I made a poor decision last night

And now I'm paying for it.

No bullshitting today, just the facts. Olympic Pool Update:

Dog Eaters: 54
Fuggin Sluds: 53
John Basedow Olympic Club: 44
Penguin Power 36
Hajjis: 23

Pumpitude: Fear Factory



Conversation between Don Draper and a woman last night:
dd: i would like an apology
woman: no i dont think so
dd: yes i will have one
w: no you wont
dd: how about now?
w: oh my goodness whats going on?
dd: i dont know but my right hand is all wet
w: thats because its inside my pussy
dd: right. well, how about that apology then?
w: yes, that sounds fine
dd: great, then were all in agreement
END SCENE

My fucking head hurts and I have to go buy some coffee filters.

Hey honey, where are all the bags? In the bag hutch.

No shit.

So the Mets fucking suck again, thats great. Swept by the motherfucking Asstros. Ha ha, what fucking fun. Also Maine is on the DL because of his rotator cuff. Also my rotator cuff is still all fucked up and that fucking sucks, too.

You know, I'm not one to question God's ineffable plan, but you figure if He is this omnipotent being that would have been able to foresee the magnificent splendor that is the game of baseball, than maybe He, in his infinite fucking wisdom, might have been able to intelligently design a sturdier fucking bit of anatomy than the piece of shit rotator cuff that He came up with. But, y'know, not that I'm one to question His divine authority.

Oh, but what else? How about I wanted to get pumped to one of the greatest songs in the history of rock n roll that just happened to be featured at the end of the greatest show currently airing on television yesterday, but the only quality video on youtube is full cut scenes from some god damn piece of shit movie called Loser.

OH GOD WHY DO ALL THE BAD THINGS IN LIFE ONLY HAPPEN TO ME?



If it weren't for meatspinner I don't know how I'd go on living.

FYF Pumpitude twofer: Big Pud & Rambo edition

It's a shame when such a gritty, hustling dirtdog like Big Pud gets treated like this.


A shame because he should not have received even a modicum of the respect Manny Acta afforded this low life when he broke the news. A more suitable dismissal would have gone more like this:

Acta: Lo Duca, step into my office; because you're fuckin fired!
Big Pud [weeping]: I suck.

Luckily it doesn't take a lot of dough to impress 19 year old babysitters so Big Pud should still be rolling in the teenage snatch long into his permanent vacation. What a real piece of shit that guy is. Fuck you Paulie!

Now, to get pumped up for the weekend series against the Asstros (that gets funnier every time I type it!) I'm going to skip the heavy metal and include a timeless movie classic. Sly Stallone's 2008 release of Rambo got a lot of bad reviews. Oddly, the bad reviews made me want to watch more than than good reviews. Like this one:

The fourth and, amazingly, the most meat-headed adventure yet of the killing machine John Rambo can safely be recommended to people who hate intelligence and love exploding body parts.

Wow, that sounds like the perfect movie to me.



Say, who's that on the 5o cal machine gun? Uh oh, looks like- KA-BLAMMO!

Tuesday pumpitude: Rush edition

With a YUUUUUGE series with the Phillies starting today (to be read in a Donald Trump accent), it is only fitting that we all get pumped up with perhaps the world's finest band in history, Rush. Why is it fitting? Because I just saw them and the fucking rocked they fucking house, obviously.

My appreciation for the Canadian prog rockers has only grown over the years. My first exposure to the band was during the glorious summer I spent at Boy Scout camp in the Adirondacks. Sitting around the picnic table by the light of our lanterns we played Dungeons and Dragons, (actually a D&D derivative called Paranoia) while the ground breaking musical stylings of the Torontonian Trio played on the Troop's cassette tape boom box.

I distinctly remember our Senior Patrol Leader proudly sporting his Roll the Bones T-shirt while explaining the meaning behind the allegorical rock epic 2112.

I would drift away from Rush in my teenage years, as Geddy Lee's vocals were considered too faggy for metal proclivities of the time. Of course, when Stick It Out was receiving heavy radio play on Q104.3 I wouldn't change the channel.

Later, my love affair was rekindled in college when I burned Chronicles from a friend. These CD's would be played continually during my fraternity's rush parties, at least until the other fraternity members who were actually interesting in recruiting new members turned off the stereo, explained to me that no one thought that joke was funny, and permanently banned me from DJing all future rush parties. Bastards.

Now I would just like to point out for my own sake that despite all the recent evidence to the contrary, I have indeed seen a grown woman naked who was neither a stripper nor a prostitute. So there.

Anyway, just last Saturday I reached the pinnacle of my Rush fandom, attending my first live concert at the Nissan Pavilion. Despite participating in the performance from the relative distance of the lawn seats, the show was nothing short of spectacular. See for yourself.

Yes. Rock.


That's maybe a little blurry. Let me zoom in on my shitty shitty camera phone and highlight the rocking out.


Holy fucking shit that was awesome. For the installments of pumpitude, let me take you on a youtubed journey of the last three songs Rush played live.

First was the end of their regular set with an introduction from Lil' Rush:



Which led into their first encore of Train to Bangkok:



And finishing things off with YYZ:



The only thing I have left to wonder is does Rush ever get so tired of being awesome nad kicking so much ass?

Holy schnikes! Half a game out of first?

New York Mess no longer, the Mets have been pummeling the their opponents lately, banging out a 9 win streak going into the All Star break. Pretty hot shit. It remains to be seen if the 3 day break will cool down the surging Metropolitans, however in the mean time I think we can all seek encouragement from the Iron Man of Shaolin Island to stay pumped.

Braves want me dead but they scared to step to me.
Rip they guts out like a hysterectomy.

That's right, Pretty Toney in the house. Recognize.

One reason for the Mets improvement can be attributed to the resurgence of Aaron Heilman. Much maligned for his terrible start, Heilman has been, as Eric Simon at Amazin Avenue has pointed out, nothing short of dominant lately. Eric also deserves Kudos for his NY Post worthy headline. Nice, bro, nice.

Not that I'm constantly checking out players' hem lines, but I've always been a little put off by Heilman's proclivity for wearing nut-hugging pants. Check it out if you don't believe me.



Yeesh. Now I'm not saying Heilman loves wedgies, but when asked about the tightness of his trousers, Heilman replied, "I love wedgies!"

Whatever man, just keep dealing on the mound and you can where a tutu for all I care.

You mean we're still in this?

It's baffling to me that the Mets are only 3.5 back from the 1st place Phillies and can cut that 2.5 by the end of today. Pretty soon Omar will have to decide if the Mets are buyers or sellers as the trade deadline is approaching and as C.C. Somebanthia* knows, some teams are already making their moves.

The good news (kind of) is we have no prospects, so Omar can't trade them away! Except F-Mart, of course, but if he gets traded for anyone except Albert Pujols, Omar will die (of embarrassment from all the bad press; and from strangulation by me).

Anyway, today is a still a big game, so hopefully Peter Martinson can give us even a pale resemblance of his former self and pitch a semi decent game. Lets get pumped up with some classic AC/DC live. As Artie Lange would say: FIIIIIIYAAAAAAAAA!



*feeble Star Wars pun on Banthas, the huge mammoth-like pack animals of the Sand People. I know, I suck. Sorry!

P.S. As you're all well aware, the blog is completely bereft of any credibility whatsoever. But thats okay, because I enjoy being able to link to stuff like Clit Notes without worrying about my reputation (reputation, hah!). Then I see something like this (kinda not safe for work) linked to on The Big Lead and all I can think is, hey man, I've been drawing fake penises and making blatantly homophobic jokes for like, 2 years now, TBL, what do I have to do to get a link? I guess my next post should involve a tribute to Will Smith or something.

The Mets are progessing at a medium pace

Seemingly content at playing .500 ball, the Mets are neither losing a ton of games nor winning a ton of games. It's almost as if they are playing this season at a MEDIUM PACE.

Maybe they find these lyrics to be as inspiring as I do (LYRICS ARE NOT APPROPRIATE FOR A PROFESSIONAL ENVIRONMENT).



Oh, hey look, the pizza delivery guy is here.

mmmm... meat cake

George Carlin died yesterday and posts about him are popping up all over the baseball's blogdom because he once did a classic bit about baseball vs football and also because George Carlin fucking rules.

I was hooked on George Carlin every since i heard him utter the word 'meat cake'. I even saw him preform stand up live, when I was in middle school. He was practicing his routine for an HBO special and when he got tired testing out new material he just talked about farts for a half an hour. And that was the greatest 30 minutes of my life.

I bought a poster from that performance and I still use it today to cover up a hole put in my basement's wall put there by some asshole friend of mine. It's a great conversation starter for when babes come over.


So to get pumped up this week I was going to do a Carlin stand up video but I don't want to be just like everyone else out there so instead here's a clip from one of Carlin's forgotten movie masterpieces. He's not in this particular scene, but so what? You want Carlin, you know how to use youtube, god dammit.

Big Willie Style: Your life is forfeit

Yeah you know what would be funny? If when talking about this shit show of a shit-canning that I some how incorporated the pun of substituting the word 'mess' for the word 'Mets'. Haha, so funny, right? It's just so FUCKING FUNNY.

Actually? No. Not funny at all. What would be funny would be if Omar Minaya called up Willie Randolph and pranked him with the clip that Richard Christie used in this prank call below, and THEN fired him.



Ethel Mertz.

Oh gross

It's tough to know where to start after a 4 game series sweep by the formerly league worst San Diego Jagoffs. It's pretty clear that the offense collectively deserves a big stinkfist for the first 3 losses of the series. Billy 'Richard' Wagner is the obvious boner for game the fourth.

But nobody really reads this blog for recaps or analysis so lets skip ahead to the coping with our impotent rage. Normally I would now post some awesome metal video from youtube but that would seem even more impotent than usual given the enormous scale of our latest suck-shit-ass-party. Instead I found this awful song by Cannibal Corpse called 'I Will Kill You'. According one critic 'If vomit were a movie, this would be the soundtrack'. What do you think?



I don't listen to Cannibal Corpse because their music is about as interesting as listening to a garbage disposal, but I think it's an appropriate expression of seething anger in the face of utter hopelessness. Kind of like the 1992 L.A. Riots (right? you see the similarities?).

Cannibal Corpse' magnus opus segues nicely into the other topic I wanted to write about today: my desire to kill John Smoltz. I won't of course (I am too fair and fragile for prison), but that doesn't change my genuine desire to personally end John Smoltz life.

A lot of people will say, 'hey, Smoltz is a good guy, man. he plays the game right. He's sure-fire first ballot hall of famer. chill out dude.'

Too which I would reply, 'No one fucks over my fantasy team and gets away with it. Prepare to taste cold steel, you bearded slut.'



I also wish bad things to happen to John Smoltz that I do not personally initiate. I'm thinking something along the lines of what happens to the narrator is Chuck Palahniuk's short story, 'Guts'. Never read it? You can check it out here. It's good but long, so I'll skip to the dramatic conclusion: the main character masturbates in a pool with his asshole up against the pool's circulation pump. The pump then pulls his intestines out his butt hole while he's jagging off.

Man, that shit is gross.

OMFG WHAT HAPPENED

Holy crap, what the hell? Apologies to anyone who was annoyed by the lack of posts going on lately, but some serious shit has been going on lately, culminating in Virginia Dominion Power not being able to turn my power back on for the last 48 hours. Man did that suck it the dick, though I did need an excuse to clean out my rancid, disease infested frigidaire.

Didn't miss much in the way of Mets news, unless you consider Big Willie Style NOT getting fired news. Otherwise, our boys are still struggling to keep there heads above .500 like a bunch of assholes drowning in a suckfest. Good job assholes, keep up the sucking.

I'd like to now go on cursing Smoltziepoo's name as a wish him a speedy recover from shoulder surgery so he can use both hands to properly fist Satan once I send him to hell, but I'm going to need more time to for a proper post on that subject. Stay tuned.

As a peace offering to make up for lost time, here is a youtube clip of a bunch of people falling down a hill like a bunch of crazy idiots.



And here is a cartoon I did about the Tragical Romance of Romeo & Juliet. It's so fucking sweet, its a fucking masterpiece not just for our time, but for fuckin all time, bro.


And his is a video clip of 'Small Victory' by America's greatest rock band, Faith No More. Small Victory, huh? Kind of like when my elbow brushes up against the boob of a hot chick at a crowded bar. Hey, I'll take what I can get, man.



Great, good talk, good times, now lets booze.

To the world: Sacre Bleu!

Another Mets loss, another cavalcade of bitching and moaning. I've had it with this crap. Baseball is supposed to be an enjoyable distraction from life's monotonous routine. And if I can't enjoy baseball, then I can't enjoy life. And if I can't enjoy life, than I say GOOD DAY TO YOU, SIR.



That's all she wrote, good bye Mets, good bye world, good bye the big fat fucking joke of life.

Wait, I'm not ready to give up yet. I've yet to learn the identiy of the 12th Cylon. Let's give pumpitude enhancement one more shot. Mr. Mustaine, another song please.



Mercie beacoup, mon frere.

The Devil wears Martin Prado

I just watched The Devil Wears Prada on HBO and found the movie completely underwhelming. I'll tell you more about after I get pumped up with some good ol' fashioned American industrial metal. Put on your viking helmets and start swinging your sledgehammers, its Al Jourgenson and Ministry!



Unfortunately Ministry never did a real video for Deity so instead we have to settle for some wierdo's high school AV class project. You can also listen to some of the live versions on youtube but I wouldn't recommend it.

If I had to pick a favorite Ministry album it would definitely be a tie between The Land of Rape and Honey and The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste. Ho ho!

Anyway, back to the Devil Wears Prada. I found the whole thing to be devastatingly retarded (surprise, surprise). First, there's the whole premise of the roman a clef turned motion picture. "Oh no, my boss is a total mega-bitch. I'm going to totally expose her bitchiness in my seriously bitchin' novel. Yeah, I'm so awesome. Bitches."

The central thesis of the movie revolved around the idea that you were supposed to feel bad for this Andy Sachs character, but this was predicated on the total horseshit notion that when running a business, everyone must be incredibly nice and pleasant to each other at all times. Furthermore, we should all be shocked that a business woman actually fucks people over to increase both her personal power and fortune. If this Miranda person was a guy he'd just look like a ruthlessly efficient titan of industry instead of a heartless and petty monstrosity.

What's that you say? But Miranda didn't let Emily go to PARIS??? Oh god, the horror!!! Who fucking cares about fucking Paris? Learn to deal with disappointment you dumb slut. Suck it up and do your job or fucking quit.

Compounding my viewing displeasure was the movie's intimate focus on the fashion industry, a billion dollars a year enterprise that could not be more stunningly worthless. At one point, Miranda's character goes on about the color of Andrea's ugly sweater to show how the fashion industry affects us all, whether we like it or not. So fucking what? Fashion is still the most useless waste of time and resources since the Springfield Monorail. Clothes exist to to keep people warm and to stop them from being naked. Any additional significance assigned to them beyond those basic utilities is purely masturbatory.

But thats when I had the epiphany that allowed me to tangentially link The Devil Wears Prada to baseball and a potential GMDB post. What dawned on me was that sports, a billion-dollar a year business, was as equally useless to the world as fashion, and my bewilderment with the fashion business was analogous to a non-sports fashion puzzlement with the degree of enthusiasm and excitement us sports fans get from following our favorite team.

You can justify this obsessions anyway you want, but at some point you come to the fact that your just indulging yourself in pointless, nonsensical distractions, whether your predilections include sports, or fashion, or any other silly topic used to sell magazines.

I guess the point I'm really trying to make is this: I went to high school with Anne Hathaway, the co-star who plays Andrea Sachs and I saw her bewbs in another movie called Havoc. S0 now thats TWO girls I went to high school with whose bewbies I've seen.

You too can see Anne's tetons. Check it out.



Yeah, score.

Monday Pumpitude - Cobrastyle

Y'know for a team thats half a game out of first and 3 games over .500 you'd think people would be a lot happier about things. But it seems Mets fans, myself included, are expecting a little more this year. So tough shit Big Willie and Omar, your asses are on the line whether you like it or not.

The Mets did just take a series from the Arizona D-Bags, and whether you believe it or not, they are currently the best team in the NL, so lets change the vibe of our pumpitude enhancement and get things crackin with Robyn and the Teddybears.

You may remember Swedish pop star Robyn from such hits as Show Me Love and some other shit. The Teddybears are a radical synthpop group, also from Sweden. I first heard of Teddybears years ago in Europe when they were still called Teddybears STHLM. How cool does that make me?

THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS fucking cool.



So what do those lyrics mean? Whats up with the bear masks? Is Cobrastyle something the Mets want to try? Beats me. All i know is I would totally do Robyn.

Monday Twofer: F U Clemens and pumpitude

The spirit of GMDB has never cared much for deadlines, and so once again I am late getting the FU Friday out. So enjoy another twofer and this totally unspurprising story about Roger Clemens being the abject lowlife that he is.

Is there no end to Clemens moral decrepitude? Actually yes, when God finally decides he has punished the rest of humanity enough and snuffs Clemens' mortal soul, his unholy rampage on earth will finally end. The fact that Clemens is currently our of baseball isn't enough. This man is a cancer to society, and the sooner we are rid of him the better. Short of soliciting his outright murder, I recommends exiling Clemens to Borneo. On second thought, that would be unfair to the innocent inhabitants of the South East Asian jungle isle. Better that Clemens just be sent directly to hell.

Am I being a little harsh? Perhaps. Maybe Clemens should have thought about this before attempting murder himself by winging a broken bat at Piazza in the 2000 World Series. This kind of behavior doesn't help his cause out either (NSFW).

Ugh, I feel sick just having thought about that miserable waste of sperm and egg. Let us refocus on the beating we administered the Atlanta Bravos by winning the latest series and celebrate the triumph by rocking out to some motherfucking Clutch.



Holy shit that was awesome. Lets do another one.



Fuck yeah, baby.

I'll take it

Almost the sweep. But we've seen that in April before and it caused a bit of premature celebration that its just as well we don't repeat this year. We've won 7 of the last 10 and need to focus on tonights prime time match up of John 'Rock you like a Hurri-' Maine v Carlos 'No the good' Zambrano. To get pumped, lets listen to Isreal's Son by Silverchair.

Did you know Silverchair is still around and touring? I didn't. But this video is from a live concert in 2006, so I guess theres still some Silverchair-heads out there. As there should be. Frogstomp was gnarly.



Obviously the person who is 'late for their execution' is Carlos Zambrano, who the Mets shall crucify tonight.

Totally random bonus feature:

If anyone is in for a good laugh, listen to Hilary's Duff's exhilarating dance track Beat of My Heart, only change the lyrics every time she says 'the beat of my heart' to the 'the smell of my farts,' but leave all the other lyrics the same. It is hiLARious. trust me.



Oh how you will laugh.

Pumpitude Enhancement: Turn your guts into snakes

Going 0-2 during the weekend against the braves definitely requires dialing up your pumpitutde, especially with it being on off day. The season is still early and there will be plenty of time for revenge, but this is unacceptable. You can't waste your Santana starts like that.

Luckily, the intro for the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie is just the prescription for a such a diagnosis. As you can see, there's never too serious a problem the Mets can't headbutt there way out of.

LLLLLLLLet's get ready to be done getting ready!

I know baseball is the most pastoral of all the major North American professional team sports, but thats not stopping me from getting so pumped that I want to ram my head through a fucking wall (and if mlb.tv keeps screwing with me, I just might!)

In case you needed to give your pumpitude a lite nudge, I suggest viewing the video embedded below, preferably with your computer hooked up to some big ass speakers cranked up to eleven. The video is Staring at the Sun, by Smile. I don't know shit about this band except I remember listening to this song on K-Rock in middle school while tearing through pre-algebra homework like a maniac, then I stumbled upon it just recently, much to my good fortune. Please enjoy.



I might try to make this a regular feature, probably called Monday pumpitutde enhancement. Yeah, RAWK!