I have golfed Tumbledown Trails. It is a small track just outside Madison WI, played mostly by old guys. Like most great Wisconsin ideas, this promotion has the all indications of being conceived at the rail after fourteen brandies and countless beers. It was written on a cocktail napkin and phoned into the newspaper…

First dat Weiner. Now de Princess....cocks cocks cocks. Everywhere vit da cocks. (English spoken in Romanian dialect)

Her eyebrows have "Guilty" written all over them.

Little know fact. There are no bathrooms in Lambeau as The Faithful refuse to leave their seats lest they miss a single moment of Packer history.

Our neighbors have a villa in Dogus Balbay.

Their name is "Browns". I mean, how good could they EVER be? Shit is brown. Mud is brown. That suckup prick's nose at work is brown. Br0wn was the color of the trenches in WWI. It's the color of your grandfather's shoes and fingernails. It's the color of the carpeting in the room where that Cleveland fuck kept female…

As Michael Stipe once sang, "Everybody poops, sometimes."

Good thing there are no African American db's in the NFL. Concussed. Week 1.

And then Dad came along and ate the yearling cubs. The End.

The Million Spicoli March

After the second first pitch home run, any pitcher worth his salt would have drilled that kid in the ass.

In response, Redskins management sent her disease infected blankets.

Chris Berman went to high school with Woody Allen? Damn.

Two minutes later, Timothy ran the board on "Nail Polish Colors".

While somewhere. Emmett Till sadly smiles.

This makes me desperately miss The SportsWriters on TV.

No biggie. But misspell "bratwurst" and Milwaukee would be ablaze.

Every baby is Dwight Eisenhower. Every fucking one of them.

JurorBWhatever makes the dumbest beauty pageant contestant ever sound like Madame Curie.

Fox News. Proud To Know Nothing About The Great Yellow Horde.