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Hey, Artie Briles!  Hey, Widdle Bwice Pussy!

Not quite as fucking easy  when it isn’t your hand-picked zebras calling the game, is it, you pathetic bastards?!?!?!

Baylor was penalized 18 times for a Big 12-record 215 yards. Seven were for pass interference.

Live by the zebra, die by the zebra.

Gotta.  Love.  It. 


…is about to meet the immovable object.

As you may or may not know, Denizens, a…somewhat sizable…group of bikers is planning to ride on the Putrid Pussified Pustule™ known as “Washington, DC” on 9/11.

As it happens, a group of ragheads Muslims Mooselimbs ragheads is scheduled for what they’re calling a “Million Muslim March” on that same day.

Both groups applied for “permits”.  As if it’s really needed in our case – that bloody document called the Bill Of Rights says “right to peaceably assemble” for a reason, y’know.

The Muzztards got their permit.

The bikers…didn’t.

So they’re going, anyway.

Washington DC has DENIED our permit for a no-stop ride through Washington DC. We find this regretful for the residents and businesses of that great city, and humbly offer our apologies. What could have been a one or two hour ride through will now likely be an all day event. We will be obeying all laws. We will be stopping at all stoplights, stop signs, and yielding to all pedestrians.

RESIDENTS AND BUSINESSES OF WASHINGTON DC: On behalf of the National “2 Million Bikers to DC” Team, please accept our sincere apologies. We did the right thing and went through the proper channels to secure a no-stop permit to ride through your great city. We wanted to ride an established route, which would have taken us past the Viet Nam Memorial to the Lincoln Memorial, across the bridge into Virginia, and that’s it! We would have been completely out of Washington DC, and your city would have been back to normal.

“Permits?  We don’ need no steekin’ permits!

Good luck managing all that, Bambi 


Denizens, to at least try & start off your Monday on the right foot, I offer this from Denizen and Original Cast member Robert Mullane:

Have a good week.


Got this from Uncle Ted via FB

Now that…is greatness. 


SAN ANTONIO – (Hat tip:  the kind folks at ReaganCoalition.com.)

Looks like my estimation of the Philthydelphia Beagles is going to have to go up a few notches.

Admittedly, the first words that come to mind when on thinks of the Philadelphia Eagles are not “class” or “appropriate.” And that mostly applies to their fans. But it seems the Iggles fans’ antics are rubbing off on their on-field idols, if offensive guard Evan Mathis’ Instagram photo from earlier this week is to be believed.

Mathis, an eight-year NFL veteran, posted a photo of himself standing outside the Internal Revenue Service’s headquarters at Pennsylvania Avenue and 12th Street NW in a position suggesting that he was urinating on the building’s signage. He tweeted out the image with the caption, “Audit this.”

Hell, any more like him, and we may  just have to add the Iggles to the PFW… 


Denizens, when it became apparent that Josh “Crack” Hamilton wasn’t going to re-sign with the Tex-ass StrangerS, the hue & cry went up from the masses.

Paraphrasing, it went something like “Ohnoes!  How are we ever  going to replace our hero & Saviour?!?!  What are we going to dooooooooo?!?!?!?!  OHNOES!!1!!ON3!!!!!ELEVENTYBILLIONTRILLION!1!!1~

(Hamilton, for his part, iced up his ass & poured Crisco™ on the skids, what with his play tanking the last two or three games of last season, and him saying that Arlington “wasn’t a baseball town” and that it was “God’s will” that he and li’l Katie take as much money as Widdle Arte Morono Moreno would throw at them.)

Well, fast forward a few months…

…and the StrangerS (surprisingly, I admit) have the best record in baseball, and are cruising right along with some of the best pitching in the major leagues.

And “Crack”?

He and his Angels are nine games out of first, after only 32 played…and manager Mike Scosia actually had the temerity to bench his ass for a game.

After watching Josh Hamilton strike out five times in eight at-bats in the first two games against Baltimore, Angels Manager Mike Scioscia had seen enough of his struggling outfielder to know that he needed something more than just a pep talk. So rather than risk another poor performance in front of a national TV audience, Scioscia held Hamilton out of the starting lineup Saturday.

“It’s 100% a mental day,” Scioscia said of Hamilton, who had more than twice as many strikeouts (13) as hits (6) in his last nine games. “There’s no doubt that Josh is trying to find a rhythm in the batter’s box. Hopefully a day off to clear some cobwebs out … will push him a little bit forward.”

Hamilton, who flied out in a pinch-hitting appearance Saturday, went 1-for-4 on Sunday. He is hitting .208 with just six extra-base hits and 38 strikeouts in 31 games.

One remembers when it was more than an RBI per day, rather than more than a strikeout.

Now, guyz, I’m well aware that Our Boy Josh could very well turn it around tonight, and go on a three-month hot streak.  “That the way baseball go”, as StrangerS manager Ron “Warsh” Washington is so fond of saying.

But for some reason, this passage keeps coming to mind.  Something about pride & haughty spirits or somesuch… 


Story for you guys from nearly 15 years ago.

I had just proposed to Her Doublewideness not too long previous, and in preparation for the Wedding To End All Weddings™, I had moved into a nice little one-bedroom apartment in the Sleepy Little Town™ of Rockwall, TX.  (Steffi, of course, had a key.  That’s foreshadowing.  Remember it.)

At the time, I was working two jobs – an eight-to-fiver in an office, and a dispatching job on the weekends for the courier company I’d worked days for previously.

As fate would have it, my graveyard relief at the dispatching job this one Sunday night phoned in sick.  And, as fate would also have it, no replacement was available.  Ergo, I would have to work a double shift.  And also ergo (grin), I would be forced to work my eight-to-fiver on zero sleep.

Not a lot of fun.

Anyway, I phoned my then-fiancee, let her know the situation, and kindly asked her if she could come from Sulphur Springs, grab a change of clothes out of the apartment, and come to dispatch to drop them off.  (At the time, I was in a t-shirt & jeans, my apartment was thirty minutes away, and an hour to my eight-to-fiver from there.  No way could I have made it there and back – hence, the call for help to the fiancee. This is also foreshadowing. Remember it.)

Fiancee hemmed & hawed, but eventually agreed that yes, she could do this for the guy she was ultimately going to spend the rest of her life with.  This was 1430 hours.

Fast forward to 1800 hours.  I received a call from Fiancee Unit™, ostensibly apologetic, whereupon she said that she had to go to “church”, and couldn’t come down.

Long story short, I subsequently had to call my eight-to-fiver, report in “sick”, and went home after work to sleep until afternoon.  Didn’t hurt my standing there, but Mondays were a hellaciously busy day at that particular company, and it didn’t help my cause any.

Now, at the time of Doublewide Fiancee’s refusal, I figured “okay, one-off, no biggie, not a hill I want to die on”, and ignored the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Had I realized at the time that this was a Huge Honkin’ Red Flag O’ Doom™ as to her general dependability, I’d have never married the bitch.  I’d have told her the minute she failed to come through for me, “Okay, sweetie, just drop off the key next time you see me, and have a nice life”.

Should’ve taught me not to ignore the sickening feeling.  But hell – what do I know, hm?

I tell you this story, Denizens, to compare & contrast something that happened to me in San Diego last year at the mum-in-law’s funeral.  Friday was the day of the service, and we started off for the chapel not having had time for a proper breakfast.  So we grabbed a couple hot dogs each on the way.

After the funeral was the reception, whereupon there was fried chicken, pizza, mac ‘n cheese, Chinese, etc, etc, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.  Particular emphasis on the ad nauseam – I posted a pic that I’m sure a couple of you saw.  (Yes, that’s exactly how I was feeling at the time.)

Get back to our lodging for the week, and I’m…well, let’s just say I’ve had better days, mkay?

So here I am in the can.  Doubled over in pain, and without going into TMI mode, Pepto’s not going to be of any help.

I’m still in my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and I’m overheating.  I need to get into a t-shirt & shorts pretty quickly, but I’m not in any condition to venture out from the can at that moment in time.  So I send a text to Mrs. Venomous – “Honey, I need you to get me a t-shirt & my shorts, okay?”

Five minutes go by.  Ten.  Fifteen.

I’m starting to wonder just where the hell she is, when a thought from the Lord (and He’s the only one who could have put this thought there at the time) comes, unbidden, into my head.

“Have faith in your wife”.

Not three seconds later comes a knock on the door – “Honey???”

She slides the clothing under the door, I’m in t-shirt & shorts not too long thereafter, and all turns out well; the day is officially saved.

The point of all this:  I have a pretty damned hellacious wife.  She’s got my back.


Mrs. Venomous – I love you.


Now after the Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to look at the grave.

And behold, a severe earthquake had occurred, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled away the stone and sat upon it. And his appearance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow.

The guards shook for fear of him and became like dead men. The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; for I know that you are looking for Jesus who has been crucified.

He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said.

-Matthew 28:1-6a

And may God add his blessings to the reading of His holy Word.

1,980 years ago, it wasn’t about candy-coated eggs, fake plastic colored straw or bunny rabbits.

Today, 1,980 years later…it still isn’t.

The secularists can scoff & sneer all they like.

We’ve read the end of the Book.  We win.

Remember why.

Happy Easter 2013, Denizens.  He is risen!!!


…if you’re not ready to hear the answer.

Oldie but a goodie.

Lawyers should never ask a Texan grandma a question if they aren’t prepared for the answer.

In a trial, a small town Texas prosecuting attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly, elderly woman to the stand. He approached her and asked, ‘Mrs. Jones, do you know me?’ She responded, ‘Why, yes, I do know you, Mr. Howard. I’ve known you since you were a boy, and frankly, you’ve been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, and you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you’re a big shot when you haven’t the brains to realize you’ll never amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you.’

The lawyer was stunned. Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, ‘Mrs. Jones, do you know the defense attorney?’

She again replied, ‘Why yes, I do. I’ve known Mr. Lindquist since he was a youngster, too. He’s lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem. He can’t build a normal relationship with anyone, and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women. One of them was your wife. Yes, I know him.’

The defense attorney nearly died.

The judge asked both counselors to approach the bench and, in a very quiet voice, said,

‘If either of you idiots asks her if she knows me, I’ll send you both to the electric chair.


Got this one from LC Gladiator over on this thread at the Rott.  (And he probably got it from somewhere else, truth be told.)

‘Tis below the fold. Enjoy.

Aw, come on! Is that all you got?! >


Denizens, we start off what’s probably the last Perfect Football Weekend™ episode of what was a very disappointing season (made so because of my inability to provide weekly updates) with an “Awwww” moment.

We don’t have too much to add to this perfect Christmas video. A son gives his Alabama fan father a hat for a gift, but the real surprise comes when he asks him to look inside the hat at what size it is.

That’s when he finds a pair of tickets to the BCS Championship Game. The father is Don Buckhannan, and his son is Daniel. They are from Oxford, Ala., ESPN.com said. Tickets to the title game between Alabama and Notre Dame on Jan. 7 in Miami are extremely hard to come by – the cheapest ticket on StubHub.com as of mid-afternoon on Christmas was $979.

Don Buckhannan’s reaction to getting the tickets from his son sums up the joyous spirit of the holidays.

Indeed it does. Merry Christmas (if belated) to Mr. Buckhannon.  Roll Tide.

Let’s get to the football.  It’s Bowl Season™ – which means, of course that all my teams are in.    Tomorrow night, it’s Gary Patterson’s TCU Horned Frogs taking aim at the Michigan State Spartans of the Big Ten – the first such opponent since Bucky in the Rose Bowl back in 2011.

It’ll be a close game – Vegas has the Froggies as a slight (2½-point) favorite, so I’m pleased it’s Jaden Overkrom kicking instead of Ross Evans this year.

Sunday, it’s for all the NFC East marbles as the Dallas Cowgirlz up in Warshington to take on the Foreskins and The Second Coming Of The World’s Greatest Ever Quarterback Ever In The History Of Ever, Ever, Ever!!!™, ARRRRRR GEEEEEEEE THREEEEEEE!!!!!  (And I will continue to call them the Cowgirlz until they put a major hurt on that bastard, too.  Someone needs to make the asshole eat a piece of humble pie – may as well be Dallas.)

All this means that, come Monday, I’ll be drinking to celebrate, or because I’m pissed off, one or the other.

KORRIOTH:  Yeah, we saw the champagne in the cooler.  Why not take some Romulan ale with us?

VENOMOUS:  Because I wanna have taste buds on Wednesday.

MERLIN:  He’s got a point, General.

KORRIOTH:  (grunt)

New Year’s Day, I’ll be nursing a hangover, first with 16th-ranked Nebraska (would someone please  tell me how it is that these choke artists are ranked after that shit they pulled in Indianapolis?) going up against seventh-ranked Georgia in the Capital One (“What’s in your  wallet?”) Bowl.  And I’ve half a mind to yank Bo’s Bunglers out of the PFW and pull for Georgia instead.

As it is, the Dawgs are a solid 9½-point favorite – and I think that’s being kind to the Huskers, given what Steve Spurrier did to them last year.

Later on that day, it’ll be Bucky going for the Mexican Hat-Trick™ (three losses in a row) in the Rose Bowl vs. the Stanford Cardinal.  Even without Andrew Luck, the Cardinal are a good 6½-point favorite over Bucky.

Oh – and did I mention that the Badgers are gonna be minus another coach in this matchup?

In its second stunning hiring this year, Arkansas tabbed Wisconsin coach Bret Bielema to take over a program that went into a tailspin after former coach Bobby Petrino was fired for hiring his mistress to work in the athletic department.

Does anyone really  think Bucky has a chance?

One week from tonight, it’s the Cotton Bowl, where Bob Stoops’ 11th-ranked Oklahoma Sooners will take on Heisman Trophy winner (the first worthy one in two years, I might add) Johnny Manziel and the ninth-ranked Texas A&M Aggies.

Hope Bob brought his zebras with him from the TCU game.  He’s gonna need ‘em.

We’ll be back Monday, January 7th, with the recap and benediction.  We also may have our take on Bama-Irish for the national championship, so keep your eyes peeled.

In the meantime, my last question for HDD this year is…so does Barry Alvarez come back a third time?


Denizens, you heard it here first.  (Or “foist”, to use a bit of Rott terminology.)

Barring a completely unexpected turn of events – the bastard stealing the election in about three weeks? – you have just seen the death knell of the Weepy Boner speakership.

Speaker John A. Boehner’s effort to pass fallback legislation to avert a fiscal crisis in less than two weeks collapsed Thursday night in an embarrassing defeat after conservative Republicans refused to support legislation that would allow taxes to rise on the most affluent households in the country.

House Republican leaders abruptly canceled a vote on the bill after they failed to rally enough votes for passage in an emergency meeting about 8 p.m.

Within minutes, dejected Republicans filed out of the basement meeting room and declared there would be no votes to avert the “fiscal cliff” until after Christmas. With his “Plan B” all but dead, the speaker was left with the choice to find a new Republican way forward or to try to get a broad deficit reduction deal with President Obama that could win passage with Republican and Democratic votes.

Gee, seems that can they’ve been kicking down the road has suddenly developed a solid iron core.  Sufficient to make the Sniveler of the House stub his toe a bit, eh what?



Got this from a friend of mine over on FB.  Good stuff.

Drafting Guys Over 60

(This is funny & obviously written by a Former Soldier… New Direction for any war: Send Service Vets over 60! )

I am over 60 and the Armed Forces think I’m too old to track down terrorists. You can’t be older than 42 to join the military. They’ve got the whole thing ass-backwards.

Instead of sending 18-year olds off to fight, they ought to take us old guys. You shouldn’t be able to join a military unit until you’re at least 35.

For starters, researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10 seconds. Old guys only think about sex a couple of times a day, leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.

Young guys haven’t lived long enough to be cranky, and a cranky soldier is a dangerous soldier. ‘My back hurts! I can’t sleep, I’m tired and hungry.’ We are bad-tempered and impatient, and maybe letting us kill some asshole that desperately deserves it will make us feel better and shut us up for a while..

An 18-year-old doesn’t even like to get up before 10am. Old guys always get up early to pee, so what the hell. Besides, like I said, I’m tired and can’t sleep and since I’m already up, I may as well be up killing some fanatical son-of-a-bitch.

If captured we couldn’t spill the beans because we’d forget where we put them. In fact, name, rank, and serial number would be a real brain teaser.

Boot camp would be easier for old guys. We’re used to getting screamed and yelled at and we’re used to soft food. We’ve also developed an appreciation for guns. We’ve been using them for years as an excuse to get out of the house, away from the screaming and yelling.

They could lighten up on the obstacle course however… I’ve been in combat and never saw a single 20-foot wall with rope hanging over the side, nor did I ever do any pushups after completing basic training.

Actually, the running part is kind of a waste of energy, too… I’ve never seen anyone outrun a bullet.

An 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him. He’s still learning to shave, to start a conversation with a pretty girl. He still hasn’t figured out that a baseball cap has a brim to shade his eyes, not the back of his head.

These are all great reasons to keep our kids at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off into harm’s way.

Let us old guys track down those terrorists. The last thing an enemy would want to see is a couple million pissed off old farts with bad attitudes and automatic weapons, who know that their best years are already behind them.

HEY!! How about recruiting Women over 50…in menopause!!! You think MEN have attitudes?? Ohhhhhhhhhhhh my God!!! If nothing else, put them on border patrol. They’ll have it secured the first night!



Denizens, OneOfTheseDays™, I’m gonna have a house again.

When I do, it’s gonna have a basement.  And that’s gonna be my man-cave.

And these are gonna be the rules:

Taking donations now. 


For your Sunday, Denizens – and since I know that at least some  of youse guys (mheh) will be doing this this weekend – a short primer on the art of changing oil.

Below the fold, ’cause it’s kinda long – but a good read and always well worth your time, because I said so. 

Aw, come on! Is that all you got?! >


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