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What A Gallon Of 2% Says About You.

I love the white stuff as much as anyone else. I refuse to eat an oreo without waterboarding it, Dick Cheney style, (sick reference) in the sweet nectar, and I prefer that nectar come from the breast of a thick heffer and not a busted nut (almond you perverts). But just know your hand on that familiar chilled jug screams altar boy virgin. Or checkers player. Or viola enthusiast. You get it.

Now this came about because of a recent air bnb stay I had. In the great north woods of an undisclosed state, nestled between enormous evergreens sat a cozy little lake house whose owner explicitly said, no less than 29 times, “no parties, no smoking, and no vaping” (RIP fat clouds). The front door had a sign that read “no parties, no smoking, no vaping,” the living room had a sign that read “no parties, no smoking, no vaping,” the patio had a sign that said “no parties, no smoking, no vaping” and the bathroom had a sign that said “please don’t flush condoms.” Clearly, people party and fuck here. They get drunk, smoke some wacky tobaccy, blow a few clouds, and shoot ropes into latex baby catchers that this sewer system was not built to handle. To make it even more clear that we were not supposed to host a drunken, smokey, fuck fest, the owner told us he was also our neighbor.

So during our first night here we went and got some groceries. Nothing wild, nothing you can smoke, and nothing you can cum in. As I carried a plastic bag full of cereal and yogurt in one hand, and a gallon of 2% fat fucking cows tit milk in the other, down the driveway and into the house, I knew that if the owner/neighbor was watching, he would sleep like a baby that night knowing a bunch of bird watching, WWJD bracelet wearing, milk drinking pussies were going to be occupying his air bnb. No one has ever walked into a house with a gallon of milk and proceeded to do anything but show the upmost respect for other people’s property. No adult, milk drinking, man would ever dare disobey a clearly visible sign. Milk has never started a fuck fest, it’s never started a party, and it’s definitely never gotten anyone laid. A gallon of Milk says, “I’ll have one hard rootbeer, but then I need to hit the hay.” This guy has never felt safer, I guarantee it. We play Creed a little louder than he likes, and he knows that our regular diet consisting of 2% milk means he could kill all of us with a lamp shade if he needed to.

Milk guys, aren’t fuck up my air bnb guys, they’re rubix cube guys, and World of Warcraft guys. Instead of treating the place like a rock band after a sold out show at Wembley, they’ll play rockband until their serving arm gets sore and their Ralph Lauren polo gets too itchy.

Hand up, I drink milk, I drink it pretty often actually, but I would die before I would be seen drinking a glass of that baby food. It’s just plain embarrassing to be drinking the same shit as every little baby everywhere ever.

Keep drinking that shit if you want to be a loser and die alone in a set of pj’s that your mom made for you.

Weep, Drew Lock stans


I can’t believe the Denver Broncos took this long to name Teddy Bridgewater their starting quarterback for the 21′-22′ season. It’s embarrassing that they even made him compete for starting job against a guy who’s definitely making a horrible mixtape as you read this.

Drew Lock is the perfect high school quarterback, and he’s a great college quarterback if your school is irrelevant, but you cannot honestly tell me you want him running out of the tunnel on a chilly Sunday afternoon as the starting quarterback of your favorite NFL franchise. Nothing puts a damper on a table full of chips, dips, and grilled (or fried) meats like knowing you’re about to put your happiness in the hands of Drew fucking Lock. Sure he might have the swag and appearance of that kid who was good at every sport in middle school, but he plays quarterback like that kid who was really good at magic in middle school.

Teddy is the right answer. He has always been, and always will be the right answer. He makes every team he’s on a contender. He throws dimes. He busts knees. He wears two gloves. He wins games. He fucks. What else could you want?


Marjorie Taylor Greene challenged Dr. Fauci to a weight lifting competition.

If you didn’t see, Marjorie Taylor Greene flexed her below average muscles right in the face of Dr. Anthony Fauci the other day, posting a video of herself working out along with the hashtag “#FireFauci.”

In a “gym” fit for a maximum security prison, Greene showed off her raw strength while tossing around 25 pound plates like they were Faucis’ testicles. Greene then proceeded to practice the butterfly stroke on a pullup bar, a move that bewildered those of us not in an exercise cult.

Now I don’t know if this is how they typically handle beef down in Georgia’s 14th congressional district, but I would guess exercise challenges aren’t popping off too often. A grits eating challenge would seem more appropriate, but alas, MTG decided to settle her score in the iron paradise.

It’s a smart choice if we’re being honest with ourselves. While MTG might be impressing us even less with her brawn than she is with her brain, her competition is one 25 pound plate away from being crippled.

Not exactly the face of strength training, but Fauci has no choice but to answer the bell. Greene ghost fucked the air more aggressively than Tori Spelling in Scary Movie 2 and then casually tried to fire him all in the same tweet. You simply can’t let that slide without a response. In a normal world thoes are two separate tweets, but during a pandemic you can try to fire a doctor while humping the shit out of the air all at once.

Fauci needs to be living at GNC if he has any hope of coming out of this alive. Get a bone density scan, get some supplements to stave off osteoporosis, and start hitting the whey and creatine. He’s going to need calories too, a lot of them. He may not get yoked, but maybe he’ll look less like Ellen Degeneres when his response video drops.

May the least weak win.

Spencer Jones’ Rumble In A Toilet Filled Jungle

I didn’t know this man existed until I saw the video of him being used as human piss mop on a bar bathroom floor. I don’t know if he deserved that treatment or not, I saw the same video everyone else did. I don’t know any details. But what I do know is that if you’re going to get into a bar scrap, you need to come harder than that.

Spencer got absolutely molly whopped by one of the most unsuspecting gentlemen I’ve ever seen. He got dog walked in one of the worst places you could ever end up on on all fours with a leash around your neck.

Unfortunately, at one time or another, we’ve all had to take a leak in the bathroom of a crowded bar. On your way to a clogged and overflowing urinal, you have to wade through a musty sea of piss, vomit, spilled drinks, and bro’s.

Minutes before Spencer and his denim clad buddy would get a chance to taste this shining sea, they offended the absolute wrong bro. Rumor has it this guy trains in MMA. By the looks of things, I’d say he definitely trains in MMA. In the blink of an eye this dude unleashed a bitch slap, two quick jabs, and a suplex that landed Spencer face first on a floor that likely gets mopped with a bucket full of stale beer and rat shit. Not to be left out of the fun, captain jean jacket would soon find himself tongue polishing grout as well.

This was a tough showing for two dudes who appeared to be playing the tough guy role. You can’t shove someone and then proceed to put up less of a fight than France did in World War 2. The moment you push another man, you should be ready for combat, but nothing says “I’m going to get my ass kicked” like a jean jacket. I hope denim doesn’t absorb puke and tequila well, it would be awful if that jacket got ruined.

My advice to Spencer, aside from take literally any kind of fighting lessons, would be to stop playing sports. Quit the football team before next season because each and every one of your opponents are going to spend four full quarters lighting you up for that video. Nothing you do on the field can overcome what happened in that fight. No amount of stat sheet stuffing on the field can overcome being ridden across the floor and donkey punched in the same room where people poop by a short guy in cowboy boots.

I do honestly hope his eye is okay though.

Long Live Dusty Gooch

The NHL may not have been able to deliver us the best outdoor game today, but unbeknownst to them, they gave us something so much better. The National Hockey League introduced us to local front line worker Dusty Gooch.

Unfortunately, many people on the internet took this chance to taint their timelines with crude jokes, and wise cracks, something I’m not interested in doing here.

Dusty works as a local firefighter and paramedic in the Lake Tahoe area, jobs that were made especially tough by the Covid-19 pandemic, which I’m sure caused Gooch to be stretched thin between the two.

The NHL invited Gooch to the outdoor game at Lake Tahoe to celebrate him and other frontline workers for their selflessness and dedication during the pandemic. Unfortunately, warm air caused some soggy conditions and the game had to be postponed. Slushy ice is a groin injury waiting to happen after all. Naturally, fans were disappointed, some saying they felt let down, others comparing the experience to a real hard kick in the crotch. Despite the hiccups, the NHL did the best they could to turn that thin strip of land into a pleasurable experience, full of world class hockey.

No matter the outcome of the event, it must have been nice for Gooch to get some fresh air out on the Lake, during a beautiful day, instead of being cooped up in a hot, sticky ambulance. The NHL did right by honoring him and others who are constantly at risk of infection due to the hairy situations they often find themselves in.

Dusty is a hero, and the residents around Lake Tahoe should sleep tighter knowing he stands between them and danger. Gooch has chosen to be a guardian and has positioned himself firmly between the light and the dark.

Here’s to you Dusty R. Gooch 🍻 Keep doing what you’re doing, you got a dirty ass job and we know it ain’t easy.

A Drew Brees Return?

ICYMI, Twitter has been buzzing lately regarding a possible Drew Brees return to New Orleans to “run it back.”

Surprisingly, it was a rare topic that Twitter seemed to agree on because it would be such a disaster if old man Brees suited up for another season.

It’s hard to imagine what exactly Brees would want to run back. The 36 broken ribs? The torn up shoulder? The collapsed lung? The 3 interception playoff loss? Not a whole lot of bright spots, and at age 42 with a shoulder that seems to be held together about as well as two sausage links, not a lot of reason to abandon mornings with The Price Is Right and Deal Or No Deal for a day job where over grown men are paid to physically and emotionally abuse you.

Maybe he just wants to best Tom Brady.

I’m sure it’s hard to watch 43 year old Brady come into your division and win the Super Bowl after knocking you out of the playoffs, but Tom is a freak of nature despite being a middle aged, moderately athletic, white guy with a body like a bag of milk, and Drew needs to give up trying to compete with him. Tom would rather put his lips on his sons mouth than om a strawberry or a tomato, which is a level of psycho that simply can’t be beat.

When Famous Jameis is the better option for deep throws, you know it’s time to hang up the jock and prepare for the Depends. It’s not often a coach prefers a blind quarterback who once threw 30 interceptions, but apparently your vision being limited to 10 yards is better than your arm being limited to 10 yards.

What I’m trying to say here is that it’s time for Drew Brees to move on. His diminished abilities are holding the Saints back, and although there is not much in life that I love more than watching the Saints lose in the playoffs, it’s getting hard to watch Brees throw the ball like he’s a slow pitch softball pitcher whose had one too many PBR’s in a league meant for board Dads trying to reclaim their glory days.

He looks like 50 Cent throwing at the Mets game for christ’s sake.

It’s time to hang it up, you’ve had a fine career. Don’t try to run anything back, don’t even try to run anyone.

James Harden Is Leading The Charge For “Thiccck Boy Summer”

In case you haven’t seen our chonk king yet, take a look this big boy body.

During a month typically known for weight loss resolution’s that result in crowded gyms, record quinoa sales, and self hatred, James Harden is shaping his body a bit differently.

He’s traded in the leafy greens, dumbells, and diet pills for strip club ribs, full strength beer, and an exercise program created by Mike McCarthy. Somehow, in between slugging bud heavys with a fistful of wet naps, and performing 10 sets of laying down, he still finds time to play professional basketball. Luckily for us, all that work on the court hasn’t negatively affected his body.

Say what you will, but James Harden has created the ideal Male body, and just in time. We’ve still got a few months left to get into buffet shape before summer hits and it’s time for suns out flabby guns out, or blue skys and wide thighs.

Hot girl summer was great, but I don’t remember seeing any one of those ladies averaging 26 ppg with their size 0 waists. So if we’ve learned one thing, size matters, and from the looks of things a 42 inch waist should do it if you want to penetrate the lane deep enough.

I’ve already canceled my gym membership and downloaded the Domino’s app. So when you see me dominating pick up games in the gym and spike ball on the beach this summer with a body like a six lane backroad just know that I, like Harden, didn’t take any days off to achieve it.

It’s time to pick up the fork and get to work, Thiccck Boy Summer is approaching.

B1G Football is thriving after a Sugar Bowl dub and a historic Mayo Bowl victory.

The SEC may still reign supreme in the college football realm but the Wisconsin Badgers made a statement this week.

With a resounding victory over a juggernaut Wake Forest team, the Badgers reminded the world that the Big Ten is not a conference to fuck with.

In a memorable matchup between a 3-3 Wisconsin team and, representing the ACC, a 4-4 Wake Forest squad. The Badgers racked up 42 points and well over 250 yards of offense against a prolific Demon Deacons defense during their condiment showdown.

The Duke’s Mayo Bowl in Charlotte, North Carolina, one of college football’s signature bowl games, has been around since 2002 and has held many different names. Recently it was the Belk Bowl, but in 2020 nothing seemed more appropriate than to name one of the most popular and important bowl games after a thick, eggy, oil based sauce, that was designed to be a perfect topping for a sandwich made of bologna, Craft Singles, and Wonder Bread.

Although this was the Badgers first showing in the famed Duke’s Mayo Bowl, they were facing a team that was something of a legend in the sandwich spread community as the Demon Deacons were 2-0 in this bowl game. However, the world would soon learn to throw the records out the window when the Wisconsin Badgers came to town as they spent the afternoon flexing on the class of the ACC and putting college football on notice. The Big Ten is here, and here to stay.

Ohio State’s decent win in the College Football Playoffs over Clemson was also pretty good for the status of the Big Ten.

Machine Gun Kelly’s little brother mean mugs the Lakers after a garbage time bucket.

Here’s a photo of the moment I’m referencing.

You may know this guy as “a bucket” because if you want 13.5 points per game, he’s you’re man.

Now bucket exceeded expectations in Game 3 of the NBA Finals with 17 points. He added a whopping 3 rebounds and 2 assists just to make sure we all knew that he should have been drafted over Zion and Ja.

If you missed the game, this snarl, which was about as intense and menacing as the golden retriever from Homeward Bound came after bucket nailed a game winner over LeBron.


Just kidding, bucket’s snarl came after hitting a garbage time layup over Rajon Rondo and getting an and-one.

Nothing says “I’m a bucket” like 14 points going into the final minutes of a critical NBA Finals Game 3. Bucket was essentially a piece of furniture out there that no one cared about until he hit us with the least genuine tough guy look of all time.

He looks like he’s about to drop the weakest diss track of all time. A diss track aimed at hotel bartender who didn’t recognize him because he looks like every white, college basketball player ever. I’m sure after he got his vodka red bull he dropped some absolute Nick Cannon-like heaters in the studio.

I make that same face when I take my morning shit. That’s the face I make when I microwave food and it’s still cold. This is the look most dudes give themselves in the gym mirror.

Bucket literally could not be less intimidating. Maybe try showing up in the Finals before hitting the Lakers with the “who farted” face.

Even Ham did it better.

Joe Burrow would have been well within his rights to quit football today

I’m sure you’ve seen this hit already, but take a look again.

Did Burrow shit in Malik Jackson’s Cheerios this morning or what the fuck happened? You don’t often try to separate a man’s head from his body, unless he screws your mom, ruins your perfectly manicured lawn, or defecates all over your most important meal of the day.

The fact that Joe Burrow kept playing on the same field as that butcher is insane. He honestly should have left the stadium and retired from the NFL. When someone separates your body from your soul the correct response is to cry a little, pretend like you just have dirt in your eyes, fake a back injury to get off the field, and then give yourself a real back injury so you never have to stare death in the face again. I honestly don’t think anyone would have minded if Burrow had quit the game of football after getting his salad tossed into low earth orbit. To me that’s an acceptable and rational decision. Like, yeah man, you do you.

What’s not rational, is stepping back out onto the field where a few of your teeth are currently hiding, before Malik Jackson has been handcuffed and sent to jail.

I would rather get the Myles Garrett helmet treatment once a day for a year than have to take that hit once.

Props to Joe Burrow, crazy bastard.