Thursday, August 20, 2015

A Hero Ain't Nothin' but a Sandwich...


This is the title of a book (and a film) that has nothing to do with the Subway fast food franchise, but it is apropos to the situation they find themselves in. For the last 17 years, they've dedicated the majority of their advertising muscle on the inprobable story of an anonymous midwestern dork who claimed he lost hundreds of pounds simply by exercising (walking was major part of his regimen because he was too fucking fat to run) and eating two Subway sandwiches a day. He had an innocuous, non-threatening, "I'm an everyday guy just like you" type of charisma, replete with perfectly aligned, phosphorescent white teeth and a sincere, ah shucks smile that was made for tv. People could identify with this schmuck because he was "one of us", an everyman-turned-media star by virtue of accomplishing something many Americans struggle with-weight loss.

Hence the advertising scheme came to life. Anyone can lose weight by eating our sandwiches!!! Just ask Jared!!! Give Subway props for being able to market this semi-androgynous doufus as a weight losing, marathon-running swashbuckler to frustrated lardasses everywhere in an attempt to sell under-meated, over-lettuced bullshit sandwiches to an unsuspecting public for the last 17 years. A hero ain't nuthin' but a sandwich, less so in this case.

                        Too old for you, motherfucker?   

The odd thing about this character was that no one seemed to tire of him. He cultivated the persona of the harmless, ageless spokesperson for weight loss despite the fact that he was shilling one of the worst gastonomical monstrosities this side of a rat salad. Fogle wrote an inspirational book, made public appearances all over the world, and was celebrated as "The Subway Guy". He lived in a very nice suburb in Indiana and had a net worth of around 17 million dollars. Not bad for someone who has no talent whatsoever.

But there always seems to be a "but" behind every American success story. Jared Fogle, despite raking in millions of dollars for basically playing himself on countless Subway commercials and print advertisements, has admitted to engaging in sexual acts with underage girls. The lasciviousness of his actions are recounted in court documents, where on one trip to NYC he asked a 17-year old if she had any friends, "the younger the better". He was also found with child pornography on his computer, supplied to him by Russell C. Taylor, the former executive director of his charity called "The Jared Foundation". Taylor attempted suicide while incarcarated for similar charges. Fogle has stated that he shocked-SHOCKED!!!-that the manager of his charity was dabbling in child pornography, when he was in on it with him the whole time.


Hindsight being 20/20, this photo seems quite inappropriate-
                         

One neighbor's response was, sadly, way too typical. When asked about the situation, the person feigned disbelief, and stated "I never thought something like this could happen HERE". By "here" he meant the lilly-white suburbs of Indiana. So much for wholessome midwestern values.

Money and fame do strange things to people. It also does strange things to strange people. I heard someone say "if you want to see someone's true character, give them some money and see how they act". Well, I think we've seen enough with this schlub. Looking back on it, it all makes sense. He had a certain creepiness to his demeaner, as if he were merely a puppet stuffed with lettuce and condiments like the average Subway sandwich. He seemed oddly calm and at peace with the world, wanting nothing more than to stroll over to his nearest Subway store for his daily foot-long piece of crap sandwich that no self-respecting connosoir would go near.



Subway did a great job marketing this guy, and now they will pay the price. Then again, their problems didn't start with this unfortunate choice of spokeperson, nor will it end with him. They sell terrible sandwiches. One of the active ingredients in their bread is a plastic-type filler that is used to manufacture yoga mats. There are twice as many Subway franchises as McDonald's, it's kissing cousin in the synthetic fast food meat wars. You can't make money by over-saturating the market with unadulterated garbage that can be found somewhere else except with more quality ingredients. They will have to scale down and cut their franchises by at least half if they want to sustain viability in a market where they are competing with the local deli. I know mine makes much better sandwiches, and I have a choice of about 15 in a three-block span. The only subway I go into is the one that takes me downtown, where I have to share a compartment with the resident welfare queens and Section-8 losers here in NYC.

Due to a plea deal, Fogle is facing a minimum of five years in prison, and has agreed to pay out $1.4 million dollars to a multitude of victims. His wife is divorcing him, so he can say good-bye to at least 50% of whatever net worth he had left, plus the house. When he gets out he'll has to register as a sex offender. The only place that will have him will be Compton, so he'd better familiarize himself with NWA's Greatest Hits so he can fit in.

The question is this-are there any heroes left in the world that aren't served with tomatoes, pickles, and  a side order of Federal indictments? Hulk Hogan, the 1980's pro wrestling icon, who cajoled all his little Hulk-o-Maniacs to drink their milk, eat the veggies, and say their prayers every night, turned out to be a steroid-addled racist. Bill Cosby, once America's favorite dad, was a slimy, self-promoting huckster/rapist. And now Jared Fogle. We are now left with Donald Trump, douchebag extraordinaire, a man running for President of the United States who is so clearly out of touch with the American people that he appears in public with an albino beaver pelt on his head and wants everyone to think it's not a fucking wig that's been perma-drilled into his scalp by the same engineers who dug Chapo Guzman's escape tunnel.

What the fuck is this world coming to...



Editor's note-it seems as if the Subway fast food company was warned about Fogles' predilictions years earlier but chose to ignore them. The latest allegations are that he took vacations to Thailand to have sex with girls as young as 9. Just for this they should be closed down, but they of course deny it.

http://www.businessinsider.com/subway-franchisee-says-subway-knew-about-jared-fogles-disturbing-behavior-2015-8

Ah, but there's more. His charity, which was supposed to donate $2 million dollars yearly to childhood obesity programs all across the country, never handed out one freakin' dime to anyone. They did pay a hefty salary to Fogle's partner-in-porno-crime Russel C. Taylor, who Fogle is now suing because the house he lived in was paid by a loan from Fogle. Fogle is looking to claim the property because Russell hasn't made any payments on said loan due to the inconvenient fact that he's in jail. 

All of this would be funny if it weren't so pathetic and sad. This guy was able to make a mint by advertising himself as the weight-loss champion of the United States, and all he had to do was keep eating those horrid sandwiches and doing personal appearances for the company, and yet that wasn't enough. Lusting after little children was what was eating at him (pun intended) the whole time he was smiling into the camera while cajoling all of us us to "eat fresh". When I think of this slogan, it never occured to me that he meant 9-year old Thai girls. Fuck you, Jared-I hope you rot in hell. 

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

"El Chapo" Rides Again...


Want to know how long it takes to build a state-of-the-art tunnel underneath a maximum security prison for the sole purpose of escape? About a year. Chapo Guzman, the notorious leader of the Sinaloa cartel, was arrested in February of 2014 by the Mexican equivalent of the US Navy Seals, and on Sunday, July 12th of 2015, he escaped yet again in what is arguably the most audacious and daring breakout this side of "The Shawshank Redemption". Except this time it wasn't a movie. We've seen this before-the recent escape of two highliy dangerous murderers from a prison in Upstate New York comes to mind, with a difference. Those two bozos took off with no one to help them on the outside and nowhere to run. In fact, their plan was botched from the very beginning, as they had to hoof it after their getaway car never appeared to wisk them away to parts unknown. This was not the case for "El Chapo", and now that he's back on the streets quite a number of people are in trouble. Big trouble. 

US authorities have been sweating the Mexican government to extradite Guzman to the states to no avail. He was being held in a maximum security prison where he had access to the same amenities that any self-respecting criminal mastermind would receive-booze, broads, and a cell phone to continue conducting business. The US was rightfully concerned about security measures taken by Mexican law enforcement that have seen traffickers escape justice either through the front or the back door of their federal courthouses. Imagine watching this charade play itself out for all the world to see. Mexico is officially the laughing stock of the international community, and even if they do catch him again, El Chapo has already cemented his legacy as the world's most powerful and mythical gangster. 

Mexico is not a failed state as some would suggest. What they are is a narco state. The fact that its beleagured citizens are subjected to macabre scenes of dead bodies hanging from highway overpasses, kidnappings, human traficking, and grotesque beheadings on a scale so obscene they have become social media fodder the world over has no bearing on the situation. The violence is the effect. The cause is the intermingling of government officials, law enforcement, and narco bribes in an Iron Triangle of corruption that has Mexico in a Taliban-like kung fu grip of chaos that dwarfs anything seen in any other country . The fall has been precipitous for Mexico, but they could not have done it alone. This downward spiral comes courtesy of the United States, with its unquenchable thirst to get high and law enforcement policies that make things worse.

More of "El Chapo" is going to get Mexico more of this-

Here is the problem with the US's handling of the drug war-everything they try is so wrong, that doubling down on stupid just seems like a natural extension. Take for example Los Zetas, the maniacs who popularized butchery as must-see tv. Their main enforcers were trained by the US in special weapons and tactics to fight the cartels. They went back home and were offered much better paying jobs by the very organizations they were trained to fight against, and next thing you know, we have decapitated heads being rolled out at bowling alleys and other scenes of family-oriented  lunacy-as-entertainment.

Then you have the NRA, whose lobbying efforts makes criminally-aided gun violence just another aspect of the capitalist system. Almost 80% of the weapons used in murders committed in Mexico originate from US-based retail stores, specifically Texas. How does the US look to curb this madness? By having individual states pass even more permissive gun laws to the extent that any sombrero-wearing bad guy can cross the border and shop for AK-47's to his heart's content. 

NAFTA was also a humongous debacle. El Chapo is known as the builder of tunnels par excellance, with around 75 of these rat holes utilized to bring drugs across the US-Mexico border to his credit, But the fact is 90% of the vehicles that come across the border into the US don't get inspected, both from a lack of manpower and the incredible traffic logjam it would create. So if you're moving product to the US, you can load a truck full of drugs without having to make even a half-assed attempt to hide the shit and you're pretty much home free. This is why all of the violence is (for the time being) on the other side of the border, the side that are fighting over control of these vital shipping lanes, the side Americans don't give a flying fuck about.

"Hanging out" in Sinaloa can be hazardous to one's health...


Here is another thing about the drug war that makes it the gift that keeps on giving-as long as it is Mexicans being propped up on plastic lounge chairs with their sawed-off heads on their laps, or young American black and Latinos incarcarated for drug offenses on such vast scale, no one in the US cares. And as long as these populations continue to be victimized by idiotic drug policies that offer plenty of promotions to the craven hacks who use the war on drugs to step over their deceased carcasses in search of promotions and political opportunities, no one will continue to give a fuck, And the bodies will keep piling up. 

But we here at "Busting Chops" digress. Let's get back to our boy El Chapo. Nowhere in the annals of recorded history has the most powerful nation on Earth been hoodwinked and bamboozled by the likes of a 5'6" semi-illiterate Mexican who by all accounts should have grown up to sell chimichangas on the LA Freeway. It's enough to make Donald Trump's wig do cartwheels. But this is where we are in the war on drugs-imagine a tunnel, more than a mile long, complete with electricity, air ventilation, and wood paneling, built with more structural integrity than anything the Army Corps of Engineers could muster when they put together the levees in New Orleans, being dug underneath Mexico's most secure maximum security prison. And not one prison official or guard heard anything. Not a fucking sound. 

Imagine this tunnel ending right underneath a toilet utilized by our esteemed bandito, in a prison where his every move is recorded via video camera, and no one noticed him removing said toilet and stepping down into the murky depths of the hole his peeps spent more than a year excavating. Imagine a 60-year old man being able to outrun (on a motorbike, no less) his much younger captors down said tunnel for over 1500 meters only to come out the other side and disappear into thin fucking air. I never thought something like this was possible, but if we've learned anything, it's that Mexico is the country where impossible happens, especially when someone like Guzman pays out a total of $50 million dollars in bribes to the requisite Mexican officials to facilitate his escape.



So far 18 prison officials have been taken into custody for "questioning", the prison warden has been summarily sacked, and the Mexican district attorney has taken the opportunity for a resoundingly cynical photo-op of herself staring into the exit of the tunnel in question, peering down as if to say "duh, how the fuck did THIS happen? We need a full investigation pronto!!! Round up the usual suspects!!!"

           "Se fue por aqui? Chinga tu madre, cabrĂ³n!!!"

Mexico is full of "investigations" of this nature. They all lead down the same hole Chapo Guzman used to hatch his escape. And now Guzman is back in Culiacan, Mexico, his native stomping grounds where he enjoys almost complete loyalty from the citizens. He's back having Viagra-fueled sex marathons with 18-year old beauty queens and orchestrating his drug empire from the safety of his home region that will see a violent purge of the disloyal "sapos" who had the temerity to think he was gone for good. I would not to be them right about now, because we all know how it's going to end for them and their families.

The worst part of this latest escape-more narco corridos!!!! Orale, Carnal!!!

All we are left with is a trail of dust and a new batch of obnoxious, hastily-written narco corridos that are inundating the airwaves of Mexico, extolling the feats of Chapo Guzman, who has gone from cultural icon to Mexican superhero for outsmarting (yet again) the Mexican government and those damn Yankis. Expect the people who ratted him out to pay dearly for their transgressions with a new wave of violence that will make the current state of narco violence look like stroll in the park.

Monday, June 23, 2014

The 2014 Giro D'Italia...


Unfortunately for all the European jingoists out there, this year's Giro D'Italia was dominated by Colombia. The top two podium spots were taken by Nairo Quintana and Rogoberto Uran. The mountains classification was another display of Colombian talent, with Julian Arredondo coming in first, Quintana third, and Jarlinson Pantano ninth. The young rider classification was more of the same-Quintana first, Sebastian Henao fifth.

Let me tell you why a country like Italy, whose terrain is 70% mountainous, can't produce any climbers-drugs. Aside from whatever Miguel Indurain was doing in Spain, it was the Italians first and foremost who embarked on a hardcore EPO regimen. As a country, THEY were the ones who introduced it, they were the ones who abused it the most, and their doctors, specifically Dr. Conconi, Dr. Ferrari, and Dr. Cecchini, were the prime movers of EPO administration in the pro peloton. This trickled down to the amateur ranks, where tales of 16 year-old riders already being put on heavy doses of EPO and other drugs have been rampant for years. During the late 90's early 2000's, the Italian junior ranks, according to an old report from Cycle Sport magazine, saw a collective increase in hematocrit levels that would have made Richard Virenque blush. This would have raised eyebrows anywhere else, but not in Italy.

A respected member of the "Busting Chops" home office and one of the founding fathers of this blog said it best-"After a certain point, the amount of drugs you must take to ride stop working". If the top Italian juniors for the last 20-plus years have been saturating themselves with PED's, it's no wonder their collective performances start to level off and fizzle away when they become pros. Reading "The Death of Marco Pantani" by Matt Rendell, it was patently obvious that Marco rarely, if ever, rode without drugs. Despite his romantic aura, which was in direct contrast to Armstrong's corporate mercenary appeal, and his legion of diehard fans, he was just as much a product of drugs as Lance was. He may have had more natural talent to ride hills, but the truth is still the truth. The sad fact is, that despite turgid arguments over level playing fields among dopers, doping still conveyed undue strengths to riders who never possessed them in the first place.

               Flawed hero Marco Pantani in better days-


Colombia is a land of high mountains and even higher altitude. This makes for the perfect breeding ground for climbers, and historically this has been the case. But only recently has there been breakout of young stars who can compete for three week grand tours. Time trials have always been the bane of climbers of any nationality, where a dedicated climber can lose upwards of four minutes in a flat time trial, negating any advantage they might hope to gain in the mountains. This is why it was a great move for team  management to have Quintana ride the Giro instead of the Tour. The Tour this year had too many flat time trial miles to make anything but the King of the Mountains jersey and a top-three finish a realistic goal. A win in a grand tour for any European team is worth its weight in gold, even though in order of impact and importance the Giro sits second between the French Tour and the Spanish Vuelta. The Giro itself is mythic, and its climbs harder than those in France, though this is negated by the better quality fields of the French Tour to a degree.

Nairo Quintana comes from a small town that sits at 9,000 meters in altitude in Colombia, and rode a bike as a youth to get to and from school. He was climbing the second he began riding. A young man winning a grand tour at the age of 24 is auspicious enough, but of course, thanks to Lance Armstrong and others, there are those who believe EVERYONE in the peloton is on drugs. There hasn't been a hint that Quintana has ever doped, but don't tell that to his detractors. It's unfortunate that Quintana and other Colombian riders have to ride in an era where there are no grand tour riders with any talent or panache, but that is not their fault. These cycling fans are left cheering the likes of Cadel Evans, who is running on the exhaust fumes of a hearse, Vincenzo Nibali, who is the second coming of Ivan Basso (an impotent-legged bum who can't ride without dope) and other assorted nobodies like the Schleck brothers, who are so beyond their sell-by date they are beginning to reek of sour milk.


                            That's what I'm talking about-

Nairo Quintana representing his country at the 2013 Road Championships-

There is no one left except Alberto Contador and Chris Froome, two guys who have been hounded by doping allegations seemingly forever. Unfortunately, this is the backdrop into which Quintana has been thrust. There is no doubt there is some anti-Colombian sentiment at work here, as the Anlgos have no one compelling to cheer for. They have only themselves to blame for this. Quintana's physical attributes play to his strengths-he is not tall, doesn't weight much, and has an incredible ability to crush it in the mountains. If he could improve his time trialing, or at the very least become good enough in this discipline to avoid losing major portions of time, he'll be one of the all-time greats, much to the chagrin of many who think anyone who rides a bike is on dope, especially if they hail from Colombia. Casting aspersions on riders such as Quintana has become all the rage, and people have made comments over what is going on in South America. But this cat did not come out of nowhere, a la Chris Froome or 2012 Tour winner Bradley Wiggins, with their improbable physiques and their back-dated TUE's for cortisone during competition. If their team is up to no good, they will be found out in due time. Until then, we cannot cast doubt on every rider just because they win. Save that for the putrid Italians, who have a clear history of organized, systemic doping that one can argue is culturally embedded to the point where they can't ride without cheating.

Nairo Quintana's coming out party, Tour de France 2013-

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

The 2014 NBA Playoffs...

Now that the San Antonio Spurs completely dismantled the Miami Heat, let's cut to the chase. In speaking of what the Heat need to do to get back to the finals and win, not one commentator/analyst spoke of the biggest dilemma facing this squad going forward-the "Big Three" as currently constructed have had their run, and now it is pretty much over. Here is why-

1) Dwayne Wade has no cartilage left in one knee. None. The procedure that Kobe Bryant and a few other star professional athletes have undergone in Germany is no miracle cure for this. On the contrary. All it does is mask the pain for a certain period of time. It actually makes the condition worse, because it fools the body into thinking the joint can take the same impact it could when there was cartilage to protect the joint. There is only one cure in the foreseeable horizon, and that lies with cartilage retransplantation, a procedure where doctors take cartilage out of the knee, grow more of it and transplant it back into the joint. This is not happening anytime soon. Scientists have been at it for years and are no closer to perfecting it than when they started.

Here's another dilemma-arthritic knees are not just the result of athletic wear and tear. There are proteins in the body that act as an agent that attacks cartilage and eats it up for apparently no good reason. This has been the scourge of many a suburban housewife, weekend warrior and elite athlete alike. Dwayne Wade can no longer be paid or given the minutes of a superstar player because the Wade who used to be able to do THIS is long gone...



...having been replaced by THIS, a player who gets horsed in the paint by the likes of Tiago Splitter of all people-



2) The Opt-Out Clause-Wade has two years left on his contract at $20 million per. The thought of either him or Chris Bosh opting out to re-sign for less money so the Heat can go after bloated one-dimensional ballhog Carmelo Anthony or overrated stat whore Kevin Love isn't going to solve their problems, and it's certainly not going to turn the clock back for Wade. This is his last chance to cash out while he still can, and forfeiting that type of loot for the good of the team would be a stupid financial move on his part. Unlike Lebron, neither Wade nor Bosh make the type of money from endorsements and investments that would allow either player to recoup that money elsewhere.

As a global icon and one of the best to have ever played the game, James is certain to continue to generate revenue way after his playing career is over due to his so-called "brand". Not so for Bosh and Wade. They need to get paid NOW, because when the spotlight fades for them, so will their revenue streams.

3) There wasn't one analyst who watched this series and thought "if only Carmelo Anthony were on the Heat. That would have solved all their problems". Look up and down the roster and see how limited to nonexistent the production was from Greg Oden, Michael Beasley, Mario Chalmers, Ray Allen, Rashard Lewis, and Chris "Birdman" Anderson. (By the way, his white trailer park trash shtick is done like an overcooked goose because he's no longer the player he once was, which was borderline on his greatest day. I don't understand how he became the Caucasian equivalent to Dennis Rodman, but that scenario never did play itself out.) All these cats need to be fumigated, because they no longer have a place on a squad trying to compete for a championship. This was the only memorable play from this bunch all series. It was a good one., but in the end it turned out not to matter one bit-



4) The Heat need to get rid of Chris Bosh. He is a 6-11 shooting guard who cannot defend  the rim or take it to the hole, where he needs to be effective in order to create mismatches in a league sorely lacking in talent at the center position. He has shot more three pointers this year than ever, and his perimeter game does the Heat no favors when facing a team with the likes of Tim Duncan. The Heat even stopped giving him the ball after a while, relegating him to an offensive non-entity because he does not create his own shots from offensive rebounds. He did nothing this finals series-no meaningful blocks, rebounds, or points scored in the paint. Even Tiago Splitter got in on the action, and he's nowhere NEAR as talented as Bosh-



Manu Ginobli is 5 inches shorter than Bosh and by no means a skywalker. On this play, he barely got his hand over the rim on liftoff. Bosh turned and stood there like a squeegee hobo on a freeway intersection waiting for someone to hand him a tip for washing their windshield with dirty water. I'll say it again-guys like Bosh were born to be tall FOR A REASON, and it wasn't for this. This is a play a 6'11" player of Bosh's talents should always make but doesn't. Instead, he settles for getting posterized-



Even Pattie Smith, the 5'11"Australian guard who last year was fatter than a pregnant kangaroo, outscored Chris Bosh in the series, and he was coming off the bench. Smith wasn't just a three-point specialist for the Spurs. He was also a Tasmanian Devil on defense, harassing even the much bigger and taller Lebron James into turnovers and botched plays.

At this stage of the game it's all about managing money concerns and bringing in better, younger, and more athletic players. The Heat cannot do this because they are hamstrung by salary cap concerns, and the league itself will run into problems because teams have to deal with players looking to get paid under conditions that don't allow it without heavy financial penalties once they overstep the cap by even one dollar. In other words, there are no saviors for the Heat out in free agency, and they only have one player, Norris Coles. under contract for next season with a [potential $60 million dollar payroll taken up by only three players.

It is hard to sell the Miami/South Beach lifestyle to potential free agents who must forfeit their fair market value to make it happen. You can only sell this aspect for so long. Players have a short window of opportunity to maximize their worth, and the only ones willing to have made the move are either retreads running on fumes or players no one else really wanted. It worked out for them these last four years, but this next coming season is different. Who out there is willing to sign for less when they've worked so hard to put themselves in a position to get paid? Certainly not Kyle Lowry, who is better than both Mario Chalmers and Norris Coles put together. May we see the return of Sebastian Telfair from Chinese purgatory? He's still young enough and at this point will sign for the veteran's minimum just to get back into the league. Is he the type opf player you're willing to bet on when he's never been more than a marginal bit player at best? SAt this point, he's probably one of the few players the Heat could afford to sign who may have something left in the tank.

That is a precarious position for them to say the least. Let's see what happens.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Cock-a-Doodle Don't...


The reigning queen of Whore-opolis is none other than Duke University co-ed Miriam Weeks, aka "Belle Knox", a college undergrad turned porn star who is now a national media sensation. She has been on talk shows ranging from "The View" to Piers Morgan, and has actively defended her right to fuck in front of the camera as an "empowering step forward for women's rights". Little did we here at the home office of "Busting Chops" realize that pushing a feminist agenda required huge cocks and two-girl blow-job scenes (remember-one of you sucks the cock and the other licks the balls).

Apparently, this bulbous-nosed little twat couldn't afford the tuition at Duke, and she didn't want to saddle her parents with student loan debt. She is supposedly ineligible for loans to pay for school herself (or so she says), so like any other self-respecting, financially strapped college student, she decided on a career as an onscreen jack-off princess. In one of her movies, she is seen holding a gigantic cock next to her enormous head while taking a photo of it with her phone. The penis starts at her chin and reaches the top of her head with ease. Glad she got a photo of this for posterity. The cock she poses with must have been humongous, seeing as the size of her cranium would make the carvings of Mount Rushmore cower in fear.


There is nothing particularly alluring about her other than the fact that she attends a prestigious university and has that slutty, all-American tramp-next-door look. This is why she's a novelty, but one that will grow stale very quickly as more and more shameless, amoral, money-hungry losers like her follow in her footsteps. It's indeed titillating and at the same time shockingly disgusting that an eighteen year-old from a so-called "good family" would resort to pornography, but here she is, and I'm sure her parents must be extremely proud. Then again, she has admitted to be a porn enthusiast since the age of twelve. Goes to show you that sexual deviance knows no socio-economic bounds.

Her father is a military doctor who just returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan to find out what he was really fighting for-the right for his daughter to deep throat massive yards of immense penis. I cannot imagine how someone from such a background cannot afford to pay for college, or seemingly didn't take into account how much the school actually costs before stepping on campus and maybe going somewhere more affordable. She has to suck $47,000 worth of dick to pay her yearly tuition, despite the alleged free ride she received from Vanderbilt. What she will find out sooner rather than later is that her fanbase will be calling for more and more depraved acts of debauchery, meaning getting DP'ed, throated, screwing black guys and getting double-analed. And she will have to perform these acts or get shelled out the back, as they say in cycling parlance. Guaranteed she'll have an asshole the circumference of a Frisbee in less than six months.


Our dirty little debutante is currently stripping in New York City. She claims people don't understand that her choice is a power move for her, that she is always in control, she never performs any act she doesn't feel comfortable doing, and that her career goal is to become a lawyer to fight for women's rights and gender equality amongst sex workers. She had the audacity to say the backlash she's experienced illustrates that we still live in a male-dominated patriarchal society. I can't imagine a level of societal oppresion that must be relieved by grabbing a cock and a camera and proceeding to live down to every stereotype society has about porno sluts.

I feel soooo empowered...right up my ass!!! Hi mom and dad!!!

No, darling. You got it twisted. We celebrate whores in this great land of ours, that is true. But not the type that disingenuously use promiscuity and sexual deviance as a vehicle to promote their own twisted, sexually perverted agenda, attempting to pass it off as some demented Freedom March from the Civil rights Movement. You're not Rosa Parks, bitch. You're a run-of-the-mill, dysfunctional, white trash freak. So please spare us and let us know when you're doing you're first anal scene. That's all we care about.

Poor Oprah. The floundering ratings of her network has forced her to interview douchebags like this, leaving her wondering-"First Lance Armstrong, now this asshole. What the fuck..."

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Book Recommendation of the Week...

Cycle of Lies-The Fall of Lance Armstrong
Author-Juliet Macur



There have been two books of note written in the immediate aftermath of the Lance Armstrong debacle-"Wheelmen" by Reed Albergotti  and Vanessa O'Connor and "Seven Deadly Sins-My Pursuit of Lance Armstrong" by David Walsh, but neither are quite like this one. Juliet Macur interviewed over 100 people and covered Armstrong's life from the very beginning right until the recent present. After 394 mind-numbing pages, the reader is left gasping for breathe until the epilogue, where we find Armstrong inexplicably as defiant and arrogant as ever, despite the fact that his whole world is crumbling on top of his head. Much has been made of his psychopathic tendencies, the infamous killer instinct that he used to combat cancer and his rivals on the bike, an instinct he never could turn completely off, even when he was enjoying his greatest success. Evidence of his state of mind is disturbingly on full display on almost every page, but the most stunning tales involve his easily disposable gang of doochebag mafioso-style enablers. How ironic that the only figure in Armstrong's life to escape all this with some semblance of dignity is Dr. Michele Ferrari, the man most responsible for his drug-fueled success. The rest of the pathetic cast of characters? Ah, fughettaboutit....

This book is an exhibition of dysfunction, mental illness, and entitlement run amok, starting with Armstrong's mother, the serial-marrying, can't-keep-a-husband, white trash loser who painted herself as the struggling single mother sacrificing all to raise a precocious, super-athlete son all by her little lonesome. The reality is nothing of the sort, yet it didn't stop her from concocting this fabricated past to sell on the professional speaking circuit for thousands of dollars a pop. Fortunately, these engagements have all but dried up, and we can be spared any more of her revisionist drivel. I guess no one wants to listen to a washed-up wanker talking shit about a past that is as full of lies as her son's own spiral up (and eventually down) the ladder of success.

Then there is Terry Armstrong, who adopted Lord Gunderson and gave him his last name. Terry turns out, unsurprisingly, to be a toolbag as big as his adopted progeny, the type of dad who ceaselessly regaled little Lance with stories of how losers never win. They are no longer on speaking terms, and Lance once had him removed from one of his fund-raising athletic events by security.

The moral of this amoral story is Armstrong did not exist and thrive in a vacuum. The list of reprobates who satisfied his monstrous ego and kowtowed to his every whim for a whiff of his jock and the ability to make money off him was enormous. They ranged from companies like Nike and Trek to ass clowns like Chris Carmichael, who swiftly took Armstrong off his promotional ads for his coaching website once he was stripped of his seven Tour de France titles. They too are no longer on speaking terms.

The myriad of characters are seemingly endless, and they come in all shapes and sizes. From Floyd Landis and Allen Lim to his biological father's side of the family, who have been shunned through no fault of their own, Armstrong left a legacy of broken relationships and an attitude about human beings befitting a Pol Pot re-educator. I found myself having to put it down every now and then from sheer exhaustion. It was tiresome reading about it, I could not imagine anyone taking any sort of glee living such a life devoid of any human emotion towards others other than "what can this person do for me". The worst part was his relationship with John Thomas Neal, who nurtured this graceless punk as a youth only to have him show up at his funeral disrespectfully wearing flip flops and then going over to his sister and saying, "I don't do funerals".

I leave you with the photo of the back of the book, which should tell you all you need to know about Armstrong's feelings of contrition-

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Happy Thanksgiving...


While at the gym on the morning of this festive holiday and feeling depressed that there were no good-looking broads to gawk at (the pathetic clientele looked like extras from "The Walking Dead") I was watching the latest news on the screens in front of my zombie treadmill and it seemed everyone was up in arms because the Northeast was hit with a bit of a storm that delayed and cancelled flights all over the Northeast. Poor babies. Nothing worse than watching a bunch of middle-aged lard-asses fuming that they have to wait for their flights a little longer than expected at the airport. 

I'm sure grandma doesn't mind, as Thanksgiving for her is always the same. Nothing like being verbally abused over her age by a pathetic bunch of worthless relatives and smart-aleck, sexually inappropriate kids"twerking" all over the newly installed beige carpeting that makes her living room look like an undertaker's reception area.


She'll also be looking forward to being inundated with cranberry sauce belches and turkey farts from racist Uncle Ned, who's still pissed off that his job was sent overseas because a bunch of gooks in China will work for slave wages and no benefits just so his plastic enema bag can be sold at Walmart for less than five bucks for a package of three.


Meanwhile, grandma Gladys is having a hard time basting the turkey with embalming fluid and trying to wrap the inside with barbed wire (makes for a nice surprise when you bite into it) from the comfort of her motor scooter, which has a reclining leather seat so she can relax while cheering on the rednecks who hunt wild boar and manufacture moonshine on reality tv. Don't forget these scooters come with an optional Kevorkian feature (patent pending), a hinge you can attach to the arms of this rolling sarcophagus so that a medically assisted suicide via an IV mixture of scopolamine and rat poison is only minutes away. Makes a great stocking stuffer for that septuagenarian loved one who's outlived their usefulness, especially if they are as sick and tired of you as you are of them.

Then it hit me...if these motherfuckers can't get home for the Holidays, maybe this little hiatus will do America some good. Nothing says bloated, entitled, gastronomic goonery more than Thanksgiving. Nobody gives thanks for anything because everyone's way too angry at someone or something. If it's not the politicians they voted into office, it's the rival political party. If it's not them, it's the minorities. Somehow, these people feel they are not getting their fair share of the American Dream (which is becoming more elusive than a shaved, Vaseline-slathered gerbil)  for being hard working, law-abiding, apple-pie eating Americans because someone undeserving is taking it from them. To these people I say "now you know how the Native Americans felt when your diseased, baloney-assed ancestors landed on Plymouth Rock and proceeded with the most comprehensive and surgical mass genocide of an indigenous people the world has ever seen".


So on this day that we so gracelessly take for granted, let's send all the fat lardass freaks back home where they came from. Instead of spending time with family, go see your local gastroenterologist about financing that long overdue vertical banded gastroplasty. Since the food industrial complex lobby has Washington by the balls, let's not keep these fuckers from purchasing boxes of homogeneous processed food-let's keep them from physically being able to ingest it. It's the only way this madness will end. Americans are so fat they've managed to turn Thanksgiving into Russian Roulette with a turkey leg. How the fuck this happened is beyond me, but that's what happens when you give mediocrities an sense of superiority they've done nothing to earn. Just because you're American doesn't make you special.




When I tell people from other countries that the average American is so fat they have to have their stomachs stapled to keep from eating, they look at me aghast. In countries where people are thin because they don't have access to proper nutrition, they can't understand why Americans cannot control their appetites while eating so much crap. What they fail to understand is this is a country where binge-eating is a sport and anorexia and bulimia are fashion trends. Go figure.


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!! I'd like to send a heartfelt thank you to all the fat, racist bastards out there who've turned American Exceptionalism into the biggest existential joke this side of the My Lai Massacre.


Whatever you do this holiday season, please keep it sportsmanlike!!!