casting stones. Welcome back Tiger.