HOLLER!

So a MILF nails an incredibly awkward-looking guardsman from the middle of fucking nowhere, IA . . . and it's not even my favorite story of the past 10 days.

Of course not.

You see, getting drunk and sloppily railing a true American (weekend) Patriot? That's par for the course. Honestly, ol' Lois probably hasn't felt that (drunk and) sexy since about 'Nam - she's just reliving her glory years, blowing the entire baseball team in the old abandoned barn behind Carroll Kuemper Catholic High School. I'm cool with that - chances are, the husband knew what he was getting into before he bought the ring, and realizes he won't be doing much better. No harm, no foul, and hopefully no AIDS. I do feel bad for the kids, one of whom definitely looks in the 15-16 year old range - every single one of his friends will be bringing over a box of Franzia and trying to fuck his mom. That's kind of a pain in the ass, I'd bet. It's awkward being 16 and from Carroll, IA anyway - now imagine dudes asking for camera-phone pics of your mom getting out of the shower? FML, indeed.

Let's be honest - she may well have blacked out, she may well have not, and we'll never know the answer to that question. However, we do know there was chanting and cheering, and that's pretty fucking awesome - I love running into people doing it at the bar, and let's face it, the Metrodome has long been essentially a giant, ugly bar for Iowa fans at away games. Pride.

No, clearly the best story is Plaxico Burress shooting himself in the thigh with his own pistol. Shot himself. In the leg. In a club. With his own gun. Let's run through the specifics:

-Bringing a loaded weapon to a club? Check. (This doesn't even bother me that much, given the Collier/Williams/etc. situations - these guys are targets . . . however, I mean, the club. I'd expect a deer would want a gun if it wandered into an NRA convention, but I'm sure there were other options.)

-Holstering said loaded weapon in the elastic waistband of your sweatpants? CHECK! (note here that it is awesome to be a rich black dude - I can barely wear sweatpants around the house and not look like a total douche, but the club? Baller! Also, clearly Plax didn't take a gun class, or he'd know that you're supposed to buy sweatpants with pockets instead of jamming into the elastic. Amateur hour.)

-Gun slips out of elastic (HA) while carrying a drink back to the VIP? Oh mother fuckin' check! (Booze has done a lot to me in its time - I have injuries, I have embarrassing moments, I have burned-in memories of incredibly unattractive girls . . . but booze has never fucking shot me. Wow.)

-Reaches for gun, shoots self? Obv.

The sheer enormity of this is staggering - think of every bad decision that had to happen for Plax to cap his own ass. If, at any time, that little angel on his shoulder had whispered, "Mr. Burress! If I could interrupt, it's important to realize that, perhaps, it is not the best decision to keep a loaded firearm with the safety off next to your penis, with only the loosest of K-Mart sweatpants elastic to keep it from sliding down into the Mandingo - pardon my boldness!" then this had NO chance of happening. None.

Any time you can do something so ridiculous that it makes the connection between "drink fuckload of wine -> vanish from seat -> meet stranger -> insert penis into kidshitter" look positively linear, you're living an awkward and probably cursed life. Here's to you, Plaxico Burress - just when you couldn't be any more of a piece of crap, you raise the bar.

CT You Next Tuesday

Surprise! People who live in Greenwich are fucking dicks!

In the interest of full disclosure and Megan's Law, I'm required to tell you that I play whiffleball about 20 times a year. It's one of God's gifts - it's the only place where a limpdick noodlearm like me can strike out 22 dudes per game, it's one of the top 10 best beers you'll ever drink (it's below Concert Beer, Patio Beer and Tailgate Beer, but above Awkward Ex Girlfriend Beer and Coworker Happy Hour Beer), and if you're a lucky idiot like me, your inordinately competitive friends will apply pine tar to their skinny yellow bats. To overuse a teen meme, it's completely sick.

So a bunch of 16- and 17-year-olds got together, cleaned up a lot, decided to actually have some clean fun, and now their douchey neighbors in Greenwich want to boot them. These kids could be shooting heroin, fucking homeless people, or playing Grand Theft Auto 4 to do both - it's definitely important to keep them from playing whiffleball ON AN ABANDONED LOT. ABANDONED. NO ONE FUCKING LIVES THERE. I AM ANGRY.

Well, maybe the neighbors have a good point - let's see what Whiney McRichcunt has to say about it:



Oh. Never mind. Her objection is that kids should stop playing sports when they're twelve? Yes, young Eldrick Woods, put away the putter and start practicing for the CPA exam, you immature asshole. She's pissed because these kids should respect authority? Now, I know Cobwebs DeDirtybox has likely never heard of Tinker v. Des Moines, and I'm 100% sure she hates black people, but for fucking real? Who is the authority for the vacant lot? Some 95 year old neighbor? Come the fuck on.

I would have beat a child to have a field like this to play on as a kid. Maybe I only grew up semi-rich, removing me from the context that allows you to be a self-aggrandizing fuckface, but this is simply amazing to me. These kids have to explain themselves to a neighborhood association? That is absolutely insane. Just for these kids, I'm going to pour a little out for my homeys this weekend, then strike out dozens of batters looking with that sick rise ball.

Sorry, Collin - your state is fucked. Greenwich, you're terrible, and I hope you get Sherman'ed like Savannah. Viva la revolucion.