Pizza Comedy

March Madness sprung into action yesterday like Verne Troyer out of a cannon, as people around the country labored over insignificant game picks that only cost one point. For a brief moment, teams like Old Dominion and Robert Morris matter. And if you’re someone like me, you’ve already probably lost in both of the office pools you entered.

This is my bracket. Suck on it.

But that’s OK. I don’t do it for the money, I do it for the loyalty. If I did it all for the money, I’d be no worse than Jerry Maguire. And we all know how that story turned out. With Snow Dogs.

Like this guy on Seton Hall, who takes loyalty to the next level. The next level of balls. Watch Seton Hall’s Herb Pope use this guy’s nuts like a punching bag.

THIS…IS…MADNESS!!

For the record, the man receiving those saddle bags was Texas Tech’s Darko Cohadarevic. Ouch. That’s a ballsy move. Not a time to be getting teste. That was a real ball buster. This guy likes to eat at Dave and Busters.

Nuts. Well, it’s gonna be a great couple weeks of basketball. Georgetown is already out, and overall, the tournament is off to a pretty unpredictable start. Let’s see where it goes. Go Syracuse, go orange, all the way baby!!

>> Check out the scores and bracket right here.

Last night was a successful honoring of St. Paddy’s Day debauchery, filled with beer, shots, and my fake Irish accent (here’s a sample: “Aye laddie! Yarrs a wench, ain’t ya?!”) I’m pretty sure that’s Irish, maybe with a hint of pirate.

But the shot du jour of the evening was the Irish Car Bomb, which I had to explain to my friend — who for some reason, could not grasp this concept — that real Irish people (and real Irish bars) are offended by that shot. I tried to explain that Car Bombs are a real problem in Ireland, people die, hence them not being too fond of the nomenclature. It would be like walking into New York and ordering a “9/11″. People might get upset. That, and Irish people don’t do that kind of shot. They enjoy the taste of Guinness without chugging it like a stupid American.

I was parched from all this talking, so we went into an Irish pub and ordered a lot of Irish Car Bombs. We actually did at least 4 in total — clearly, no Irish people worked at this bar — followed by thick beers and more shots. We followed the night binge with the traditional Irish dish of pizza at 3am. I hear they flew in the dough right from the green, rolling hills of the motherland. It tasted like cabbage.

Unfortunately, when I woke up this morning, it seemed as if all those Car Bomb shots left a little extra gas in my tank. I tried, as usual, to light my farts on fire, and let’s just say things went poorly…

If you’re impressed by that, you should see this guy poop.

Maybe I missed the memo, but I don’t recall when Hulk Hogan had enough street cred to be called a “Nigga.” Clearly, he is extremely tan, so I could see how there could be some confusion. But one would assume that his nordic blonde fu-manchu would create enough of a distinction to not mix it up. Given that point, Hogan does call everyone “brother”, which has been popular in black communities as long as Old English Malt Liquor has existed. And he drives a bright yellow car. I don’t even know what culture likes that.

I think a ton of white people aspire to reach this equal status plateau (just look at that wigger king fembot Eminem). I love how homeboy above tries — post-jive-talkin’ — to cover it up by calling him a “Sucka”…….Classic Fail.

You can tell by the meaty veins in this dude’s neck that he means business, and if a herculean sweaty black man called me out like this, I think you’d find me living off the grid like John Conner. And I fear Booker T might have succeeded with his threats, because after further research I found this video below, which is reminiscent of Tupac and Biggie’s prophetic death predictions. I wonder if it was the the Harlem Hangover that finally did him in.

I made it through the work day, and now I’m off to play Irishman.

These images below should paint a nice picture of today’s motto: Play beer pong until you’ve got 99 bottles of beer on the wall. Then go be a drunk asshole.

CHEERS!!

This is a real song, and a fantastic one at that. Even with its forced rhyming structure (they rhyme “lama” with Obama) and purposeful Irish misspelling of his last name, this holiday tune really brings home the bacon…cabbage and stew. Now I realize why Obama (who’s grandfather was actually Irish) is such a smooth talker and is always so calm…he’s drunk.

So I recommend you turn your speakers up to 11, grab a pint, and let the Corrigan Brothers tell you a tale.

toor a loo, toor a lama, there’s no one as Irish as Barack Obama…

Aye, laddie! Happy St. Paddy’s Day!!

Ironic that this Irish drink-fest is on a hump day? I’d actually say it’s incredibly appropriate, since so many young men and women will be drinking green beer, taking green shots, and then retiring to their cheap hotel room for sloppy green “vomit-coitus” (an ancient Irish ritual, held in the highest esteem possible).

Yes, the work-day hangovers are going to be in full bloom tomorrow. But before that happens, there is going to be a full day of verde-soaked drinking, Irish stew, and Guinness mustaches, topped off with the most important St. Paddy’s Day tradition ever: the puke and rally.

So enjoy, young diplomats. Let your green, white, and orange shine bright. And before your retire to your rooms for some hot VC action, remember to wear a green jimmy hat and have a drink on me…

Lots more hot Irish ladies below…

Read the caption for this picture, then continue to the article…

Let the good times roll

I did a semester abroad in Australia and let me tell you, the wheelbarrow trick works. 80% of the time.

Gye Gardner, the 43 year-old truck driver pictured in the wheelbarrow above, added this piece of nostalgic trivia:

“I did it once at a Jimmy Barnes concert in the car park beside a bus - but everyone was watching the concert so it wasn’t really public.”

That’s true, it wasn’t. You need to give Jimmy Barnes full exposure for that to count in his book. For those of you wondering who Jimmy Barnes is, it’s this dude. He’s a very famous Australian musician, but more importantly, he’s an advocate of outdoor sex and wheelbarrow rolls. Or so I’m told.

Another Australian woman — a spry 24-year old chica named Emily Smith — added this:

But Ms Smith said she could see why Darwinites could feel to urge of having sex in the street.

“I guess it always depends on the circumstances, if you just come out of a club and you’re drunk and you’re really desperate and can’t make it home because it always takes so long until you get a taxi in the city …”

Makes perfect sense. The taxis take so long and wheelbarrows are always laying around. So I guess the question now is: who wants to go down under with me?

>> Click here to read the full article

Ben Roethlisberger is making his rounds as the NFL’s biggest dick. Between constant sexual harassment claims and alleged rapes, the 2-time Superbowl winner and starting QB for the Pittsburgh Steelers is doing his best to go down as public enemy #1. All he’s really got left to do is punch a toddler in the face while anally raping the corpse of Johnny Unitas and he’ll have Michael Vick beat for sure.

"How 'bout we get drunk and I force my penis inside you. Whaddaya say, sluut?"

In the most recent “Big-Ben’s-A-Big-Dick” news, the 6′5″ degenerate visited a highly touted country club owned by golf hall of famer, Arnold Palmer. To sum it up quickly, the country club, located in Latrobe, PA (home of Rolling Rock beer and this pervert), allowed Roethlisberger on their course despite not being a member. What ensued was an official shellacking by none other than Arnold Palmer:

It’s good to see old people doing something useful for a change, instead of just bothering me for help up library steps or constantly telling me I remind them of their granddaughter. Apparently Arnold Palmer is a straight shooter and lays down the law. Just look at how he views guys who wear hats indoors. I think this proves we youngsters shouldn’t mess with former pro-golfers. They keep it real. I’ll be sure to remember this the next time I get into another tussle with Greg Norman. Hopefully it’ll help me refrain from calling him a “down under faggot” again.

Click here for the whole Arnold Palmer vs Ben Roethlisberger story.