“Sunday Bloody Sunday”

I miss football; Sundays just aren’t the same without it.

Yes we have baseball, but truthfully I would rather watch the Cowboys win the Superbowl…who am I kidding, no I wouldn't.

I also know there's church, but it's not like we can sack the pastor and/or pour a bucket of the blood of Christ on him as if it was Gatorade for delivering a good sermon…or could we.

Honestly if we could I would frigging love it, church would kick more ass than a donkey punter and I would be there bright and early every Sunday, front row center.

Unfortunately though we can’t, we have to sit there quietly and completely bored out of our minds, kind of like being a Tampa Bay Bucs fan (sorry, I know low blow).

Now bust out those big foam fingers proclaiming somebody is number one and point them straight up to the heavens, because I’m about to take you to football church!

There are some commonalities the two share, like for example public prayers, Hail Marys and of course a person in a position of authority wearing a black and white uniform screwing someone over.

But what if they incorporated more footballsy things into church; it would really make it a heck (sorry for the harsh language) of a lot more interesting and would totally put more butts in those uncomfortable seats of theirs.

Speaking of their uncomfortable seats; or torture devices as I like to call them, what was the thinking behind that?

Whose bright idea was it to make sitting through a sermon just as much a pain in the rear as it in on the ears; this person must be fired at once or sentenced to a lifetime of being an altar boy at a church that gives out Viagra instead of those little wafers as the body of Christ.

Would a nice relaxing seat really be all that bad, I mean think about it, the reason most people don’t want to go is because the thought of substituting their cozy couch for a hard piece of wood makes their bums scream out in agony like they just sat on a freezing cold toilet seat.

Replace the horrendous benches with something more pleasant for the derriere and you may just see the attendance pick up, just saying.

Okay, enough about the seating arrangements, now back to the game…

Throw out the bible, send them to all the homeless people living out on the streets, and give them something to line their cardboard boxes with during the winter months so that they can keep warm.  

Replace it with sports card style literature, complete with action poses, stats (i.e. how many kills, how many stones thrown, etc.) and a piece of petrified gum.

Just don’t forget to throw in some rare cards to make it more intriguing, like Jesus miracle holograms and/or lost souls card which could include the spirits of people who ended up in purgatory.

Think of all the fun the kids will have trading them. 

Time to get things moving as if we were down by a score in the fourth quarter and we just hit the two-minute warning, so hold on tight because here we go…  

Smoking hot cheerleaders in short skirts shaking their pom-poms behind the priest also wouldn’t hurt, but please just no nuns in cheerleader’s outfits, ugh talk about nightmares.

A time clock would make things a little easier to tolerate too, because time flies during football season like a perfectly thrown spiral, but when in church it moves ever so slowly like a your time in a doctor’s waiting room, so knowing how much longer you had before you could rise up and fly out the door like an angel the better.

We all know that church already has a mascot, Mr. Jesus Christ himself, but he’s going to have to lighten up and stop telling everyone where they’re going when they die, unless of course it’s to the Superbowl!

Each church could have their own team name and colors, because nothing brings people closer together than being able to cheer on their favorite team while rocking out in their sweet gear.

We also must not forget about the holy trash talking, because what good is a competitive environment if we’re not able to tell opposing fans that by rooting for their church they are sinning and will burn in hell, like all those gay people, Democrats and just about anyone else who doesn’t follow our particular religion.

Having commentators give you the play-by-play of the goings on under the steeple would definitely spice up the atmosphere, especially if they shared all those dirty little secrets that are normally kept locked away like all those pesky Da Vinci codes.

Instead of just taking our money and not giving us anything in return, other than a new addition being built on to the priest’s mansion, they could really shake things up by allowing us to bet on the outcome of the service with the winner getting the collection plate proceeds.

Finally, get rid of the choir and have big name acts perform each Sunday, just like in the Superbowl halftime show, imagine going to church and seeing a Janet Jackson “wardrobe malfunction”…mmm chocolate nipple.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Football. A-Touchdown! 

MJM

“Facebook: Like it or Lump it”

In addition to the "thumbs up" button, they should really have a "thumbs down" and a "middle finger" button, that way you could truly voice how you feel about some of the nonsense people post there.

I feel like the “Facebook man” is keeping us down, telling us to either like it or lump it.

They want to portray this happy-go-lucky atmosphere, make outsiders think that all their users are shiny happy people without a care in the world, a bunch of Grateful Dead groupies if you will.

It’s almost as if they believe we all have a permanent smile plastered across our faces like the Joker in The Dark Knight.

“Wanna know how I got these scars? Facebook was a drinker and a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So - me watching - he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it! Turns to me, and he says, "Why so serious, son?" Comes at me with the knife... "Why so serious?" He sticks the blade in my mouth... "Let's put a smile on that face!" And...why so serious?”

See how mean Facebook is?

However we all know the truth, we are a bunch of cynical and miserable bitches and bastards who look at the glass as half full, and we’re damn proud of it.

We are a group of cumquats who are too hip for MySpace, but not quite hip enough for Twitter, so we find ourselves chilling out on Facebook like an ice cube in a tall refreshing glass of lemonade.

We don’t go with the grain and we don’t go against it, we just sit there like a bump on a log doing absolutely nothing, letting real life pass us by while we happily scroll through page after page of people’s useless thoughts, opinions and random crap that happened to them throughout the day.

Facebook is our life blood; it’s what keeps us ticking and what keeps as alive!

The problem is that the almighty Facebook gods don’t let us be ourselves; they keep us from genuinely expressing ourselves as if we were Madonna in the late 80s.

Now with that said, I suggest we start a campaign to show them how serious we are about wanting these additions!

We could really clean things if this comes to fruition.

Think about it, people would think twice before they just haphazardly clicked post after writing some ridiculous rambling.

If you want to fight the power, and rage against the machine, then click here and support the cause!

Now this is a cause we should really be sharing with every single person we know on Facebook, and not those stupid games, quizzes and/or causes for cures and stuff…just saying.  

MJM

“The ABCs of White-Trash”

Now this piece isn’t going to be about The Jackson 5 and their hit song “ABC”, or a trip down good old Sesame Street to get your learn on, so if you’re easily offended and/or looking for some of that wholesome humor that you would find on Lifetime then you’re in the wrong place.

This is a list of the ABCs of white-trash, a list of things that would make the Bundy's (Married with Children) blush, or at least feel a little uneasy about.

Here goes…

A is for alcoholics anonymous, because one needs something to do when they aren’t drinking. I find it funny that when they have their drunk on they don’t care about being anonymous, but as soon as they are getting help they don’t want anyone to know, it’s a secret. If you ask me I think these people are ashamed of the wrong thing. 

B is for bastard, which pretty much sums up all the kids born into white-trash families. Fathers are scarce in these families, at least ones that would admit to being the poppa without a DNA and Maury Povich. Mothers on the other hand really have no choice; it’s hard for them to deny that it wasn’t them blasting a kid of their lady parts in the delivery room.

C is for crack, and I don't mean the kind that is located down a plumber's back, which there is plenty of, but rather the kind that is white as snow and smells oh so great…or at least that’s what I’ve heard. This stuff flows like water in a white-trash household, more of a pastime than baseball is.

D is for drug test, they are to white-trash as kryptonite is to Superman. When one of these individuals is selected for a “random” drug test their stomachs turn, they feel as if they were just betrayed by their best friend. They know they are about to lose something that is near and dear to their heart, and I’m not talking about a job here, but rather something like foodstamps or their goodies (aka prescription drugs).

E is for eviction, because when mister landlord finally has enough of their shenanigans and decides to throw the bums out, an eviction is what they get. White-trash people are professionals when it comes to evictions, they know exactly how long they have before the big bad sheriff comes a knocking.

F is for fighting, fisticuffs and mouths running amok. It isn't a party until there is some scrapping going down like on an episode of Jerry Springer. Don’t get it twisted, they may all claim to hate the cops but they will call them when shit gets real, and unfortunately for the cops when they arrive on the scene they become the bad guys and are stuck in the middle of a white-trash hoedown.

G is for garbage, on trash night their eyes light up like the one working headlight on a hooptie, they get all happy and giddy because they know it’s almost time to shop. When the neighbors are nestled all snug in their beds, they hit the streets like gangbusters looking for all those great deals to furnish their trailers.        

                   

H is for hoes, which is unfortunately what all the female kind becomes when born under the white-trash umbrella. These skanks pass around STDs like Jehovah's Witnesses passing around their Watchtower crap. When their brother’s friends come over, it’s not to play Monopoly or Parcheesi, but to play naked cashier (they don’t play doctor because they don’t like to be unrealistic) with their sister.

I is for injustice, because anything that happens to them that they don’t like and/or agree with, it is labeled as an injustice. What, my car is being repossessed for lack of payment; but I’m only five months behind…what an injustice!

J is for jerk, because that is exactly what these freaks become when dealing with anyone in a customer service oriented field. They just feel it is their duty to make these people’s lives miserable.

K is for kids, and these freaks have a lot of them, from many different partners, they make BeBe's kids look like child’s play. They see dollar signs for every kid they pop out, foodstamp balance goes up and their excitement level follows suit, no more cheap hot dogs at their house. And from the birth certificate to the obituaries, these little sons of bitches are major pains in the ass and go out of their way to make our lives a living hell.  

L is for lice, what can I say, some families have cats and/or dogs as pets, but in a white-trash family they have those precious little head critters known as lice as their faithful companion. There is so much lice in their hair that they would need Moses to part them just to get a haircut.

M is for manners, which none of these douchebags have. They will make sure that you, and anyone around them, knows that they are just a few brain cells from flinging poop at each other and hanging out in the zoo in the monkey cage.

N is for noise, and white-trash individuals definitely know how to make it, and they love to make it at the most inopportune time and extremely loud. God forbid you ever have to live by any of these monsters, because trust me; you won’t be having a quiet nights rest any time soon.

O is for oblivious, which is something they all seem to be when dealing with real world problems/issues, but they sure as hell can tell you what happened last night on Big Brother or Jersey Shore without missing a beat.

P is for prescription pills, or as most call them, party favors. Take as prescribed means absolutely nothing when it comes to these little bad boys. They are eaten like candy, sometimes even kept in a Pez dispencer…one with a Rush Limbaugh topper.

Q is for queef, the ladies don’t want to be outdone by their male counterparts so when he farts she queefs. Also, regardless of which sex dealt it, they all blame it on the dog because it’s just the funny thing to do.

R is for roaches, these families have both, the ones to hold their little joints, and the big brown ones that come out at night when the lights go off, just like Batman. Surprisingly they don’t seem too concerned and/or willing to get rid of either any time soon.

S is for sue, and we’re not talking about a woman here, but rather the possibility of scamming someone, or some company over all with the hopes of scoring a big payday. These people live for the chance to sue, when an occasion presents itself they get all excited like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to open up his/her gift while mom and dad are sleeping.

T is for terminated, because nothing makes a white-trash individual feel as if they won the lottery more than getting fired from their job, because they know it’s now money for nothing and checks for free. Unemployment is their dream job.

U if for underwear, which is something that they won’t change all that often, that is unless you count turning them inside out as changing them, because then it is a little more frequent but still not enough to warrant good personal hygiene.

V is for violence; because when words just aren’t enough to hurt someone and crush their soul it’s time to get all fisty, stabby and shooty on their asses. That’ll teach them!

W is for work, which is something they try to avoid at all costs. Work is for the weak, for the people who like to pay all their bills on time and junk. And when they desire something shiny and new it’s time to hit the pawn shop to sell something they “borrowed” from their next-door neighbor.

X is for Xanax, they all take it and totally wipe their asses with the recommended dosage amount, because they are rebels and they are not having any of that nonsense. Trust me, they don’t take it to deal with anxieties/stresses in their life, considering none of them have jobs, bills or just about anything else that would cause a normal person to rip their hair out, so we all know that’s not it. The only reason they take it is to be like a kite. They say you trip when you take a bunch of it, but if you ask me, if I wanted to take a trip without leaving my house I would just watch the Travel channel.

Y is for yelling, which is an art form these kinds of people excel in. If it was an Olympic event they would take home the gold every time. They especially love to yell in public, where there are many ears around to hear all the crazy they spew from their pieholes.

Z is for zero, which is the number of times that a white-trash individual will brush their teeth and/or put on deodorant on any given day. What you don’t believe, try going to any Walmart and you will see I’m not lying here.

Well there you have it, the ABCs of white-trash brought to you by the mind of a man whose brain is stuck on crazy around the clock.

MJM

Now if you actually made it to the end of the piece without punching your computer screen and calling me something derogatory, then I got some other works you might like.

“Difference Between White-Trash and Redneck”

“The ABCs of Perversion”

“Five Reasons You Know You Live Next-door to a Jerk”

Guess what all you party people out there in internetland! I have a guest blogger visiting The Insane Asylum today…and yes she’s real and not just a figment of my imagination. Check out what she has to say about neighbors from hell from her own personal experiences, and when you’re done make sure to check out the links below for more about her.

So sit back, enjoy and show some mad love to author Nicole Maddalo Dixon!

Being a homeowner is a marvelous thing. First of all, you now have a real live, grown-up piece of equity, which means you have financial security. It also means you get to pack up your shit and make good on that promise to your parents to run away from home.

But there are negative things that come with being a homeowner. For instance, there’s Buyer’s Remorse, which, in our case meant we should have viewed the home during prime daylight hours instead of after 6PM, because our house gets no fucking sunlight. Our home is where light, and hope, come to die. Seriously, flowers and plants cannot survive on our property because…no sunlight. And then there is the worst nightmare of all: The goddamned jerky next-door neighbor.

Now these five examples all come from the neighbor my husband and I were stuck living immediately next to, in a townhome no less, for seven god-less years, but they also happen to apply to every jerk neighbor in the world, so it’s a win-win situation for the sake of this article, but a lose-lose situation for your sanity and criminal-free record when you finally lose your shit and straight-up murder them.

Non-Stop Parties

My husband and I came home from a decent, fun night out around 11PM and found out that we were suddenly living next to what was the equivalent of a frat house. Making this analogy even more precious is the fact that guests (and by guests I am of course referring to douchebags), were still arriving, and no douchebag guest would be complete without their douchey toga. Yes, this girl, in her late twenties by then, was having a real life toga party.

But Nikki, you’re thinking, that sounds awesome! I can assure you that no, no it is not. First of all, there is an ordinance against noise pollution after 11 PM for a reason, and that is to keep your black-market, nitro-amped speakers from blowing a hole through our wall, or whatever the hell kind of speakers they were (I know nothing about speakers). It is also so that I don’t have to suffer the loud din of your toga infested, douchebag guests while I am in the privacy of my own home and attempting to round off my pleasant day by falling asleep to The Bridges of Madison County.

And I’m not talking about the one-night-and-here parties, I’m talking about the every-Friday-and-Saturday-fucking-night kind of parties. Until 4:30 AM! That is NOT effing awesome! Do you honestly think I would lie about that? I wouldn’t do that to you.

And then there’s the fact that…

They Always Own One More Dog than Necessary

This jerk owned two dogs: One little rinky-dink one, and one big old fat one. Either way, both of them left their turds to fester under the hot, hot sun in the backyard that consisted not of grass, but rocks. What sort of jerk does that? I mean, really. Who makes a rock-yard for the sake of thinking it means you won’t have to clean up your little doggy messes and big fat doggy, big old fat poops?

That little one was always somehow hopping the four foot fence that separated our grass from their rocks and maybe taking a shit on our grass for good measure. And this jerk did nothing to curb her irritating little douche of a dog from hopping that fence. In fact, she even made it easier for that damned dog by carelessly leaving the gate that attached her property to ours open just a smidge. Did you understand what I just explained there? There were two hidden “jerk” red-flags in that one sentence. First, what type of self-entitled jerk installs a fence that gives access  the yard directly attached to their neighbor’s, and second, what type of jerk makes it even easier for their pesky, turd-producing jerk of a dog to get out of the yard and run around the neighborhood like a little, miniature jerk?

Then there was the weekend she went away with one of the random fellas she’d bring home from the bar (though she wound up marrying this one. Score one for desperation!). She left those ridiculous dogs, locked up I have to assume, in her bedroom with her freaking windows open. It was spring, and my husband and I had our windows open as well to let in a nice, pleasant, little springtime breeze, and apparently also the unwelcome sounds of two jerk dogs barking throughout the entire freaking night. Adding to this fun-filled night is the fact that that bedroom of hers is literally directly next to the bedroom of ours. Finally, at 3 AM, I went outside and left a note on her door that read, and I quote, “Your windows are open and your dogs are barking continuously so we can’t sleep. P.S., everybody on this block hates you.” Signed, Nikki. Yes, I absolutely signed that letter, because that’s how I roll and I would have liked her to dare try and approach me. She never did. She just hid behind the walls of that brothel townhome of hers calling me “the bitch next-door”. I found out about this little gem because…

She Finally Found Someone Who Was Also Equally a Jerk

Yes, as I mentioned, she managed to get one of the men she brought home on the weekends to stick around, and I’ll tell you why—because he had nothing better to do. She gave him a job in her gym, or whatever the hell it was she owned, and she let him move into her house because she had no self-respect or pride.

He showed up on our doorstep drunk in the evening after 10 PM to “apologize” for her behavior while my husband and I were discussing the horrifying and devastating death of a member of our family.

I did not want this brand new contending jerk to stick around, and so I accepted his “apology”, and then explained that we were discussing the death of a loved one and his memorial service in the hopes that he would get the hint and leave quietly. Instead, he proceeded to then apologize for our loss, and then proceeded to unnecessarily stick around all inebriated and wobbly-like, and continue apologizing for, and I can’t stress this enough, something he had taken no part in and so therefore did not know what the fuck he was even talking about. Plus, there was the matter of the alcohol that made damned sure that he did not know what the fuck he was even talking about!

He then asked me my name and said, during his speech of apology, “I only know you as the bitch next-door.” I had to know, so I asked him, “Are you for real? Is this how you give an apology for something that you have no idea what you’re even fucking talking about?” He then proceeded to again accuse me of dumping cigarette ashes and butts between “their” storm and entry doors.

I say “again” because…

He Accused Me of Dumping Cigarette Ashes and Butts between Her Storm and Entry Doors

So you see, this nightmare neighbor accused me of a crime I did not commit and, proving he was even dumber than I originally  thought, said he called the cops to report it. But he totally lied. Now I am a criminal justice major who graduated at the top of her entire graduating class (summa, thank you very much!), so I therefore knew that if he had indeed called the cops, that cop was on the other end of the line rolling his eyes. It turns out this was true because when I snarkily called to check up on his report, the cop whom I spoke with had a very good laugh over this ridiculousness with me.

Anyway, this asshole announces this imagined crime by telling my husband that I dumped ashes full of cigarette butts between her storm and entry doors. This is just simple proof that more people than just me hated her, because no, I didn’t freaking do that! He should have figured this out by the fact that I am obviously confrontational, and so therefore, have no use for doing sneaky things like dumping cigarette ashes between someone’s front doors.

This is how I first found out about him by the way, and I don’t need to remind you of the old adage “There is no second chance for a first impression”. Well, in this case, it was certainly true.

I was out that evening, and my husband was sitting peacefully on the porch enjoying a quiet summer night when this new jerk showed up to confront him (and he was drunk of course) about my dumping said ashes, and then proceeded to tell my husband that if I were more of a woman I would have confronted her. Now, if he knew what the fuck he was even talking about he would know that I had confronted her several times in the past which always involved me nicely asking her to be the fuck quiet.

So, my husband, understandably angry, reports this to me, and so I do what I do best and went over to confront her. But he answered the door. I told him, nicely (this was before I left that fun little post-it on her door telling her everybody hated her), that I did not in fact dump those ashes. So this confirmed genius asks me (the person who did not do it) where the ashes and butts came from then. “How the fuck should I know?” I thought to myself. But what I said was, “Well, there is a beach-bucket right there on your porch that’s filled to the brim with cigarette butts and ashes. Perhaps that’s where they came from.” I’m not even kidding—there was a beach-bucket filled to the brim with cigarette butts and ashes on her front porch. He said “No, they did not.” I don’t have to tell you at this point that these two jerks made it easy for just anyone to come along and show their dislike by using their own cigarette butts and ashes against them. But whatever, clearly they knew that the cigarette butts and ashes did not come from that bucket, and that I did it. I’m sure they combined their genius-level IQs and CSI’d the shit out of those cigarette butts and ashes between their doors and found out my tiny little ashtray did the trick and not that medium-sized beach-bucket full that was sitting right there on their front porch.

And Finally

I Did Nice Things For Her Always Without So Much As A “Thank You”.

Okay, despite leaving that really mean post-it on her door, I was nothing but genial towards her (no, I don’t know why. I’m just awesome, I assume). During all those parties I went out back and kindly asked her to turn it down, and this is how I was finally pushed into writing that note, because people can only take so much before they crack.

I also helped rescue that little jerk of a dog when it escaped for the umpteenth time through the smidgen of a crack she left between that intrusive gate and fence, and as she came outside to lazily attempt to catch him herself, she did so at the exact moment I put that dog, lovingly, ever so lovingly, back into her poop-infested rock yard and fucking closed the gate. She just stood there, silent, watching. I gave her a smirk. Seriously? No thank you for that? After all the hell she had put me through? I still helped her dumb little dog from becoming road-pie and she couldn’t even thank me. What a jerk.

If you live next to someone, or someone’s like this, who has at least 2-3 of this attributes, you may be living next to a big, fat, jerk.

The End

Nicole Maddalo Dixon is the author of Bandita Bonita: Romancing Billy the Kid, Book I, and was born and raised in Philadelphia, and now lives in Bucks County,  PA with her husband, Wallace.

Nicole's Author Page

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“Pearls of Wisdom”

I decided that since I’m so freaking smart and junk, that I would share my wisdom with all the lovely people of the internet.

It’s the least I could do for the loads of free porn and hours of enjoyment I get from reading all those posts from anonymous tough guys hiding behind keyboards ripping others to shreds for no other reason than to cause more havoc than a red sock that found its way into a load of whites.

So sit back and enjoy, and there’s no need to thank me because I’m all about educating the wisdomless.

Here we go…

1. Not all cops are bad, remember it's not the uniform it's the person wearing it that decides its fate.

So before you go judging a profession based on the actions of a few, take a step back, refocus and deal with the guilty individual(s) accordingly and not take it out on the profession as a whole.

2. Due to events that have transpired over the past year, we have learned that black lives matter, which should have totally been a given but in this world you never really know.

Now with that said, I personally think we should replace the word “black” with “all” and just go with “all lives matter, because that’s the way it should be.

Black or white, gay or straight, it doesn't matter, we should all follow the philosophy live and let live and stop hating on people for no other reason than the fact that they are different than ourselves.

3.  To those bible beating homophobic males out there in the world who believe that all gays are going to hell, for no real reason other than loving someone of the same sex.

You do know that includes your precious lesbians too, and I don't just mean just the butch ones either, those hot lipstick lesbians that you enjoy so much are also going?

4. Why do we need special times/occasions to find a cure, to show someone just how loved they are and/or to celebrate a significant event in the world we live in?

Shouldn't we spread happiness and love every day, and not just when we're told to?

5. Hating on others because of their sexual preference, the color of their skin, their choice in religion, etc, is just plain old stupid and needs to stop.

I know some of you may say this is a given, which of course it should be, but unfortunately it is not, thanks to all the ignorant people we have breathing our air and freely walking our streets.

There should be a law that makes it legal to punch idiots square in their big stupid heads, just like the stand your ground law, your intelligence is threatened when these fools open their pie holes so it is justified.

6. We need to learn to keep our mouths shut, our personal input is not as important as we believe it is, whether you want to believe it or not.

Sometimes the smartest thing to do is keep your lips zipped, and our opinions to ourselves.

(The End)

Well there you have it party people, you just got served a nice big helping of meaty and yummy delicious brain food, enjoy it and chew with your mouths closed.

MJM

“Manspreading”

First it was the seats on an airplane, fat people had to buy one or two extra all depending on their circumference to accommodate for their girth.

Now however, they’ve gone too far.

They are attacking innocent men who have no other option but to sit with their legs spread on the subway (manspreading), either that or run the risk of racking themselves.

When it comes to buying extra seats because you’re fat I’m all for it, because for the most part fat is something you can control, but having balls is not and one should not be penalized for it.

Of course one does not have to have their legs spread as wide as a trailer park tramp who accepts foodstamps for a good time, but there does need to be a gap just like in Michael Strahan’s teeth.

I’m all for standing so a woman could sit, but trust me another man would completely understand and not think twice about letting the spread happen as needed.

If anything a man sitting next to you might just get up to help a brother out, trust me I know because I’ve done it myself, us carriers of the jewels have to stick together.

And if need be, when I do ride the subway, I would have no problem buying one or two extra tokens, all depending on what kind of testicle day I was having,  just to make my wiener and meatballs feel comfortable.

As for all those people out there who are claiming it’s just an ego thing, which I’m sure are all women, don’t know the half of it.

I don’t partake in the manspread because I think I’m hung like a horse, but rather because I know the pain of having one’s balls squished, and believe me it doesn’t feel good.

Some of you may say if that’s the case then why do butch lesbians do it?

In all fairness though that is not an accurate comparison, because they are trying to be like a man, so they will take on certain mannerisms of ours to accomplish that task, even sitting like us.

If I want to be like a fish I would swim in the ocean, but that doesn’t mean I can breathe under water, understand?

The bottom line is that this “movement” isn’t really about our fellas and how much room we allow for them, but more so the fact that some men won’t vacate their seat for a woman.

I completely understand that, and as I stated before would be more than happy to do so, but in all reality this kind of behavior from the men of today is partially to blame on the women of today.

Relax, before you go all girl power on me, I’m just saying that you send mixed signals when it comes to what a man should and shouldn’t do for you.

You need to make up your minds and let us know, do you want us to act like complete gentleman, or let you be woman and hear you roar?

No matter what the outcome, just please keep the “kids” out of this.

They have nothing to do with all this nonsense and don’t deserve to be placed in front of the firing squad or in a vise-grip (ouch).

Well there you have it, my feelings on the spread and the men behind it.

Take it for what it’s worth but always remember, while yours can close shut like a clam, ours has to have plenty of breathing room like a blossoming flower.

MJM  

“1st and 10 Years: The Cheating Game”

This past Sunday, the call that made Cowboys fans rejoice and Lions fans go all Ray Rice on their television sets.

The infamous pass interference call in the 4^th quarter that could have changed the outcome of the game, but was reversed because of who knows why; we may need to call in the Scooby gang to figure this one out.

We can all argue our points as to whether it was or wasn’t the right call, but if we’re being honest here we will also admit that if it was our favorite team who just happened to be playing Detroit in that game we would have jumped for joy like someone in one of those old Toyota commercials when it was overturned.

Was it shady business?

Well they were playing in Dallas and according to TMZ a Mr. Dean Blandino (league’s vice-president of officiating) was partying like it was 1999 on the Cowboys party bus just days before the game, things that make you go hmmm indeed.

With me being an avid Giants fan, I do believe that the Cowbitches, sorry I’m trying to be professional here; the Cowboys did in fact pull a fast one and end up with an undeserved win.

However, in all fairness to Dallas that’s really only because I hate them with a passion and anything that makes them look bad I’m all for it, so take it for what it’s worth.

Now as far as cheating is concerned.

I have news for you, once there was money to be made in the sporting world there was cheating to be had, and yes even with our beloved football, and yes even in today’s game.   

From the referees (who are just a direction of stripes away from being behind bars) to the teams who do things like inform the obviously medically enhanced franchise player of a “surprise” drug test to take place after the big game to everything in between, cheating is as much a part of football as the ball itself…just ask Bill Belichick.

Some players, referees and even teams (well except for the New York Giants of course) are as crooked as politicians, the NFL is nothing more than Capitol Hill, and to believe otherwise is utterly ridiculous.

When it comes to the players, above the law off the field but only if you’re having a winning season on the field, don’t believe me just ask Ray Lewis, Adam "Pacman" Jones, Michael Vick, Ray Rice, etc.

Bad calls, cheap shots and making it rain on players who are nothing more than a flash in the pan (Snickers anyone) all with the hopes of making it to the top of the mountain and bringing home the gold.

Now of course spending an exuberant amount on money for the so-called next big thing isn’t a crime in itself, but it sure as hell should be, especially after these bastards end up sucking more than Monica Lewinsky.

Obviously this past Sunday’s call/no-call pass interference fiasco wasn’t the first ever football what dafuq in the sports history, and trust me it won’t be the last, so just get over it and move on people…even if it does mean the Cowboys moving on (yuck).

So now that all the cards are laid out on the table, and we’re all on the same page here, enjoy the game and may the best (and sneakiest) cheaters win.

Here’s to Greenbay…at least for this upcoming weekend anyway.

To all those people who think that Tom Brady got a bum deal in the whole DeflateGate scandal...

The man is one of the most seasoned and decorated quarterbacks to play the game today, so to believe he wasn't aware of the deflated balls is just utterly ridiculous, we aren't talking about a rookie here. 

It's not so much that he was aware of it prior, but more so that he didn't bring it to anyone's attention while it was going on, so it's still cheating. 

I personally think he got off easy.

MJM