Best headline ever

Dominatrix beats murder wrap

Oh Jesus-there are pictures of the prosecuter wearing a bondage mask, trying to demonstrate something or other.


This just in

- I love hearing Bill Hillgrove on ESPN
-The Senate straight up sucks.
-I just want to go home
-How is the Bettis fumble/Ben tackle NOT the top play of the playoffs?

Oh. Because it's Vanderjackass missing the field goal "Call up the travel agent, remake those reservations, we're going to Denver!"


Tiny cities made of ashes

So, I just got an invitation to write for Love is Not an Orgasm

Also-If you haven't heard about it already, check out my blog Overheard at MSU

I'd really like to get that off the ground, but I need so much help/submissions. I can't just put in funny shit my friends say. Well, I guess I could to get it started.

Something I'll decide today, I guess.

Seriously folks

Please go here and sign this petition to encourage Senators to not confirm Alito for the Supreme Court.

Here's the text of the petition.

Dear Senators,
The Senate must reject President Bush's attempt to reward right-wing special interests by nominating Judge Samuel Alito to the Supreme Court of the United States. Alito's record as an ideological activist would make his confirmation a threat to civil rights protections, reproductive and privacy rights, environmental protections, religious liberty, and laws safeguarding workers.
I urge you to vote not to confirm Samuel Alito to a lifetime position on the Supreme Court of the United States.

Also Daily Kos has an excellent article about the confirmation/fillibuster, that also has a link to the petition.

It takes four seconds-just fill in your info and hit submit. If you're really feeling daring, you can call some of the on-the-fence Democrats and Republicans, as well as Democrats supporting Alito and ask them not to confirm.

I already talked with Carl Levin (D-Mich.)'s office. Duh, it's Sunday, but I left a message.


Horse-faced bride of the devil.

You know, sometimes when I want to be whipped into a raging frenzy over the amount of stupidity, hate and blind, misguided faith in the world - I read Ann Coulter.

Her Jan. 25 column "How abortion stopped a bleeding heart" is seriously ridiculous.

What a bitch.


Oh God, Oh God, this is the funniest thing I saw today.

K-Fed attacks!!

Questions that need to be answered:
1) Who taped this?
2) How did it get on the internet?
3)Whoever taped it, are they aware that Kevin Federline is high as a kite?
4) Does K-Fed realize, that he is in fact white?
5) Or that this is quite possibly, the worst song in the history of music?
6) Britney Spears married this dude... why?

The world may never know. I promise you-watch that video. It will be the funniest thing you see today.



The inevitable backlash .

Every woman in America would sell her soul to have a milk shake with that motherf*cker

John Cusak, that is. Ever since seeing/reading High Fidelity, I've complied Top Five lists in great numbers. These lists are not to be taken lightly — a lot of thought goes into their compliation.

Top Five Guilty Pleasure Songs
1.Since U Been Gone-Kelly Clarkson
2.This Time Around-Hanson
3.Toxic-Britney Spears
4.Breakfast at Tiffany's-Deep Blue Something
5.Tempted by the Fruit of Another-Squeeze

My Top Five Favorite Songs, 2000-2001
1.London Calling-The Clash
2.Anachy in the UK- The Sex Pistols
3.Chick Magnet-MxPx
4.Great American Sharpshooter-Less Than Jake
5.My Evil Plan to Save the World-Five Iron Frenzy

(No, seriously.)

So-your lists, please! These things interest me.


Good Old Ben

In a word: awesome

Video here, thanks to Daily Kos.


Thredless-an update


I would also accept this.

One more.

Enough has been said already.


Do-doo doo-do doo-POLAMALU

As much as I had sports casters, I'm sitting here reading every. single. thing. about the Broncos/Steelers game on Sunday on espn. com, while watching Sports Center.

My stomach is going to be in a constant state of knots from now until the game is over on Sunday.

Also-ESPN's Daily Quickie Top 5 QBs left in the NFL playoffs

1. Jake Delhomme
2. Ben Roethlisberger (would be first on the list if tackling mattered)
3. Matt Hassleback
4. Antwann Randle-El
5. Jake Plummer

I might have Hassleback and Delhomme backwards...they've changed it since I read it this morning. The important thing is that Randle-El is on the list before Jake the Snake.

Rock on, ESPN.


Dear Ben Roethlisberger-

While I appreciate your improved play in the playoffs, I do not appreciate your chinstrap beard. Gah, it's hideous. If we make it to the big show, can you please shave it? Pretty, pretty please? I just cannot look at the horrible thing any more. At least you don't have a neckbeard. And don't grow one.

Love, Sarah


Get it

The song on this is annoying, but it's a sweet highlight reel from the game. The montage of "He missed it" shots is the best.


Joey Porter: trying to be the next Greg Lloyd

The NFL said the referee made a mistake: Troy Polamalu caught the ball.
After the game, Pittsburgh linebacker Joey Porter said of the ruling: "I know they wanted Indy to win this game; the whole world loves Peyton Manning. But come on, man, don't take the game away from us like that."
NFL spokesman Greg Aiello had no comment on Porter's statement.
In the past, players who have made such statements have been subject to fines.

Thanks Joey, for saying what we were all thinking and what is probably true. Also-if he doesn't get fined, I will laugh my ass off...because it means he was right.

The two most beautiful words in the English language: Wide right.

Yesterday, the Pittsburgh Steelers torn out my heart and my guts and left them splattered all over a dorm room floor somewhere in Mid-Michigan. They left me shaken, shocked, nervous and absolutely, purely elated. For what seems like the millionth time in the 20 years that I've been a Steeler fan, they're going to the AFC championship game.

The first chance at missed glory I can recall came on my father's 39th birthday, in 1995 against the San Diego Chargers. After the slaughter, my family and I sad in a dark, sad restaraunt, haunted with waitresses in their black and gold, sporting faces of false happiness. The bar was deserted, an air of hopelessness and doom hung somewhere just above our heads and just below the haze of cigarette smoke. I was nine.

That year, I watched the 49ers descimate the Chargers. I saw Montana and Rice in the confetti and flashbulbs. I saw some hulking linebacker holding his daughter screaming "We're going to Disney World!" That's the first time I really grasped what it means to win a Superbowl.

The Pittsburgh Steelers have four SuperBowl rings. The last came in 1980, almost seven years before I was born.

The next year, 1996, the year of Superbowl 40 was the year I learned at some base level about what it meant to be a Steeler fan. I come from a family of wildly temperamental sports fans, led by my father, who will storm out out of a room, take a walk, drive his John Deere around the backyard in the middle of the night (That one happened when the Pirates dropped game seven of the NL championship against the Braves in '92. He'll still curse the name of Sid Bream vehemently to this day. He was OUT, goddammit.) My mother is a relatively calm fan during the regular season, but come playoff time, she is that rabid Pittsburgh woman, screaming, wearing her black and gold Mardi Gras beads, clutching the rosary of her Terrible Towel to her chest.

She was born and bred in Pittsburgh, a product of the city and the school system, and everything I learned about being a part of the Steeler Nation came from her side of the family. When I was 10, I learned what it was to twist a towel through 4th and inches, to curse inept safties who blew their coverage, to scream and howl through close, close, close final minutes of a fourth quarter.

I remember that year's championship game against the Colts probably more vividly than anything from my early childhood. We were celebrating my father's 40th on the day of the game. The fourth quarter lasted an eternity. Gregg Lloyd, the aggressive, jacked linebacking machine that he was, praying atop a Terrible Towel on the sidelines When that final Hail Mary was launched through the air, I went through 30 seconds of blind terror before it was swatted to the ground in the endzone.

And then...Cowher was hoisting that AFC Championship trophy in the air, the iron jaw gone, all smiles. He'd finally gotten there.

In the promised land of Tempe, the Dallas Cowboys sauntered out of their little tunnel onto the field with a swagger and cool confidence that boiled my little-girl blood.Remember, these were the mid-90s Cowboys, the Aikman-Irvin, Jimmy Johnson Cowboys, the embodiment of pure evil and purebred football perfection. The Steelers, on the other hand, charged down that white vault, bouncing off its sides like pinballs, slamming helments, bashing shoulder pads. That forever defined my vision of the Steelers — passion, heart, cohones . No star power, not a well oiled machine of marketing and slick proccessed image, not Michael Irvin in his thousand dollar suits, not the most massive offensive line ever put together. Just Neil, some crazy kid we liked to call "Slash" and a running back named Bam and several of the most fierce linebackers 90s football ever saw. (Really, Lloyd was pure defensive poetry in motion. Forget Chuck Norris jokes. Greg Lloyd's tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.)

Three times that night, Neil O'Donnell broke my heart in the waning Arizona sun. Despite Cowher's onside kick brilliance, despite everything my Steelers did to unseat those unholy Texan monsters, when your QB throws three ridiculous interceptions, directly to the same safety, there's no amount of heart that can get you out of the hole he's dug. I didn't know what had just happened. That was my first introduction to blinding disappointment.

I learned the Steeler fan's mantra: There's always next year.

For the past ten years, I've learned. I learned about the glory days, the rings, the Immaculate Reception. I learned about the game, about our weak secondary and indominatable line. I learned to be able to curse and swear at the screen, through years of Kordell, through the loss to the Broncos in '97, through the rebuilding years, to the 2000 and 2001 seasons when the God awful New England Patriots came to my town and again, boiled my blood-this time not with their arrogant confidence, but with their terrible luck and the leg of the world's most clutch fieldgoal kicker. See also-2005.

But yesterday, on my father's 50th birthday, far from the Steeler faithful, the black and gold marched in the hated and reverred RCA Dome and stumbled out with a win. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a win. A shot at a continued season. Something to bring me another week of Steeler football. And really, I can't ask for anything more from the team who's brought me so much elation and so much misery for the past eleven years.

I heard that when it looked like it was over-when Harper was streaking towards the endzone, my 13 and 16-year-old brothers both stormed out of the room. They never even saw Big Ben stretch and grab with infinite hope for his season, hinged on the ankle of a DB who'd been stabbed in the leg 24 hours prior.

The cycle goes on. Someday, my brothers will drive tractors in their backyards after the much maligned city that made them has let them down. I will dress my children in black and gold and take them to Heinz Field and I'll take them to the statue of Jerome Bettis outside and say "Mommy was here the day this man stopped play because the crowd was chanting his name. The thought of his leaving the city brought some 65,000 people to their feet." I'll teach them about the glory days and how to spot a blitz and how to be able to understand the game that I love so much.

I don't know if that was Jerome's last game. I don't know if the black and gold will make it to a city, much like the one they came from, that's only an hour away from where I now live my life. What I do know is that yesterday, they played a game that will go down in history books and highlight reels.

When this week is over, when all the talking heads and athletic pundits have finished running their mouths, there will be just one thing. Two things actually-a winner and a loser. Someone going to Detroit and someone who's not.

Regardless of who is who, I do know one thing. Pittsburgh will still ring and will always ring with one of the greatest sounds that can errupt from a crowd of people.

"Here we go Steelers, here we go..."



Hoge always picks the Stillers

Things are looking up.

Either happiness or bitter disappointment after the game. Stay tuned.

Despite their best efforts to give me a coronary, the Stillers emerged triumphant. And I give all the credit to this man, the man, Bill Cowher.

Mile High? All I have to say about that: Jake Plummer v. Peyton Manning. The Colts gave us a good, solid run for our money. I have nothing but respect for them as a football team.

One final question: If this was supposed to be Indy's year...whose year is it now?



Cy, short for Cyclops is a kitten born with one eye and no nose (AP photo.) I'm going to have nightmares about this. Seriously. What the hell. That thing is straight from Satan.

Aw. I just found out it died after only living a day. That's kind of sad. But still...::shudder::


We dey, we dey, we dey who think they gon' beat them Bungles.

Dear Cincinnatti Bengals Fans, The "Who Dey?" chant was annoying the first time around and its resurgence only reiterates the fact that it's been forever since you actually had a decent team. To answer your question, the PittsburghmotherfuckingSteelers. Bengals, please. As I said after the first meeting of the season between the Bungles and my Stillers, the AFC North is Pittsburgh Stiller territory. You were only renting your time here...We'll take back what's ours now. Love, Sarah.