Archive for September, 2014

This is from the Canadian Football League, and I love the way this guy goes from 120 mph to 55 mph in the blink of an eye. Just screaming his head off at some poor schmuck leaving the field, then delivering a casual “Sup” to the interviewer. Had he not added the “Sup” at the end I would have thought he was just another typical assclown. With it though, I have to give him props.

Somehow, the Corvette seems a fitting car for this plate.


Dogs are the best.

Posted: September 29, 2014 in Animals, Pets

I’d like to see somebody teach a cat to do this.

The South may have won the war if they had this monster.

Yep, looks like the good old USA, I think that’s Burma, and some little country in Africa (possibly Liberia? I’m excellent with maps) are still holding out. And do you know when the USA was officially sanctioned to use the metric system? 1866. Seems we’re a l-i-t-t-l-e slow on the uptake when it come to systems of measurement.


So here’s a slideshow!

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Bad decision, kid.

Because everyone needs a Yankee themed kayak.

Because everyone needs a Yankee themed kayak.

Before all you fanboys and fangirls of Derek Jeter throw a hissy fit, understand that I totally respect what Derek Jeter brought to the game of baseball. He’s a sure-fire first ballot Hall of Famer and a credit to the game. That said, hasn’t the media lost it’s ever-lovin’ mind?

Good God.

And it’s not just the media. Jeter himself is responsible for a lot of this. With all this in mind, here are a few thoughts regarding The Captain and his retirement:

The Farewell Tour

I’ve mentioned this before, but for the life of me I can’t understand why athletes announce their retirement before they’ve actually retired. Why not simply go to management before the season and tell them so they could make plans to replace you, then go public after the season? Announcing early gives the team a chance to whore Jeter out for a season, plus it makes him look like a narcissistic fool. Just my opinion.

“He never did anything questionable or got into trouble”

I’ve heard this a hundred times. He’s never been arrested or acted like a privileged prima-donna, and believe me when I say that’s a great attribute in this day and age. But for the love of God, is this what it’s come down to? That we give a player so much credit for acting the way he’s supposed to?

Available for only $14.99 at the Yankees Team Shop!

Available for only $14.99 at the Yankees Team Shop!

The Patch

Yeah, the Yankees wore honorary Derek Jeter patches on their hats this season. Again, just my opinion but I think that sort of thing should be reserved for, you know, dead people.

“He didn’t ask for all this adulation. It’s the media’s fault!”

If I’ve heard this once I’ve heard it a hundred times. Well, I have news for y’all – he asked for this. If he didn’t want it he wouldn’t have announced his retirement early. And he could have asked for opponents to tone down the Ass-Kissing Festival every time he visited a ballpark for the last time. And you know, maybe he could have said, “Please guys, no patches. It’s embarrassing.” But he didn’t.

East Coast Bias

Like I said, the guy is a sure-fire Hall of Famer, no doubt. However, his larger-than-life persona was largely built by the biased New York City media and ESPN. Because we all know nothing worthwhile ever happens between New York City and Los Angeles, right? You know, the great wasteland that is the Midwest? Good grief. If it didn’t happen in New York it barely happened at all, folks! Ask yourself: Would he have been as famous playing in Milwaukee or even Cincinnati? No way. Not even close.

The Shoes

For a supposedly selfless guy he sure wore some “Hey, look at me!” shoes. Something doesn’t add up here, kids.

No ego involved here. None at all.

No ego involved here. None at all.

Listen, I know he is by all accounts a great guy and teammate. Plus, he’s has immaculate taste in women. But I think the fact that he has been so unselfish and so classy up to this point it actually makes the Farewell Tour even more distasteful to me. For me, he sort of lost his magic and aura this year.

Still, when you weigh all the positives against the negatives the positives win out by a large margin. I won’t let this last year tarnish my memories of the guy at all.

Well, maybe a little.


The last thing a future hobo may see.

I’m not particularly proud of this, but Sparky’s not a fan of the homeless. Well, maybe not homeless people per se, but beggars in general. God, that sounds horrible. I swear Spark’s not a bad dog, he just has an ongoing War with the Hobos. It’s weird, because he’ll run up to anybody with his tail a waggin’, but if he sees a guy standing by the road with a sign asking for a handout he becomes unhinged. Seriously, he just goes to another place, and that place ain’t the land of unicorns, bunny rabbits and teddy bears.

Today I was going to The Walmart to pick up some stuff.

Note: Sorry, but a lot of things have THE before it with me. I had an uncle who prefaced everything with THE. For instance, He once told me that he heard Freddie Mercury had THE AIDS, and another time he told me I had an aunt who had THE CANCER. Hence the THE before a lot of stuff. Deal with it. 

Anyway, I’m cruising down Bridge Street, getting ready to turn right onto the road that leads to The WalMart. The window is down with it being a nice day and all, and I thought Spark might enjoy the fresh air and smells of the beautiful day.

Turns out he smelled something, and the beautiful day it wasn’t.

As we cross the bridge, a low growl emits from the throat of my best friend. He has spotted a hobo, from 300-yards away.  Keep in mind we’d driven through town and passed several innocent pedestrians, to which he’d never batted a canine eye. Other than that lady in the power suit he scared the living hell out of a few months ago, he rarely barks at people on the street.

Hobos and beggars asking for handouts? Yeah, different story.

The window went up.

So he’s working up a lather at the mere sight of this drifter dude, and when I make a right turn toward the guy Spark becomes an enraged ball of pissed-off puppery (I’m pretty sure that’s not a word but it’s my site and I don’t care. It sounds cool.) He’s bouncing off the rear interior of the car like a furry pinball, all the while snarling and yapping like he’s possessed by the ghost of Cujo.

My head is whipping back-and-forth like Linda Blair in The Exorcist as I try to calm Spark down and drive at the same time, but he’s a dog on a mission, and that mission is to apparently rip the throat out of an unsuspecting roadside tramp.

The closer we get, the more agitated and unglued my dog becomes. What is it with my sweet and loyal little Jack Russell Terrier and these panhandlers? I don’t get it. Was he menaced by a bearded and smelly dog-hater at some point? Does he not like Duck Dynasty style beards? Does he somehow sense they’re running a scam? Does he hate people looking for helping hand? Wait. Horror of horrors, is my dog a right-wing conservative?

As we passed the vagrant, Spark took it up one more notch and actually threw himself against the car window, and I was watched in the rearview mirror the poor guy actually took a step backwards as if expecting Spark to come hurtling through the window, knock him down, pull a vein out of his neck and kill him.

For a second I almost rolled my window gown to give the hobo a “Sorry man!” wave but I instantly realized Spark would take advantage of that opportunity way too quickly. He was a pup possessed.

The window stayed up.

I actually parked at the far end of the Walmart lot, lest Mr. Hobo Hater catch a glimpse of his mortal enemy while I was inside and lose his gourd. Still, I turned around and checked several times before I went inside, half expecting to see the door pop open and Spark make a mad charge across the lot, roaring as he went in for the slaughter.

Thankfully, our roadside adversary was gone by the time we left, thus I avoided another riveting episode of Sparky vs. The Roadside Vagabond. Again, I have no idea why my beloved companion has such an aversion to these people, but I have to roll with it because, well, what choice do I have? I love the little guy.

So, you guys standing by the road with signs? You have been warned. And you’d better hope I remember to keep my windows up.

Traumatized red-eared slider.

Traumatized red-eared slider.

Sometimes the headlines just write themselves. Here’s the dilly, with my observations following . . .

TORONTO — A Canadian man facing charges in the U.S. over an alleged reptile smuggling operation was caught at the border with 51 live turtles stuffed down his pants, recently unsealed court documents say.

The U.S. federal court documents say officers with the Canada Border Services Agency intercepted Kai Xu as he attempted to cross into Windsor, Ont., from Detroit last month.

“During the secondary inspection, Xu was found to have 51 live turtles tapped (sic) to his person,” Kenneth Adams, a special agent with U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, stated in an affidavit outlining the criminal complaint.

“Specifically, Xu had 41 turtles taped to his legs and 10 hidden between his legs.”

Canadian authorities seized the turtles, which included North American varieties such as eastern box turtles, red-eared sliders and diamondback terrapins — some of which sell for $800 each — and turned them over to American officials.
Come on, Canada Border Services Agency. Lighten up. Who among us hasn’t stuffed 51 eastern box turtles, red-eared sliders, and diamondback terrapins down our pants? Kai Xu, I ain’t mad at ya.
But seriously, $800.00 for a turtle?

When self-awareness takes a break.

Posted: September 26, 2014 in Assclowns, Humor

The irony here is breathtaking.


So I came across this question today on the worldwide interweb. I have debated the answer within l,pijomyself for hours, and I believe I have come to an opinion. Yeah, I know. It’s been a slow Friday. Anyway, the question is this:

Is a hot dog a sandwich?

On the one hand, it’s meat and condiments on bread. On the other, I know of no living human who ever said they were hungry for a sandwich and ordered a hotdog. Now that I think of it, a sandwich doesn’t even need meat to be a sandwich, as in a grilled cheese or peanut butter sandwich. A hot dog sort of stands on it’s own, alone among the world’s foodstuffs. Amirite or amirite?

So, after much research and internal debate, I have my conclusion:

A hot dog is not a sandwich.

Another of life’s eternal questions answered by yours truly, master blogger. You’re welcome.

Next week we will answer the question that’s been haunting America for over 70-years:

Is Tweety Bird a boy or a girl?  

I really need to get out and get some fresh air. Have a wonderful weekend.

Something in the way he moves.

It’s always a pleasure to go mountain boating, amirite?

Head on a swivel!

Well played, kid.

Posted: September 24, 2014 in Classroom, Education, Humor, Kids

Excellent advice.


With friends like these . . .

Love it.

Like Olbermann or not, he’s spot-on right here.

Love this.

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Yep. Exactly.

*Not really.


Yes he does.

Oh boy.

Apollos Hester can play for me any day. Love this kid.