Phelps is no Lowballs

It’s painfully obvious that Michael Phelps has a giant set of brass balls (8 gold medals and 7 world records make it hard to contest that fact), but his balls must be extremely swollen what with all the people hanging off his nut-sack at the moment.  Yeah yeah, The kid just destroyed the best of the best in the world of swimming and has been crowned as the greatest Olympian of all time.  I beg to differ seeing that the greatest Olympians of all time(a really really long time) still live on Mt. Olympus and their names are Zeus, Aries, and the rest of the Greek Gods, but that’s semantics.  The bright spots of Phelps amazing feat are far-reaching; reminding the world that, in an Olympics held in Beijing, the Chinese Olympians were expected to dominate the medal count as a precursor to their eventually world wide domination of the human populace….HOWEVER, that was not the case for the Slant-eyed commie-pinko bastards.  Although they do have a lead in the gold medal count, the US still has the lead in the overall medal count; thanks in part to Michael Phelps taking a gigantic dump(seriously, 12,000 calories) on China and the rest of the world as a way to show our ongoing superiority in all things related to international relations (minus the whole Iraq and Vietnam thing). 

 

            Lets look past the Michael Phelps and all his magnificent achievements and delve into the fact that this dude makes Radio look like a Mensa member.

 

Bob Costas:  “How do you feel now that it is all over, and you won the 8 Medals?”

Phelps:  “I can’t even describe it, it’s beyond words”

Costas:  “After you won the first two medals, did you have a sense that you could do this?”

Phelps:  “I mean, it was really cool and awesome, but at the time I was just happy to have done well”

Costas:  “After the Lesak (rhymes with BSAC) touched the wall, did you think you were destined for this”

Phelps:  “It was really cool after he got there and I thought that was really awesome and I can’t even describe it in words”

Costas:  “When you finished your 7^th race and touched the wall, how did you feel with the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not you had won?”

Phelps:  “It was really crazy, like I when I touched I thought I won, but it was close, it was awesome though”

 

            Wow, talk about an impressive vocabulary and elocution.   He’s like F. Scott Fitzgerald but only fucking retarded.  It may be possible that Phelps’ mental development was stunted at age 11 when he started training for a career in aquatic endeavors.  I’m not hating on Phelps the Olympian, I’m dishing out some haterade on Phelps the recently appointed savior of the United States, Ambassador to Sudan, Jesus, etc…The tales are abound regarding his douchebagesque behavior. 

 

According to various accounts, he majored in Pussy while training at Michigan, lets not forget he did not go to school there, he just trained with the team, hence making his major seem applicable; except for the fact that he went to Michigan to major in Pussy.  Majoring in Pussle at (fuck)Michigan is like majoring in Abortion Administration at Notre Dame, that is to say that there is no way you will do well in your desired scholastic endeavors.  Unless he is trying to score with some Arab or Chinese P, your going to be hard-pressed to find those girls that are twice as dumb thus twice as likely to get down homeboy.  But then again you’re an idiot and your also from Baltimore, and as anyone with any sense knows, the only good thing to come out of there is “The Wire”.

 

So with all these people hanging off his balls, there are already people that say that he is a role model.  Role Model?  I don’t think so.  Are his accomplishments something that young burgeoning swimmers should strive for?  Absolutely.  But role model?  Hell no, fuck no.  With the age of instant communication and 24 hour news hovering over us, America tends to give individuals massive amounts of praise for their athletic accomplishments, which is to be expected and admired, yet they also tend to show that individual in a light as to make them the second coming of the Messiah.  Does he want to be a role model?  I don’t know, probably not, he seems more interested in DUI’s and Vag than promoting humanitarian efforts or inventing a flying car.  Praise him for his accomplishments then as Jon Stewart pointed out, let him “swim up the Yangtze River, lay his eggs, and die, it’s life”.

 

Barkely was not a role model, neither is Phelps…

Enough with the Favruh

Greetings and Salutations assholes!  As you may or may not have heard Brett Favre, he of the vicodin and oxycotin persuasion, the backyard football playing, wrangler jean poster boy, and aficionado of the crusty splooge beard, has left the frozen tundra of lambeau field for the bright lights of Broadway.  Since you are reading this, I am going to assume that you like I, pour though the vast blogosphere and take in the plethora of information garnered by those great writers and editors.  And because you do, you are aware that the Favre coverage is FREAKIN REDICULOUS!  NFL training camp has begun, did you know that?  If you did it is only because you stumbled across the first episode of HBO’s Hardknocks while trying to catch up on Generation Kill (‘Merica, fuck ya).  To be honest, I am much more interested in what Mark Chmura is up to these days.  I assume he is working as a DJ at prom’s and after parties.  I would much rather follow him along for a day, watching him oogle and google at 17 year olds, only to eventually hear a voice emanating from a kitchen counter…

 

(Enters room) “Have a seat over there.  What was your plan here today?   You’re naked, there’s a 17 year old girl, you’re chasing a cat around and you’ve got Cool Whip and you want this girl to do some sex act with the cat and then you’ll have sex with her. Is that accurate?  I’m Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC and we are doing a story about computer predators/adults who try to meet teens online for sex.  You are free to go.”

 

Seriously, now that would be far more entertaining than watching Rachel Nichols vampire ass felicitate and follow Brett all across America as the world waits with (breathless) anticipation.  Honestly I would much rather have preferred Favre to go to the Vikings, only because in my hopeless immature imagination, I can see Deanna Favre getting down with Fred Smoot and his “tweener” ladyfriend for some Hanky Panky with a double sided love stick.  However, I digress into a (favre-less) discussion about the upcoming football season….

 

So how do you think the Jets will do with er, uh, just kidding, fuck the jets.  You know who has a hot wife?  The Rog…Roger Goodell, he is married to the vivacious Jane Skinner of FoxNews, I will not hold that against her, although I would like to hold something else against her.  But other than that, Roger Goodell is acting like Hitler in the 1930’s and building up his forces and influence for the eventual blitzkrieg that will eventually overtake the entire NFL, if not the world.  The Rog has enacted a new “fan conduct policy”.  Excuse me if I am mistaken, but isn’t it a written rule that all NFL fans must not adhere to any conduct that would be mistaken for civilized?  What the fuck is he trying to do?  No drunkards?  Seriously, how do you expect the Billion dollar enterprise that is the NFL to flourish if your new rules put the ole’ kibosh on largest sponsor of the NFL.  That is like the cardinals and brewers revoking the liquor license at their own ballparks.  Douchenozzle!

 

 

 

This is all for now my beloved worshippers.  Expect the frequency of my postings to rise over the next few weeks or so.  But until then you fucking peons, remember; beware of the thin lipped woman!

4th of July

Greetings Cocksmokers!  Welcome to the first addition of B-SAC Banter…A place where I, B-Sac, henceforth referred to only as Sac (like P. Diddy dropping the P) and fantastic derivatives of Sac i.e. Sactorious, will give you my insights on various matters of the irrelevant nature. Although my writing is often mistaken for that of the Dickensian school, it is mixed with ostentatious wording, grandiose theories, and an extremely crude, usually offensive personal touch that is designed to make everyone think, smile, swear, and weep all at once. 

 

To all of you on your high moral horse:  Come off it and eat a dick!

 

This weeks entry:

 

AMERICA, FUCK YEA!!

 

As many of you may know tomorrow is the 4^th of July, a day in which we, as Americans, celebrate the adoption of the Declaration of Independence some two hundred and I don’t fucking know how many years ago in 1776 (I cheated my way through math).  The 4^th is day born out of national hubris in the wake of the creation of one of the most important documents in the relatively short history of the United States; written and signed by some pretty smart fellows (see Jefferson, Adams, and Herbie Hancock) to signify our newfound freedom and place in the vastly emerging post-industrialized world (No Taxation w/o representation!).  Throughout the subsequent years, this day has transitioned from a day of remembrance and gratefulness to a day that demonstrates our place as the lone hegemonic power in the world.  And I have to tell, it is fucking tits. 

Sure, the founders of this great country may have universities and cities named after them, bridges in their memory, and their portraits plastered all over our currency, which these days is about as useful as an aids patient in the blood mobile.  Don’t get me wrong, I love history, I enjoy going to old forts, battlefields, museums, and all that other shit.  Ever been down south?  That place is awesome, they may have lost the war, but by-golly, they got some cool shit!  Have you ever been to a plantation?  Those things are freaking sweet! I would love to own one of those things, who wouldn’t?  I mean who besides black people….I read Huck Finn, I understand their aversion to such places.  But just think, if all those crazy right-wingers are right and Osama Barak does enslave the white race after winning the White House, blacks and plantations might make a come back….am I right? However, I digress…..

The 4^th of July is easily one of my top 5 favorite days of the year.  It encompasses all that it means to be American….which means us beating up the Japanese.  Joey Chestnut made it rain on the reigning king of competitive eating.  It reminds me of the aforementioned USA beating the reigning champion British in something they weren’t supposed to win, the Revolutionary War. Getting back to the US dominating, especially the Japanese, the 4^th also involves explosions on the grand scale (see Nagasaki and Hiroshima)…what too soon? Ahh, yet another example of American superiority is fireworks, lots and lots of fireworks, black cats, roman candles, screaming mimis, lady fingers, fuzz buttles, snicker bombs, church burners, finger blasters, gut busters, zippity do das, crap flappers, whistling bungholes, spleen spliters, whisker biscuits, honkey lighters, hoosker doos, hoosker donts, cherry bombs, nipsy daisers, with or without the scooter stick, and whistling kitty chasers….although the fireworks are Chinese I’m pretty sure.   The other four, in no particular order are:

 1. Opening Day Baseball: I skipped class the last three years to go to opening day…why you may ask?  Because opening day is far more than just any baseball game, I can go watch the Reds lose any old day, but opening day is like finally getting to blow your load all over some bitch’s titties after a winter long courtship with the cold, celibate cocktease that is Winter.  Sure she gave you glimpses of hope and joy (see Playoffs, NCAA basketball) leading you to think you might score, only to be blue ball you when it comes down to business time.  Opening day is the climax of a long anticipated build up stemming from the need for fun, sun, and bitches which usually leads to an all out explosion of debauchery on that fine day in late March which also happens to coincided with the NCAA Basketball Championship which means double the fun, drinking and partying from dawn until dawn.  It also means that girls on college campuses throughout the winning Union states (damn you South w/ your year round hot girls) will begin to reappear out of thin air wearing something other than a ski parka, sweat pants and ugg boots, fuck I hate ugg boots.  But most of all, I love baseball.

2. My birthday:  everyone loves their own birthday, you feel important, people that you don’t like make it seem like they like you, thus making you important on that day.  Your friends however, they don’t give a shit about your birthday, and that is good.  I don’t care about your birthday; you don’t care about mine that is why we get along.  We get along because we have things in common, like sports, booze, hookers etc…

3.  The Holiday Season:  This is comprised of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and to a less extent New Years.  Who doesn’t like thanksgiving?  Ill tell you who, communists and douche bags.  Anyone that does not like a day filled with food, food, football, booze, and a mixture of the aforementioned is a pillow biting fairy.  Obviously we all love Christmas, I will save my love for Santa for a later post.  New Years used to be fun, when I was in high school; now, it’s more of a burden.  Driving home on New Years is like the hardest level on frogger.

4.  The NFL draft:  anyone who knows me (for that I am deeply sorry) knows that I love me some NFL draft.  Why?  I have no idea, I think it stems from the idea that hope springs eternal in the form of that day in late April where all your dreams from last year that were shattered can be fulfilled next year.  I love sitting on my ass, previously at noon, now at 3 pm, fuck you Roger Godell.  That is three more hours of listening to Emmitt Smith make Jerry’s kids sound like Rhodes scholars, 3 more hours of Berman being a pretentious asshole, and three more hours of Mel Kiper’s hair.  I fancy myself an amateur expert regarding the draft.  The first round?  Eh, who didn’t know that Al Davis was going to draft a black workhorse?  Who didn’t know that the Dolphins would take Jake Long?  No offense or running game (see 2006 Browns), you draft a fucking left tackle.  I love the late rounds, where I fancy myself the only person who knows that Beau Bell is a steal in the 4^th round.  I say to myself, he could have gone in the 2^nd, what the fuck?  Hell yes! 

The NFL draft is a tease for what is to come later in the year.  What is that you say?  The 4^th of July means far more than just patriotism, explosions, and mullet sightings.  It means that football is right around the corner.  FUCK and YES!  Were you bored last weekend?  And the weekend prior?  Yea me too.  Next weekend and the following and so on will still be boring, but soon training camp begins, football talk begins, and I no longer will be bored at work.  Football will be in the air, you will begin to formulate your fantasy draft list, scrupulously going over the details of each player 1-500, trying to find sleepers and busts as you go.  Then finally, on that glorious day in September football begins both college and professional.  And that is good.  Football season is glorious.  Yea yea yea, Ohio State is on, so are the Browns, which is awesome, ill discuss them in the weeks to come.  But let me touch on the real reason I love football season.  It’s partly because Saturday and Sunday is lonely w/o it, but mostly because of one thing.  Have you ever found yourself glued to the TV at 1 am on a Saturday night, whether at some random house party or at home, watching in horror as Hawaii is beating San Jose St. by a score of 35-28? A game in which Hawaii is favored by 28, with the over-under being 76, a game in which you rolled over your winnings from the 3 team parlay earlier that day which  paid out $1100, only to have the rainbow fucking warriors and their superior offense sputter against some fucking team of blowhard chach dicks?  God knows I have, and many of the people I associate with have too.  That’s right, I am talking about gambling season, a season that starts with the first college football game and ends with the Super Bowl, the mecca of gambling (never, ever, gamble on basketball, you will be fucked royal by foul shots, fluke shots, and shitty refereeing).

The 4^th is a great time, it’s a fun time, and it is a time that leads to greater expectations for the fall.  Have fun, be safe, and remember beware of the thin-lipped woman.