Friday Afternoon Fun Bag!

Man. It's been a while. Sorry to all of our followers who expected more productivity from us. Not really.

Anyway. It's been a time for family and togetherness.

Wooooo! Shirtless drinkin! Ok. Let's get bizzay.

So last night, Icehouse went and saw Love and Other Drugs. The movie a) is a late 90's period piece and b) features a lot of Anne Hathaway naked. Like, a whole lot. THIS IS NOT TO SAY THAT THIS MOVIE IS ACCEPTABLE TO SEE. The nudity was simply a ploy to make guys be all, "yeah, it was awesome, there was tits." No. The tits merely linked together one unfunny scene to the next. So yeah, go see Faster starring Dwayne Johnston.

Annnnyways.

First and foremost, the year in scandals. Taiwanese animation style.


Last night LeBron went all LEBRON JAMES on the Cavs. He knew he was going to have some animosity coming into the game, but he looks pretty surprised and butthurt from Mo Williams dissing him.


And now, here's a WHOLE LOT OF PUKE.


Downhill mountain biker Brian Lopes makes me want to shit my pants by flying down this course in Whistler, British Columbia.


Here's some super fun ski crashes, in honor of the opening of the season.


This is a new meme. It has immediately endeared itself to Lattimer and myself.


Charles Bronson kills hipsters. Bout fucking time.


So yeah. Fuck this week. Punch it in the face.

GRH Exclusive: True, Southern Patriot Congratulates USA's Evan Lysacek

This was found in the GRH Mailroom on our fax machine. We can only assume its veridity enough to publish it, having checked with other media sources who received the same message, and leave it to you, the discerning reader, to determine its genuine authenticity. Read on and thank you.

-The Ghost of Roy Hobbs

USA! USA! USA! USA! Hooooooboy! We got us a MASSACRE here, boy I will tell you what! We ain't even half way through these here O-Limpics up there 'round Canadia and already we're moppin' the floor with these other sumbitches! We got more metals [sic.] than Pittsburgh, baby! USA! USA! USA!

And we gotta give credit where credit is due. That belle of a woman Lindsey Vonn sucked it up like a man and skiied on that bad leggahers. That red-headed stepsister won at the halfpipe, like she's done over and over again, and against the menfolk! Well-done and bravo.

But even in the sissiest of "sports" has the flag of our fathers reigned soupreem [sic.]. I'm talking about...

(/accidently swallows mouthful of Skoal)

...men's figure skating.

I ain't never watched it before. I don't ever plan on watching it. That's for them people who float around and dance around like this right here (/jumps around oddly with wrists unfettered), not for me and not for most Amuricans. We like meat and potatoes. We like our trucks and four-wheelers. We like George Strait and we think that homewreckin' Keith Urban can make out with that Adam Lambert all he wants to in the presence of the Devil in his den in hell. Not for me, thank ye kindly.

But I'll be derned. This Evan Lysacek (I think it's pronounced like Licorice, like Twizzlers) gone and won for the US of A. How 'bout that. Bout time he did something meaningful for his country, I guess. I don't know. I didn't watch it.

I didn't watch one minute of his what-I-heard was a flawless performance; a dextrous combination of athletic prowess and regal grace. Not once was my television tuned to his masterful 6'2" frame, gliding through the air like an angel that done falled from heaven to say hey to us humans on Earth. I didn't see him stick every landing with the authority of a grown man commanding the Earth beneath him.

(/wipes drool off chin)

I think I was watching an episode of 'Reba' or something. Tammy's got a few of them reruns taped, so we watch it most nights.

Not saying I wouldn't have liked to have seen the Twizzler boy whip up on that ole Ruskie. From what I saw heard, he was walking in like the skatin' court the Hotel Del Queero and he was the pro-pry-etor [sic.]. Figures as much. You know what they say about them fairy Russians...gotta keep warm somehow! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAWWWWWWGawh!

I was just happy to see one of them godless, sinful communist bastards git theirs. Heard he came back just for the gold medal, now safely in Amurica, where it belongs. Got nothing against him, the homo, and I hope he finds Jesus through this tragedy ah-his. Hate the sin, not the sinnin' queer, to quote my mama.

Too bad I didn't watch the whoopin, Lysacek threw down on him.

(/tobacco falls out of mouth, down shirt, to floor, arms fall to his side)

Maybe I would have half-way enjoyed the show. Maybe I could have actually stomached the way he masterfully skated along the ice with the precision of a vernerable brain surgeon; slicing and cutting his patient, the ice, with the tender care of a loving father. Hell, I mighta been able to sit through his routine, as his body moved with both the viscosity and purpose of liquid hot magma spouting from a volcano atop Mount Olympus, gleefully scaring all those who come into its contact with the happy memory of a performance so wonderfully demonstrated with the ease - yet strength - of a world class athlete; a portrait willfully etched into all who purveyed it for all time. Maybe I could sat comfortably instead of with my legs all bunched up, or even stand up knocking over my Dr. Pepper and my Bud Light, as he danced, in the truest form of the word, he danced to Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade, reflecting each note with a concordant move; as if the two were born of the same womb, destined to be paired together. And as the sinews of his quadracepts, torso and mighty shoulders melted together with the rest of his brut frame, losing all sense of individulity, rather becoming one mass, one energy, one synergy in lockstep with the rest of this beautiful thing we call the Universe, climaxing to a point in which every living soul and creature turned toward the rink, which was its epicenter and acknowledged "You are Supreme," maybe...

...uh, maybe I wouldn't have thought it was all THAT bad. Maybe chant "USA!" a coupla times. But I really. Can't stand that sissy crap. Not one bit.

(/adjusts pants, oversized belt-buckle)

So, uh, congrats Mon-sewer [sic: Monsieur] Lick-o-rish. USA? All the way!




I'm not gay.

Warmest Regards,

Danny Joe Hampel, Jr.
Goose Bucket, Alabama

T.W. On Spring Break: Part Deux

(Night Club)


/Douche Crew Enters 10:16 PM




T.W: Shit is BANGIN

Matt: I need a drink

Phelps: Theriousthly

T.W: It's on me Dude....Everything on the company tonight.

Matt: Shit yes T.W...Hey little lady 3 tequilas!!!



(10:55 PM)

Matt: hey, yo yo yo is that J.J Redick?

T.W: HEY J.J COME OVER HERE DRINKS ARE ON ME!!!



J.J: What's up Homo's?

T.W: hey...

J.J: T.W, what the hell happened to you, looks like you finally finished college, still living on daddy's money I see.

Oh hey Phelps, good job this summer, 8 gold medals...that would be impressive if swimming wasn't so gay.

Matt, Superbowl huh, so uhhhh how many passing yards did you have this year?

Matt: I...

J.J: Oh that's right you lost your job to a religious freak with a goblin for a wife.

Matt: Well...

J.J: What exactly do you do for that team? Chart plays? Signal them in? Wear those gay ass NFL hats?

Matt:...

J.J: Well hey at least you made some money and didn't lose a shitload like that dude Andre Smith.

Phelps: Stho J.J what exactly are you doing here, like sthouldn't you be playing basthketball right now.

/Tilts orioles cap to the side

J.J: Well, I'm not actually 'playing basketball' these days, so Coach Van Gundy said I could just leave. But other than that I've pretty much been shocking people.


That's what I do, I shock.
Shock the ladies.
Shock the fans.
Shock the dudes.
Shock the rock.
Shock the magic.
Shock the air.
Shock the booze.
Shock the sea.

It's what I do, I shock.

SHOCKER!!!!!

Bar patron: That shit was never cool in the first place.

J.J: T.W Get me a Malibu rum.

T.W:...

J.J: NOW!!!

/all four take a shot of Malibu Rum
//J.J runs behind a Phelps screen, sets up and shoots the shot glass into the bar sink
///runs out of Bar flapping arms up and down, taunting other bar patrons

(12:30 AM)

T.W: Ahhhhhhh I'm sooooooooo wasted, to this point I've had:
7.5 beers
3 Jagerbombs
2 Rum and cokes
3 shots of tequilla
1 Malibu shot
1 Long island Ice Tea

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

SOOO DRUNK, AM I RIGHT!!!!!!

Phelps: Stheriosthly man I can drink stho much

Matt: BRO'S I'M SO WASTED!!!!!!!

oh shit.

T.W: What?

Phelps: Papelbon

Matt: That dude kinda creeps me out.


Papelbon: BOSTON!!!
/Cranks "Shipping up to Boston"
//Does Irish Jig
///Panders to Boston fans

T.W: That guy is weird but I do love this song.

Matt: I know right, THAT SHIT IS SO IRISH!!!

(2:33 AM)

Matt: YO YO YO sonar contact at 250 yards out...battle stations.


Phelps: I'm going to need sthome liquid courage for thisth missthion

T.W: 3 Wise men on me.

/all three take a shot of the most soul crushing drink known to man

Phelps: Bwwwwwwwww.......BWWWWWWWWWWW.....
BWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
/ pukes molten gold



Matt: Ohh shi... bwwwww........bww..bww...bwww...bwww...bww....BWAAHHHHHHH...BWAHHHHHHH.....
BWAHHHHHH

/pukes into faces of sorority girls, revealing a used condom in the vomit


T.W: Ohhhh my go...

/Slips in molten gold puke knocking sorority girls into molten vomit

T.W: I NEED AIR!!!!

/slumps over in alley
//pukes on self

(5 minutes later)

/Vomits down shirt

(3 minutes later)

/projectile vomits on couple a newly wed couple

(3:30 AM, Talking to girls in club)

Phelps: Stheriousthly guysth we need to rally letsth stheal the flippin deal

Matt: Just use the gold line, and I'll finish with the Heisman.

T.W you can pay for the cab.

Phelps: Ok letsth do it.
/turn hat backwards

Matt: OHHHH SHIT!!!!


Brynn: Matt, maybe instead of chasing tail, you could spend some time with your child...

Matt: SCATTER SCATTER SCATTER....RALLY POINT AT THE THUNDERDOME!!!!