Monthly Archives: November 2009

Naked Pictures of Bill Simmons’ Wife

Ha-ha. Remember this old trick, you fucking sucker? There are no pictures of Bill Simmons wife, at least not here. This post only begs you to ask yourself: why am I Googling for pictures of some goofy looking sportswriter’s wife? Is it just because his book hit number one on the New York Times’ best-seller list that you are now taking time out of your day to search the Internet for some anonymous mother of two?  Does that justify it? Sure it doesn’t take long to run an internet search, and you were curious, and it was there. But think about this: when was the last time you called your dear old mother to tell her that you love her? When was the last time you flossed you teeth? When was the last time you looked up a word you didn’t know in the dictionary? I don’t know how you would answer any of these questions specifically, but I can say that you have definitely spent a portion of your life Googling for photos of some random wife more recently…

There are plenty of fun other things to do on the internet besides… see, here is a hot chick, and below her, an bear playing hockey!

Bill Simmons' Wife

Not Bill Simmons' Wife



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Fantasy Football

“Ye Gods!—this has to be a hoax,” I thought, when I first read about the Lingerie Football League. I proceeded to shit my pants after learning that Trenton would host two games. Then I wrote an email. With that email, and a bit of armchair photoshop, Sweet Merciful Crap scored an invite to the LFL’s pre-game press conference last Thursday. There is little one can do to prepare for a circus like the LFL, so unprepared, cameras in hand SMC rolled into Trenton for some hardcore girl-on-girl [football] action.

At Thursday’s press conference we joined our peers, not quite sure what to expect. A man was setting up a podium with what appeared to be a garter around a football. He had on fancy jeans, a sports coat and a tan that looked as if he’d spend the week in a chicken rotisserie. It was Mitch Mortaza, the brains behind the LFL, or as I like to think of it: League Pimp. For the next half hour he tried to sell us on the the league’s legitimacy.


At least I think he did. Truth be told, I wasn’t listening. Instead, I was trying to steal a glimpse of the five women in underpants and shoulder pads (the football kind, not the 80s kind) who he had hidden behind a screen. I thought I heard him preach about how the fans included grandmothers, youngsters and families. It felt like watching Michael Steele giving a speech about minorities and gays being part of the Republican party. Eventually he stopped the charade and catered to his frat-boy fan base, whose support will either make or break his league, and called out his girls.

Like some brothel madam, he made sure the girls were smiling, holding poses and keeping the reporters’ interested. To be completely honest the whole thing reeked of milking a sure fire half-time stunt into a D-list main event. A women playing football in lingerie is not unlike a bear playing ice hockey—one does not marvel that it is done well, but that it is done at all.

The main event was Friday. The man handing out credentials before Friday’s games must have grown tired of seeing the shit-eating grins on the media folks who had drawn such a rough assignment. It was quite the spectacle with the lights, smoke and thumping music as the players took the field. Fourteen women in panties lined up and the hitting began. Simultaneously a thousand drooling men took their seats and prayed to whichever God is responsible for hair-pulling and wardrobe malfunctions.

Mercifully the action bore no resemblance to the WNBA. The running backs must have been track stars (as well as models) with their speed and agility. More shocking still, “throws like a girl” seemed to be a foreign concept to Caliente QB Morgan McGrath and Passion QB Jackie Danico, as both threw off passes that covered at least 20 yards in the air (though not necessarily to the right team always). The action was fast paced, inspired and almost watchable as sport, but it definitely qualified as entertainment. And the hits—man—the hits were completely unexpected coming from defensive lines that combined, weigh less than Gilbert Brown.

So entertaining was the action that nobody left early. The post game photo-op had as much to do with keeping folks aorund as the crucial 4th down play with less than a minute left. In spite of their bodies being covered sweat and turf-burns fans mobbed the tables for close-ups with their favorite players. Frat-boys were everywhere and the booth selling team calendars, which sold like, well, calendars full of scantily clad models, probably took as much of the frat crowd’s money as the tickets. Shrewd marketing Mr. Mortaza!

The Passion play their second and final home game next month, and we’ll see if folks come out again now that they already have the calendar. Mike Ditka seems to think so, but we’re taking bets on how long this thing can last. Let’s hope long enough for one more media day.

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Sweet Merciful Crap Horoscopes

Sure, these are a few days late, but our crack astrologer Buck Delano was busy last month on some sort of weird mission to Central America where he was trying to procure large amounts of fertilizer.  Why?  The stars know why.

Aquarius- Think hard about this one- when was the last time you actually watched another human being put on a pair of socks?  Not in a movie, or anything, but live.  When was the last time? Has it been a while?

Pisces– Why not export the entire NBA wholesale to Chinese as way to pay down the national debt?  Nobody would miss it after a year except Ernie Johnson, and  we need to get those treasury notes back on our soil somehow.

Leo– Your wife is quite a dish.

Scorpio– I love your pants!  They’re fantastic!

Cancer– Your stream of consciousness is heavily silted.

Virgo– You need to stop  drinking over a liter of soda a day.  That shit is gross and everyone is noticing.

Capricorn– You know that feeling you get when a really hot chick is way into you and you fucking know it and you can say nothing wrong in front of her and she is so digging your shit and you wake up and it’s Friday morning and you have plans to hang out with her tonight and every step you take and every word out of your mouth that day is exactly perfect and you know it because it feels like  raw fucking MDMA is being shot out of every neuron in your synaptic cortex?   If you could bottle that up and sell it, you would awesome.  Better living through chemistry.

Sagittarius– How are you still alive? Fuck Sagittariuses.

Aries– If you knew how much money and pussy this website gets us, you would keel over with envy.

Taurus– Anyone still wearing the stock Apple iPhone earbuds in this day and age is queerbait.  Get some nice over-the-ear headphones with some drivers in them.

Gemini– Looking for a change in your life?  Buy some explosives.  Why not?

Libra– That pang of guilt you feel for that bad thing you did last week?  That is actually early-stage onset syphilis.  Go get that checked out right away.




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