by Magglio and Jericho
I always knew Eli Manning had periods, I just didn't know he got them on his forehead.
Brett Favre is returning to football. This story is the equivalent of my obsession with Mad Dog 20/20 in college. Every Thursday night I’d attempt to put down 2 bottles of MD 20/20. Inevitably I couldn’t finish the 2nd bottle. We’d then go out to a bar and within an hour or so I’d be headed home to spend the rest of the night puking and making out with a fat chick. Brett Favre is the drink, the puke and that fat chick I used to take home all wrapped into one. I want nothing to do with Brett Favre ever again.
Twitter update! The funniest twats I’ve read come from Sarah Silverman. That is one funny dude. What? That’s a chick. Why does she have a moustache then? Oh and by the way, we’re on Twitter now. Find us @rickreilyisgay “ We have exactly 0 followers. Follow us. Or don't. But either way, fuck Twitter.
A few years ago, Magglio and I decided that every time Matt Millen appears on TV, a little box should appear that says “Was GM of first team in history to go 0-16” for the entire time he’s speaking. Here’s another one I’d like to add. Every time Katy Perry is shaking her admittedly gorgeous tits around, the box should say “has most definitely had Russell Brand’s poop in her mouth.” I like Russell Brand and I like Katy Perry’s melons, which are admittedly gorgeous, but those tits have been on a wild ride and that should be noted.
I'm approaching my fantasy draft the same way I approached being with a naked girl for the first time: if something looks good I'm grabbing it.
Remember the “help me, help you” scene in Jerry Maguire? Anyone who has ever worked at an agency (PR, ads, escorts, whatever) can attest to how accurately that scene captures the frustration that comes with trying to talk a dumb person out of doing something dumb, full while knowing they’re going to do it anyway because, after all, they’re dumb. Having clients who won’t listen is analogous to watching your dog eat a pile of shit. The worst part isn’t the shit itself; it’s the weird look the dog gives you that says “man, you’re crazy, this shit is delicious” as you’re imploring him/her to stop. That look is 50 times worse than the act itself. Replace the dog with a client, the shit with an idea they just took a dump on and the “delicious!” look with a “I’ve got it!” email and you’ve got agency life.