I can't watch this without thinking about that bull dyke who threw me on the ground in the sixth grade just for being handsome and unavailable. Anyway, good comeback punch by the Auburn player. I bet she said "bitch!" as soon as it connected, which I think is an old Jamie Foxx joke. (al.com)
The wind blew her out the car, which was nature's way of saying you don't have enough ass for high-risk twerking. Still, the effort to progress the culture is appreciated. Twerk on a tightrope next? (Byron Crawford)
A drunk guy has been riding Beijing's subways with a rotting watermelon on his head. Locals are calling him "Watermelon Brother" and very few brothers are there to ask, "What you mean by 'brother'?" Anyhow, I guess you do what you have to do to stand out in a country of 1.4 billion. (Shanghaiist)
Snoop performed at Milan Fashion Week as models for Philipp Plein showed off a bunch of outfits that A$AP Rocky and my little brother would wear. (That's one or the other pictured below, I get 'em mixed up sometimes.) Man, Big Snoop's changed a bit since he showed up to the MTV Awards with a couple of strumpets on leashes.
I’ve said a lot of crazy things to my fiance while drunk but “Let’s drive to Cleveland” is probably the worst. It’s not so much the city; Cleveland’s cool. It’s my hometown and one of the nicest places in the United States. Maybe not the entire United States, but at least among cities on Forbes’ Most Dangerous Cities list. Still, it’s a 2,400 mile drive from our home in San Diego. Doable? Of course. Sensible considering we’ve accidentally had three children in the past three years? Not so much.
The goal for the first day of our trip was to make it to Phoenix. My fiance, Amber, and I wanted to enjoy a one-night stay in a four-star resort for around 65 bucks. This is typically the going rate in Phoenix during the summer because it’s Phoenix in the summer. We also figured the kids could easily handle the five-hour drive: an hour or so of napping, maybe two hours of hypnosis via electronic devices, a bit of crying alleviated by threats and sugar bribes, and we’d be there in no time. Yeah, right.
Less than two hours into the trip the uprising began. All three boys were crying and yelling--relentlessly. We can usually calm them with a toy or a titty, but they weren’t interested in the former and Mom couldn’t flip the latter over the headrest and into the second and third row child seats. Our only option, as voiced by our almost three-year-old, the group’s default leader due to age and linguistic ability, was to respond to his shouts of “I wanna get out!” and pull over.
After a short stop to stretch and eat at a fly-ridden In-N-Out, we got back on the road. Our two oldest boys, seemingly satisfied by our peace offering, a rare delicacy called “french fries,” expressed nonverbal agreement to cooperate for the last three hours of the drive. And I know they tried. They’re nice boys, and I’m not just saying that because of the tax credits they provide. Though I suppose all parents think their children are sweet, even as they grow older and get “involved with the wrong crowd,” or, more specifically, become the wrong crowd. Just 15 minutes later the the contract was broken.
We were five people in a 6 x 15 Mazda minivan filled with luggage and hysteria. The boys’ manic screaming drove me crazy. Tension grabbed the back of my neck and traveled down my spine. I felt helpless. I looked at Amber and said, “Think we should just turn around?” Neither of us had the courage to answer. There was nothing I could do or say to calm the situation. We just needed to get there, but there was three hours away. And that became my focus: “Just get to Phoenix...just get Phoenix.” I was in a zone...until a cop’s flashing lights appeared in my rearview mirror.
In last night's loss to the Phoenix Suns, LeBron James shoved Coach Blatt to the side during an argument with a referee. He supposedly wanted to save him from getting a technical foul, though it looked more like a scoot-yo-little-bitch-ass-over-there-and-let-me-handle-this nudge ("bitch ass" being one of LeBron's go to on-court phrases).
The episode looked similar to November 27, 2010. LeBron and the Heat were losing to the Dallas Mavericks. Coach Eric Spoelstra called a timeout. LeBron rushed to the sideline like he used to rush off the court when the Celtics would get in his ass (No Amaechi). Coach Spoelstra took one on the shoulder and the media went crazy.
After that shove, the Heat would go on to win 12 in a row and 21 of their next 22. By my count, which was taken by hand as one of my unruly kids bit my kneecaps, the Heat would go to have a post-shoulder bump record of 46 wins and 17 losses and make the NBA Finals, despite playing just slightly above .500 ball prior to the incident. The Cavs record coming into last night's game? A similarly average 19-19.
See y'all in June.
Note: Spoelstra would go on to get his payback nearly four years later: