Editor’s Note: This article is a collaborative effort between Dubsism and Ryan Meehan from First Order Historians. Ryan also has his own blog, East End Philadelphia, which is featured in our BlogRoll and it is well worth the read.
Today’s world gives us no shortage of things which make us want to stab ourselves in the eyes. Many of us retreat into the world of sports to escape the fetid sewer that is current events. The trouble is that if you think about it, the world of sports is simply a reflection of that sewer; as if ESPN were a constipated horse who has been fed nothing but Taco Bell for a month finally letting loose on a big mirror.
Yeah, it sounds like a far-fetched concept until you consider the following:
1) People who believe we were wrong for killing Osama Bin Laden
We only have two words for you Prius-driving sanctimonious assholes who think your diet of tofu and sticks gives you the right to opine on a war in which your very own tree-hugging ass has a stake; those of you who believes there is a justification for having a moral, ethical, or tactical disagreement with how we went about killing the world’s moist infamous terrorist.
Let’s break down your arguments; doing so opens a veritable Pandora’s Box of stupidity clad in Birkenstocks wrapped a sheath of completely hypocritical pussification.
First there’s the moral – this was a military mission to kill the world’s most dangerous terrorist, one who got that distinction by killing tens of thousands of innocent people of various cultures in hundreds of terrorist attacks against various targets in various countries. However, just because America is amongst the list of countries upon which these atrocities were inflicted, and because you happen to hate America, somehow your education consisting of three semesters of community college allowed you to justify the evil of Osama Bin Laden. In other words, your “morality” allows for the slaughter of innocent people just because you think Wall Street is responsible for your inability to get a “real” job. Wall Street isn’t what is keeping you a 35-year old guy waiting tables; the fact that you spend all day smoking dope and whining about shit you are never going to get off your ass to change is.
Then, there’s the ethical. Bartender, set up a shot of 190-proof Truth – sometimes, there is no other way to deal with bad people than to turn them into dead people. That’s why the goal of the mission wasn’t to put Bin Laden into a “time out;” the goal was to kill him.
These people are our enemies for a reason: They dedicate their entire lives towards making sure that we live in fear by killing innocent people. Not to mention, you can’t negotiate with somebody who is willing to die in the process of killing you; fanatics don’t believe in peace, they believe in death.
Now for the shot of 190-Proof Irony – all you dumbfucks who think this war is somehow America’s fault and love to spend all your time protesting don’t understand that if America were to lose it’s freedoms to these kind of people, your Birkenstock-wearing asses would be the first ones to get marched down into a gravel pit and machine-gunned. Go wave your hippie protest signs on a street corner in Teheran and see how long it takes you to end up with a rope around your fucking neck.
See, the dirty little secret is that democracies rarely lose their freedoms to military conquest; rather they tend to give them away because we allow people who contribute nothing to society to have an equal say about matters of common concern. Chowski had a great thought about this: “If you’re a dictator that holds people in oppression your entire life, the chances that you will die peacefully in your sleep are very slim.” Truer words were never spoken, but the converse is equally true: A democracy which does not defend its freedoms against all threats both foreign and domestic is destined to lose them.
In other words, you need to understand these people want to kill you just as much as they want to kill us. If you want to wait like cattle for the slaughter, that’s fine; nobody needs you. But stay the fuck out of the way of those of us who value our lives.
The Sporting Equivalent: Now that Bin Laden is gone, can the Navy Seals take out Bud Selig?
Let’s look at the similarities between the late uber-terrorist and Osama Bud Selig: Bin Laden has led a decades-long war against the West, Selig has spent decades destroying baseball from within. Look at some of Selig’s shining accomplishments:
- Ushered into the ranks of ownership lowlifes like Frank McCourt, Fred Wilpon, and Tom Ricketts
- Defaulted the real seat of power in baseball from the Commissioner’s office to owners like the late George Steinbrenner and Jerry Reinsdorf
- Oversaw the explosion of salaries due to the irresponsibility of the owners, and blamed in on the players
- Allowed a work stoppage that cancelled a World Series and shortened two seasons
- Nearly allowed another work stoppage after the first fiasco
- Got rid of a bunch of terrible umpires, only to replace them with worse ones
- Threatened contraction – again blaming fans for the stupidity of owners
- Ignored the whole steroid problem, then tried to act like some pretentious defender of virtue once he got off his pock-mark ass
Show me a bigger threat to his sport than Selig, and we can call off the Seals. Until then, I want the Seals to bring me his hollowed-out skull.
2) The Casey Anthony Trial
Thanks to the NFL Lockout, you would think that infant killing became our new national sport. You would think the gruesome details of the malicious, intentional death of two-year old girl would be anything that you’d want to hear about. Yet, you can’t turn on your TV without hearing more minutia about how some high school dropout couldn’t take the pressure of changing a diaper, so she killed her baby.
Sorry, but it’s not fascinating; it’s horrible. The problem is there are people out there who have this kind of dysfunction in their real lives, and if you happen to know these people, you see the kind of suffering the sort of selfish sociopathic bitch like Casey Anthony can inflict. J-Dub happens to know somebody who wanted grandchildren more than anything else in this world, then had her daughter threaten to get an abortion if she wouldn’t provide free day-care. What do you think the odds are of that kid ending up duct-taped in a Hefty Cinch-Sack the first time “Mommie Dearest” wants to hang out with her lowlife, druggie friends?
It all comes down to this. It is a genuinely terrible thing it took those kids for everybody to realize what worthless pieces of shit their mothers are. It’s hard to tell which is the bigger crime, a mother who fucks up her whole life with bad decisions, covers herself in tattoos, and finally loses the respect of her family whom she used and abused her whole life, then tries to opt out of her responsibility by killing her own child, then acts shocked when she is hauled in front of a jury to answer for it, or that same jury deciding that her long list of manipulative lies are a good enough reason to let a murderer take a hike.
Regardless of whether you are a baby-killer or a sucker juror, did you really think we all wouldn’t notice what was really happening here?
To that end, here’s the letter Meehan sent to America’s new sweetheart:
You a misanthropic bitch whom no one should feel sorry for and you sincerely deserve all of the psychological torture that you have endured. It is truly a shame that you will miss the chance to be repeatedly raped with a mop handle before eventually being beaten to death with a tube sock full of batteries in prison.
Of course, he fucked up by accidentally mailing the letter to Elizabeth Smart. Boy, was his face red!!!
The Sporting Equivalent: O.J. Simpson
Americans really have trouble with stereotypes. Murderers aren’t supposed to be sports stars or the “girl next door.” Maybe this is why two clearly guilty people like Anthony and Simpson got away with murder. Or it could be because both cases had prosecutors who couldn’t convict a ham sandwich.
In either event, what matters is that the more you shine a camera on something, the more confused the picture gets. With Anthony, it all became about whether or not she was a “good mother” and “accidental death;” with Simpson it was all about “if it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.” It was all enough to make people forget about the victims, which is a crime in and of itself.
3) Anybody whose last name is “Kardashian”
First of all, why the fuck are these wastes of oxygen famous in the first place? Beside the facts their father was one of those scumbag lawyers that allowed O.J. Simpson to get away with murder, and their step-father is some ex-Olympic hero who has had enough bad plastic surgery to make him look like the wife of a Romanian goat farmer, we both have become convinced they exist only for those times when you are stuck standing in line at the supermarket where they assail you from the cover of every one of those brain-softening tabloids.
For the unpardonable crime of trying to buy a gallon of milk, I have to live through the “news” that one of these multi-talentless bimbos is pregnant, one of them is tired of being called fat, and another one is getting yet another series of spooge injections into her ever-widening ass which has become little more than a dick pin-cushion for every 2nd-rate pro athlete. Stop wasting my time with these stupid bitches until the “news” is about a fatal car accident, complete with photos of their corpses impaled on a guardrail.
Oh, and a hearty “Fuck off and die” to every one of you late-night talk show hosts who perpetuate this plague by giving these morons a forum in which they are allowed to speak like they are some sort of role model. Anybody who thinks a Kardashian has anything meaningful to offer should have their genitalia removed with a hedge-clipper to save future generations from this mental gonorrhea.
Since they want to eye-rape all of us with their reality-show bullshit, here’s how we really give it some spice. We turn the show into a game-show style contest, where these three compete with each other doing what they do best, exploiting their own alleged sexuality. The stunts they have to pull become increasingly difficult as the game goes on, with the ultimate goal being like a “snuff” film; all three of them choking to death on a flaming railroad tie.
The Sporting Equivalent: Danica Patrick
Yeah, I know we’ve beat on her before, but she representative of the same problem. She exploits her supposed sexuality, which covers for the fact she’s never won a fucking thing, which covers for the fact she is about as important to racing as a quart of engine sludge.
Not to mention, I wouldn’t mind seeing her get the flaming railroad tie treatment.
4) The “Angry Birds” app
Meehan works in the cell phone industry, which explains why the mere mention of this app causes him to turn purple and lose control of his body functions. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it consists of a slingshot on the left hand side of the screen. A bird is in the slingshot, and when you press the screen the bird flies across the screen and knocks bricks out of different structures.
That’s it. No explosions, no real mayhem, no large breasted comic-book style heroines flashing their wares. Just fucking birds.
First of all, I’m shocked the ASPCA or PETA hasn’t gotten their collective tampons in a knot over this. They’d have no case, but neither do any of their other claims; but this is the perfect sort of meaningless shit they love to get all worked up over. If someone designed an application where you shot kittens out of a cannon, even if they landed on giant white fluffy pillows we’d never hear the end of it from either of those two groups.
So, basically Arkanoid wasn’t good enough, so we killed it, but people had the desire to shoot bird-like characters across the screen and to fill that need, we got this shit. Fuck that noise, Arkanoid was awesome.
The Sporting Equivalent: ESPN3.com
If you wanted proof ESPN really doesn’t get what its viewers want, just look at ESPN3.com, the World Wide Leader’s attempt at streaming sporting events on-line. Your viewing selections include (whenever the site isn’t locking up your browser) such exciting events like AAU basketball, FIFA’s Under-17 World Cup, the American Le Mans Series Northeast Grand Prix (Qualifying Rounds Only), and the World Netball Championships, whatever the fuck that is.
Show me Danica Patrick and Hannah Storm doing a guest spot on the new and improved Kardashian Flaming Railroad Tie Hour and I’m totally there.
5) Bruno Mars and that awful “Grenade” song
Exaggerating is something that even I find myself doing quite a bit, but Bruno Mars does it to a level that is just over-the-top dopey. The perfect example lies in this cocksmoking tool’s song “Grenade.” Basically, he is using this song to tell the world he’s just another guy who has fallen in love, and therefore relinquished any claim to his balls. In short, he dick-fucks your eardrums for three minutes regaling you with tales of all the shit he would suffer through would suffer through for this girl. To be quite honest, I wish these weren’t figures of speech because I’d love to see this guy do any of this stuff he mentions in the song.
“I’d catch a grenade for love”
This is just stupid. Nobody catches grenades. Nobody expects anybody to catch grenades. Not to mention, since when does a gesture of love require A) a third party and B) military-grade explosives. Ladies, if you are dating Bruno Mars, this line likely means he thinks it would be the “bomb” to have a three-way with you and his buddy who also couldn’t get laid in a women’s prison even if he had a fistful of keys. So, unless you want to end up on the old “spit-roast,” you need to ditch this clown. Face it, only a guy who can’t get laid would go to the extreme of grenade-catching.
“I’d jump in front of a train for love”
That actually sounds pretty hardcore, until you stop to think about the logical extension. The whole point of some sort of “Grand gesture of love” is to get some chick to come across with some action. Even if your “gesture” moves her so much to give you the best head you’ve ever had in your life, the exercise is a bit pointless if your junk ends up floating in a jar down at the County Hospital.
“I’d do anything for love”
If you’d catch a grenade or jump in front of a train for her love, by this point she knows you’re desperate. Saying “I’d do anything for love” just means she can’t wait to hear the next dumbass stunt you’re about to propose; meanwhile she’s thinking about all the practical stuff you will be doing for her just for the promise of a little trim. Next time she moves, guess who is going to get a fucking hernia lugging her shit up three flights of stairs? That would be you, “Mr. I would do anything for love.” Besides, Meat Loaf already covered this.
“I would die for you baby, but you won’t do the same…”
Well, not after that she won’t…You want to know why? You’ve already shown you aren’t worth dying for. Know what people die for? Things that matter, like the honor of duty for your country, or to save the life of another human being, not for some crybaby raisin-sac whose whole life seems to revolve around getting a piece of ass and making a complete douche-nozzle of himself in the process.
The Sporting Equivalent: Pay-Per-View Sports
This all starts back in the late 80’s, but it continues to this day. Today, it’s all that UFC, wrestling, and monster truck shit, but back in the day there was no better way to fleece the guy “who would do anything for sports” then to get him to pony up $50 for a Mike Tyson vs. Insert Future Corpse Here fight; one that inevitably only lasted 80 seconds.
See, the problem is since the guy “who would do anything for sports” is also “the guy who would do anything for love,” he’s blown all his dough romancing that chick who works at McBurgerQueen who has pimples and kind of a big butt, but has a first-class set of knockers. This means he’s invited all of his buddies over to watch the fight if they chip in on the cost.
It gets worse when the aforementioned lack of funds means he has to pass the hat for beer money, and while he’s hustling down to the Kwik-i-Mart in order to get back before the fight, the guy in line in front of him at the store is trying to buy something with a check, and by the time he gets back, Tyson’s opponent has long since been hit by the train, caught the grenade, or whatever other sort of analogy you wish to use for Tyson’s patented brand of “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you love me” prison violence.
Here’s the deal…Let that moment where you realize the replay just doesn’t have the same effect and you know it never will; let that moment be the one of clarity where you realize Pay-Per-View isn’t worth it, and neither is that chick at McBurgerQueen.
-J-Dub and Meehan