Friday, August 21, 2009

Raise up off these N-U-T-Z

By Magglio and Jericho -

I like when fat chicks wear hats. All hats. Big floppy hats, indie wool knit hats, even berets. It makes me giggle. Every time. Hey, they’re trying. And I find it very endearing. It's like when Heinz invents a new ketchup bottle. It screws, or you tap it, or it goes upside down, but no matter what they put on top, it’s still just ketchup.

You have to love all of the tests they are doing to determine whether that South African runner is actually a woman. At last report they had a gynecologist, an endocrinologist, a genealogist, an obstetrician, a mechanic, a fourteen-year-old boy, a grizzly bear and a Las Vegas pimp all checking her out, giving their feedback. As any married man can attest to, all they need to do here is have her load a dishwasher. If she can get more than nine things in she’s a dude.

When I’m going to give the coffee barista my change, as a tip, I’d rather just walk away before they’ve handed me my change. I say let them dump it into the tip jar. Not only does it make them work a little harder for the tip, but part of me always wonders if people watching think they’re just greasing their own pockets.

Of all the stories I’ve heard about an NFL player tucking a loaded gun into the band of his sweat pants and then shooting himself in the leg at a crowded nightclub, Plax’s is definitely the funniest.

I have some terrible news. I hope you’re sitting down. Juicy Couture no longer carries or will make men’s clothing. Sure, laugh. Asshole. But this has ruined my whole weekend.

Is Usain Bolt getting faster? How is that even possible? Let me put this feat (no pun intended) in language that you degenerates can understand. Think of your favorite porn star; now think of her (or him if that’s what stirs your Pina Colada) in her absolute best scene, the pinnacle, your go-to. Now add 5 dicks. Suddenly it’s not just a legendary scene; it’s testing the fucking limits of possibility, of human ability. That’s where we are with Bolt, it’s getting ridiculous. How does someone shatter two world records with 6 dicks in him?

I just became friends with my drug dealer on Facebook. Sweet!

There is a badass new blog that’s burst onto the Husky Basketball scene. Check out This site is the real deal. With exclusive player interviews and insight from a true fan it’s quickly turning into the go-to location for Husky basketball. Plus we hear that the guy who writes it gives great head. Just saying.


Thursday, August 20, 2009

This is how we do it....

By Tahoe Santa -

It's Wednesday, 11:40 PST and I'm tall cannin' a PBR with a dip in my mouth. Magglio and Jericho Royall can't seem to post shit because of their San Fran fart sniffing life style so I guess I'm going to have to put something on here for the 7-reader-strong to giggle about.

So here it is Caity's and gentlemen, Tahoe's first post.

*First of all, Home Depot should start paying higher property taxes because of all the mexicans that hang outside their store looking for slave labor. I got no problem with Home Depot, and I fuckin' love me some mexicans, but you know, I'm just sayin...

*Next, I want to talk about fake tits. Fake tits are sweet. The only time fake tits are not sweet is when you open up and they have fake tits on some hermy with a dick. That ain't cricket. That ain't soccer either, and soccer is fucking gay. I got nothin against gay's, I'm just sayin...

*If you are upset that Michael Vick and Brett Favre are playing on football teams this year, then you probably have no appreciation for football, soap operas, the AARP, TV, America the Beautiful, the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, or long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

*Rachel Nichols or Erin Andrews. Who would be better in bed? I eagerly await your thoughts.

*I have a virus in my computer that Magic Johnson couldn't get rid of. This thing is awful. Everytime I open up and try to click on the Mariners home page it freezes up...wait, nevermind, ESPN doesn't cover sports on the westcoast.

*Bristol, CN is where right-wing Christians send their homosexual kids to straight kid camp. Those kids stay and become anchors on SportsCenter. It's ok though, it's not their fault.

*Remember "The Ball Player," poster with Bo Jackson? I wish I had that still. I mean, how unreal was thisguy? How did SportsCentury fail to mention him in the top 50? He should be in the top five!!! I saw Bo Jackson play at the Kingdome when he was on the Royals with George Brett. Not only was it one of the greatest performances I ever have seen live by a baseball player ( 2-4 2 HR's) I also got a game ball thrown to me by George Brett, who apparently has bowel problems.

May the schwartz be with you George Brett.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Gameday - and Timmy's pitching

A couple nights ago I was enjoying a 100% locally raised and sustainably farmed pork chop with the wife, when suddenly she put down her fork and knife and leaned in close to me. She grabbed my hands, looked into my eyes, and said...“I just want you to know how much you mean to me, Magglio. I love you so much.”

“I love you too baby,” I said in between bites. “And I have to tell you something. (dramatic pause) I really love the Giants.”

And with that, she let go of my hands in disgust and returned to her dinner. I too returned to my savory slab of deliciousness and let my mind wander. About Timmy winning back-to-back Cy Youngs, about Cain getting 18 wins, about Panda being 2nd in the NL in batting, about the idea of Zito thriving with the heat of a Wild Card race in play. This team is something special, and to quote the spot-on marketing campaign they just released…we’re in this.

Today is a day game. First pitch is at 12:45 best coast time. I love day games during the week. It means I get to listen in my office on my $4.99 AM radio I pick up at Walgreens. No matter what the work day throws me today I know I’ve got Giants baseball for at least a few hours.

So I thought I’d try something new today. I’m going to do a running diary of my day and of the game. Timmy is on the mound which means I’ll be at half-mast the entire time. What could be better?

12:11pm – Ok, first pitch isn’t for another 34 minutes but mentally I’m right where I need to be. We’ve dropped 2 in a row to the Dodgers and stand 1 game back of Colorado in the Wild Card race. Calling today’s game a must-win is like saying you’re annoyed with the whole Jon & Kate tabloid stories. No shit asshole.

12:20pm – People in my office are Giants fans, but nothing like Judy. Judy is the kind of die-hard you see at games, sitting alone, with their hat covered in collectible pins, rubbing orange and black rabbit foots for good luck. Yes, this is Judy. Her office is covered in framed photos of old Giants players, tattered pennants and framed photo of her Dalmatian wearing pearls and holding a parasol. No idea what the Dalmatian photo has to do with anything, but it’s worth noting. I just stopped by her office and we exchanged knowing glances. “Let’s win today,” I said. She nodded a nod that was all business. Good. We’re exactly where we need to be.

12:27pm – Just got an IM from Jericho telling me he’s in meetings until 3. What the fuck? Doesn’t anyone realize what’s at stake today? Honestly not having Jericho online during a Giants day game of this magnitude is like being T.O. and not having Mo and Kita on my side. How am I supposed to function?

12:32pm – I just checked my calendar again. Shit. I have a 2pm scheduled. Ain’t that a bitch. Stay focused. Don’t let these distractions get to you. Giants baseball. Say it with me, Giants Baseball!

12:47pm – First batter strikes out. Lincecum has 199 strikeouts so far this season. The next closest guy in all of baseball has 186. This kid is electric. Three up, three down. And Jon Miller said the word ‘glorious’ 3 times to describe the weather.

12:52pm – We’re facing one of the Weaver brothers. Not sure which one. Does it really matter? It’s like which Jonas brother would you rather get in a headlock and give a noogie to in front of MIley Cyrus. Doesn’t matter right? It would be totally LOL.

12:57pm – As I sit on the edge of my seat listening to the radio I realize 2 things. 1) I’m at work, which means emails etc are piling up while I type this silly post. And 2) I gotta find a job where I can do nothing but write for A&M all day long.

1:03pm – Timmy vs. Manny. Talk about poetry. Good vs. Evil. All that is right in baseball vs. all that is….shit. Walked him on 5 pitches. Not to worry. Manny is taking woman’s hormones. He’s not causing any problems for us with his dumpy ass on first.

1:08pm – Double play. See, I told you that big haired bitch wasn’t doing anything on first.

1:12pm – The best player nobody has ever heard of outside of SF; Nate Shierholtz. His first swing after 15 days on the DL was crushed 421 feet into the gap for a triple. This guy is the real deal. Plus you should see his jaw line. If Heath Ledger and Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s jaws had a baby jaw it would be Nate Shierholtz’s jaw. That made a lot more sense in my head.

1:22pm – We lead off the 2nd inning with a triple. Then load the bases with no outs. And we walk away with exactly 0 runs. Giants baseball. Say it with me, Giants baseball.

1:44pm – They just said it’s a sold out, standing room only, crowd. That I’m convinced is the draw of Tim Lincecum against the Dodgers. Still 0-0. Debating if I should get coffee before the 2pm meeting. Still pissed I’m going to miss a large chunk of this game. Hopefully it’s rain delayed. Not likely.

2:57pm – I made it back. What did I miss?

2:58pm- Can’t wait for the radio to tell me, I have to go to ESPN Gamecast. YES! 2-1 Giants in the bottom of the 7th. First the good news; Freddy Sanchez (our prized 2nd basemen we traded for) hit in 1 of the runs. Now the bad news; I missed the 7th inning stretch. I always like to sing ‘Take me out to the ballgame’ at the top of my lungs in my office. I can always get Judy to join in. She tears up when we get to the ‘if they don’t win it’s a shame!’

3:00pm – Wait, is Timmy still pitching? He must be right?

3:01pm – I checked the box. Sweet. Timmy has gone all 7 so far, 4 strikeouts, 2 hits and 1 run. I want to make sweet gap toothed love to Timmy. There, I said it.

3:02pm- Where the fuck is Jericho? He said he’d be back by 3pm. That asshole. This game is so important. He can’t just be touching up his make-up. That little bitch. I bet he’s touching up his makeup.

3:09pm- Ah shit. Timmy is coming out for the 8th. Reason #122 why Lincecum is the best pitcher in the game, he gets better as the game goes on. No really. I’m willing to bet this next inning is a 1,2,3 and will include a fast ball in the mid to upper 90s. (side note: If I just said that sentence aloud to my brother right now, predicting what may happen, he’d throw the biggest hissy fit you’ve ever seen. I’m tempted to call him, predict the 8th inning, and listen to him trip out. Man I love that kid.)

3:10pm – Boom. Like clockwork. First batter goes down swinging. No word on the speed but who gives a fuck. This is Timmy’s ballgame. Just sit back and watch/listen/read.

3:11pm - Another strikeout. 2 outs. If I ever met Lincecum I'd nervously shake his hand and say something like 'I went to Washington too. Go Dawgs!' And yes, I'm 6 years older than he is.

3:15pm – And he strikes out the side!!! (note the 3 exclamation points.) They should rename the Golden Gate Bridge the Tim Lincecum Drive Over Thing, um, or the Sweet Timmy Bridge. Um, shut up, why are you still reading this? Just jump up and down and make noise! Timmy struck out all 3 batters! We’re going to the bottom of the 8th. Giants still lead 2-1!

3:24pm – We put a couple guys on but couldn’t score. We’re like the 9th graders of MLB. We touch a lot of tits but never get to pet the turkey. (Honestly, I just offended myself.) We’re going to the 9th inning with Timmy set to close it out and a slim 2-1 lead.

3:25pm- Commercial break. I’m going to go check on Judy. 3:27pm – Judy was ecstatic. Couldn’t speak. Shaking almost. She asked me “do you think he’s one of the best pitchers ever?” I said yes. And I meant it.

3:30pm – Mother fucker. Why am I at work? People keep talking to me. Through some nonsense chatter I heard that Furcal reached on an infield single. Fielder’s choice got him to 2nd.

3:31pm – Deep fly and 2 outs.

3:34pm – Ander Either and Lincecum are in an epic battle. The count is worked to 2-2. You can feel the intensity. Palpable I’d say. Yes, palpable. As Roger Dorn once said ‘Strike this motherfucker OUT!’

3:35pm – Fuck.

3:35:25pm - I could hear the groan from Judy across the hall at the same time the ball trickled through the infield. Tie game. Mother fucker.

3:37pm – They pulled Timmy. Brian Wilson is coming in. I think I’m gonna be sick.

3:40pm – Wilson has worked Manny to a full count. The crowd sounds deflated. I feel deflated. Somewhere a child pulls the wing off a butterfly.

3:41pm – Strike 3! Don’t let the exclamation point fool you. I’m not pleased. That stings man. Fucking stings. Remember how this post was going to be epic? Now it's just sorta cool? Sucks. I’m afraid to check on Judy.

3:42pm – We’re going bottom 9 tied 2-2.

3:42pm – BOOM! Pablo Pandoval crushes one to deep center. He though he ended the game so the chubby little bastard went into his home run trot. No dice. Hit the wall. Double. Not a problem. I love that fat fuck.

3:43pm – Judy is out of her chair pacing in her office. Pumping her fist. How can anyone not like baseball?

3:44pm – Bengie Molina is intentionally walked. Runners on 1st and 2nd.

3:47pm – Sheirholtz is being pulled for Ryan Garko? What the fuck? Garko is 2 for 36 since coming over to San Francisco. Wait, no, Aaron Rowand is going to pinch hit. Can’t argue against a guy who has a World Series ring. But dude, remember Shierholtz’s strong jawline?

3:49pm – A dribbler to third. Double play. Inning over. We’re going top 10. Man I hate baseball.

4:02pm – Dodgers get a guy on but Wilson shuts them down. I also made myself a snack. Almonds, a plum, and some baby carrots. Yes. Real gay. We’re going to the bottom of the 10th.

4:07pm – We start the inning with a 4 pitch walk. Randy Winn is up. I’m now wondering if anyone is reading this as I post it and more importantly if this thing goes into way extra innings will this be the longest/best/worst post ever?

4:08pm – I just got off the phone with a guy who wanted to know if we’re interested in purchasing a booth at the Honey Hole Trade Convention in St. Louis this September. That’s the not the name of it I just stopped listening to what he was saying cause we’re in the fucking 10th inning. Priorities people!

4:09pm – I have a meeting that was supposed to start at 4pm. My boss is nowhere to be found. I take this as Karma, and a good sign.

4:11pm – Winn flies out. 1 out. Runner on first. Now batting Juan Uribe.

4:14pm – “Boom I got your boyfriend, I got your man.” Remember that song? Doesn’t matter. That’s what was playing in my head as I did my victory gyrations against my desk. Uribe just put one in the bleachers. Ballgame over. 4-2 Giants win!!!!

4:15pm - I just did the obligatory, “now I’m flipping the desk over and hitting it from behind” movement. Yeah, I went there. Judy is doing some sort of chicken dance with what looks like the running man mixed in. I love it. It works. Go crazy. Break things. Classic stuff. I’m beat. Giants baseball.

Say it with me now….Giants baseball.


Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The Dangers of Fisting

Let’s all be all be honest with ourselves for a minute here: Coldplay is kind of like getting your butthole licked, no one really wants to admit they love it, but everybody does. Everybody.

Having a blog is like having a penis; most days it’s awesome, occasionally it’s annoying, I feel great when I use it, guilty when I ignore it, but no matter what happens, I will always think mine is better than anyone else’s.

Getting a calendar invite for a two-hour training session called “maintaining a positive balance between work and life” is akin to being asked to be a volunteer in a live demonstration of “The Dangers of Fisting.” I already know I work too much; I don’t need a fist up my ass to remind me.

Can we change Vegas’ moniker from “Sin City” to “No Guilt City.” It’s not that you can get away with everything in Vegas, it’s the fact you feel absolutely no guilt as you’re getting away with it. That’s a very subtle but crucial point.

Any Watchmen fans on this blog? The graphic novel: one of the greatest pieces of literature ever. The movie: a steaming pile of Rhinoceros jizz. The movie tried to appease fans of the book and appeal to a wider audience at the same time, which is not impossible, but extremely hard to pull off (for a successful instance of this see Dark Knight, The). Appealing to two completely disparately audiences simultaneously is kind of like taking your pants off in an elementary school and having it be not only acceptable but awesome. Very hard to do. The director should have drawn a smiley face on his penis and given it a fun, Ukrainian accent, that usually works.

Here’s a question, what’s the adverse of the statement “rubs me the wrong way?” If I go out with my wife’s cousin and get beers and have a great time, do I come home and say, “man, I really love your cousin, he rubs me the right way?”


Monday, August 10, 2009

Face squirts

By Caity -

I am in hell. The museum where I work is having it's first "Homeschool Day" of the year, and judging from the unwashed miscreants gracing the halls of this vaguely respectable institution, Tahoe and my children will be attending public school. To look at any number of these families begs the question: What in tie-die, missing tooth hell were you trying to avoid by educating your children at home? School violence? I just saw a little red headed she-demon burst into tears and pimp slap her mother because she wouldn't give the little brat the change from her twenty. Disease? Clearly they aren't afraid of all disease, because the gingivitis treatment for some of these hillbillies would be enough to put an army of dentists' children through private school. I'd bet there's a statistically significant occurrence of adult onset diabetes in this crowd of fatties, too. Social undesirables? A father just walked in with jean cutoffs and no shirt, prompting the VP of Operations to call the graphics department and demand a rush be put on a sign reading "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Admission." Underpaid, overworked public school teachers with no time for instruction because they're too busy trying to control a classroom full of forty screaming hoodrats? I just watched a woman with seven (SEVEN!) children lean up against the counter and mispronounce "arthritis," while her brood emptied a fishbowl of museum tags onto the atrium floor.

At this point, it's all I can do not to bust out a spray bottle full of water and give them a warning squirt in the face. Trust me, it works. That's how we taught our cat, Mr. Bojangles, to stay off the counter.

I won't bore the readership of Apples and Moustaches with a dissertation on what I feel to be the myriad social advantages of a public education, but I can tell you that no one I went to school with ever hit middle school age and decided to leave the house dressed in identical southern belle period dresses with their siblings. We waited until we were in our mid-twenties and bedazzled matching jean jackets for a Dolly Parton concert like normal people. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go schedule a hysterectomy.