Arteests For Hire

This image, along with a handful of others, graced the Webs, courtesy of the Leatherage, late last week. I meant to post it then, but I had about 87 pints of beer to consume before I was actually going to clock in.

It came to them via some folks known as Machochip, who discovered it within the vaults of the Vargas portfolio (Editor's Note: their website has a badass samba song playing on their home page, but alas, no credit to the musicians). Yes. Quite the happy little cyber trail that has now made its way to the House of Georges. Good times. Check out more screamin' good times after the jump.

Another of our favorite blogs, Kissing Suzy Kolber, likes to mingle around a web address known as the Professional Cheerleader Blog. This we find humorous for a number of reasons:

1. There's always an abundance of HoG-related talent on that page. Take these:






for example. Or these:






2. KSK frequently comes up with funny stories, like this one, which brought me to the PCB for the second time today.

3. I know. I can hear the sea of curiosity crashing down upon the collective inner monologues of the coveted HoG readership. The first reason for my visit to the aforementioned site involved this post, which may or may not be about my boss' wife and her cheerleading camp.

Jinkies.

Finally, the Deadspinsters blessed us with this glorious hockey post, albeit referencing my Blues with horse manure at the same time. Really. Really. Good times.

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We Are Hot Chicks: Learning The Lesson Can Be Hard

As reported in yesterday's Tradition Tuesday post, the Broncos (along with the rest of the dadburned NFL) report to training camp this week. On the sweltering fields of Dove Valley will be dozens of big fat sweaty dudes looking for a j.o.b. Some will be highly paid returning starters going through the motions, while others will be castoffs from other teams trying to catch on in Denver.

Finally, we'll have the rookies, fresh-faced lads just out of college. Most of them have been the best player on whatever team they graced, but now they're chucked into a furnace of no-compromise scrutiny and criticism.

When we attend games at Invesco this fall, we'll watch these rooks during the game, and when they're taking a break we'll watch some other rookies strut their stuff--the newest Denver Broncos cheerleaders. Following some truly stunning developments at this year's auditions, the squad is strapped with lots of new talent. Can they succeed? Let's find out...

Our first newcomer is Kaoruko Horiike, who's like from Asia or something. I like Chinese food as much as the next guy, but Ms. Horiike is all forehead and no rack. I compare her to the undrafted free agent kicker from Virginia Tech, Brandon Pace. If the cheerleaders had the same training camp as the football players, Horiike would be on the same bus out of camp as Brandon.

Next up is Mary Johnston. Now I'm not going to turn this into a Gregg Easterbrook Cheerleader of the Week disaster, where I overanalyze the biographical information as a justification for ogling Mary Johnston's tits. Mary Johnston chose to try out for this team, just as Roderick Rogers chose to declare for the NFL Draft. So if I can point out that Roderick Rogers is a step slow to play safety in the League, I can also point out that Mary Johnston is cursed with excessive gums and could use a little artificial augmentation.

Sara Oliver is a married fifth-grade teacher. For a cheerleader, that's a bit abnormal, and some less enlightened than myself might call it "baggage." Bronco rookie Marcus Thomas brings his own baggage to the season, what with the third-degree marijuana habit and dismissal from the LSU football team. But I have high hopes for both Sara and Marcus--even though they're both a bit heavy, I can see both making big-time contributions this season.

Another fresh face is Jamie Dukehart-Conti. She says she's from Arvada, but that's a blatant lie--the hairdo and stance scream Texas. And just like second-round pick Tim Crowder, a defensive tackle from UT, I'm predisposed to dislike her for her Longhorn roots but willing to give her a chance if she can perform in the clutch.

Look, all of these broads look fantastic from the 500 level. And just like a missed blocking assignment from ex-CU center Mark Fenton may go unnoticed by the layman, the considerable flaws evident on the visage of Katie Layman may slip by more desperate men. Fenton is not strong enough to hang in the AFC West, and Layman has the nose of a heavyweight boxer. Yikes.

Growing up, we all had a friend who's mom was hot. Nicole Moore could be your buddy's hot mom, if your buddy's house had wheels and a meth lab in the kitchen. I'm starting to think that this exercise of comparing the rookie cheerleaders to the rookie players is a huge jinx on the Broncos.

Whoa-ho, doctor! Was I ever wrong. Saving the rookie class is Rebecca Bolan, a super-cutie straight out of Aurora. I'll pair her up with Ryan Harris, my man-crush offensive tackle the Broncos took in the fourth round out of Notre Dame. In Rebecca's bio she says she "loves to tickle he little nephew." That's funny, because I'm tickling mine as well.

Next in line is Shelby Britton, who looks like she was selected because someone lost a bet. Jesus. She says her favorite book is Pride & Prejudice, because P&P is always the book that former fat girls can relate to. I'll make the hasty pairing of Shelby and receiver Marquay McDaniel (sorry Marquay, I'm sure you're a nice guy) and let's just move on.

The unquestioned first-round pick of this class, the Jarvis Moss if you will, is Jessie Greenberg. Ms. Greenberg is a diamond dealer during the week, and that sentence is not at all Jewish. She sports an awesome set of cans, or at least I assume if you unstrapped that unwieldy bodice you'd get a beautiful nipple in the eye. I'll bet you a million sheqels that Jesse's a raging bitch, but I couldn't care less. If she'll just mesmerize me with her Hebrew goddessness all season, and Jarvis Moss can collect ten sacks, I'll love 'em both unconditionally. Except for the above conditions, of course.

Bringing up the caboose of this project is Valerie Scott. Although it's nice to add a little chocolate for dessert, Ms. Scott is a little frail for my tastes. Not to mention bat shit crazy. When asked which two people she'd like to have dinner with, she answered (noted cross-dresser) Tyler Perry and (Federal Reserve chairman) Ben Bernanke. That is without a doubt the shittiest dinner table I could ever imagine. Valerie, meet Selvin Young, the rookie RB out of the University of Texas. You two have fun. Read more

Say It Ain't So, Drew

Since the Open Letter has become the style of the times, I'd like to post one to Drew Bledsoe, who announced his retirement. There is clamoring from Lone Reader for an NHL playoff preview, which we will not provide. Dude, you live in fucking Canada. Doesn't someone up there do that shit? The playoffs already started, anyway--that ship has sailed.

I kid, I kid. We love our Reader(s). I'm sure Bankmeister is busily flunking out of school in order to deliver his predictions for this riveting spectacle. Don't forget his previous ruminations on this topic (what, like anything has changed?). And rest assured that I, your favorite HoG Farmer, will publish my own indepth analysis of why the Colorado Avalanche will capture their third Stanley Cup (what? you can't be serious! that's never happened!). It will be very positive, because I love the ice hockey and America Junior.

But back to Drew, who probably loved those last few paragraphs because he often lives near Canada himself. Dude, what are you doing? Retirement? How can you hang it up? Just because kids keep taking your gig? Trust me, Bledsoe, you've still got it. No one can freeze a rope like you, sir. Well, almost no one, but he's a superhuman sex machine. Your class and composure in the face of adversity is a beacon to all of those up-and-coming players who view you as a role model.

By the way, is it "role model" or "roll model?" I've seen it both ways, but that’s probably because I read a lot of sportswriting and people that write about sports are fucking retarded.

So please, Drew, reconsider. There are many, many, many teams that could use the services of a mistake-proof, level-headed leader such as yourself. Don’t worry about some other punk stealing your job—none of those moves have worked out. You're a smart guy, Drew--for the love of Mike, you matriculated at Washington State--and you're the prototype 21st-century QB. You're mobile, elusive, and in possession of a thick skin. It ain't time for golf just yet.

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Breakfast In Augusta

And we're off, in this cheap desperate ploy for more readers. If you're affiliated with the Masters Invitational pool and are reading this blog for the first time, welcome. We hope you're not offended by our course language, blatant disregard for for the rules of journalism (and grammar) and consistent wrongness in prediction...actually we're not. We hope you are offended, new readers. Fuck you and the mule you rode in on. We hope you hate the HoG and never, ever come back. Readers are a needless accesory to this endeavor.

Quickly, I must address the last post by our blog's administrator, the (redacted). I have no objection to his making sport of the NFL's greatest coach. But the photo was in very poor taste. Yes, that fat lady did show up for Denver Broncos cheerleader tryouts. But so did these. And these. And these, with The Man in back. Smokin'. Just because one tubby tried to make the squad, that's no reason to denigrate the lovely ladies who don the orange and blue. Of course, none of these broads hold a candle to the Kansas City Chiefs Cheerleaders.

Anyhoo, back to the links. The Masters Invitational was, of course dominated by the selections of one Eldrick Woods, the world's No. 1 player and a pretty fair puller of tail. Tiger appeared on eight of the 12 entries, but only three participants elected to start him for Rounds One and Two. Savin' the big gun for the weekend, I assume. Best of luck with that strategy, gents, and we'll see you this afternoon.

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Broncos Weight Down Cheerleader Tryouts

In an effort to remain atop the classiest of the classy AFC franchises, the Denver Broncos opted to broaden requirements for potential cheerleaders. In the past, potential Colorado cuties had been subject to extreme physical stipulations, provisions that often times left the franchise beneath a lens of ethical scrutiny. HoG found this noble gesture to be so moving, we asked Head Coach Mike Shanahananigan to sit down with us for what we like to call a "Mile-High Chat."


HoG: Coach, thanks for taking the time to sit down with us. We know you're a busy little rodent guy, so let's get right down to business. We understand that you were a big advocate of -- how shall we say this -- widening the competition.

MS: Just because something’s in the newspaper or something’s on a so-called channel does not mean that I said it or someone within the organization said it.

HoG: Uh, coach...isn't that like, one of your go-to press conference lines that you use with the Denver media?

MS: Sorry. What was the question?

HoG: The tryouts, coach. Weren't you a big advocate for implementing this change?

MS: What are you trying to say? That I'm not a likeable guy?

HoG: No, coach. The opposite actually.

MS: Well, of course. He got someone...(pauses to compose self) very special in...(long pause)...

HoG: Uh, coach -- what are you talking about? Cheerleaders. Focus

MS: I know, I know. I'm stunned and deeply saddened by this tragedy.

HoG: The tryout changes?

MS: No. Of course not. I'm talking about not having Johnny on the team. I'm so proud of him.

HoG: For what? Winning Super Bowl MVP? Coach, that was nine years ago. You're concerning me. Have you been sticking to your doctor-regimented tanning bed hour maximum? Jesus. (turns to cameraman) Is he fucked up? His face looks redder than normal. Is that...? Is he slobbering? Look how glassy his eyes are.

MS: (drools)...Mmm...tanning beds...cigarettes...Jameson with a splash of Dewar's. Or is it Dewar's with a splash of Jameson? Fuck.




HoG: Alright, let's skip the cheerleader segment. How does your Player Personnel Department feel about the upcoming draft?

MS: Yes.

HoG: 'Scuse me?

MS: Of course. We're very excited about trying to get Mo' Clo' back on the team.

HoG: Coach, I think he's in the slammer right now.

MS: Never under-estimate the power of the Shanster, compadre.

HoG: Can you tell us anything about your team, coach?

MS: Ha. Bly. Stokley. Henry. What's to tell? Don't forget Jay and Champ and Rod. We are going to totally fucking dominate. After we take over the division, the conference, the league, and the nation, our next immediate goal will be specific regions of Central America. Yeeeeee-haw! You best back the fuck up!

HoG: You seem pretty fired up, coach. What gives you the edge and the confidence?

MS: Are you serious? Have you seen the competition? Once I mow over that junior high kid coaching Al's club, then there's Norv Turner -- are you kidding me with this shit? Norv Turner? -- and Tony Dungy's bunkmate out there in Missou-rah, I'll just club old W. over the head, stuff John Fox in Javon's trunk, and I'll be storming Panama before anyone can fucking stop me.

HoG: You're going to put the head coach of the Carolina Panthers in your wide out's SUV?

MS: No, dumbshit. The president of Mexico.

HoG: Coach, that's Vicente Fox.

MS: Whatever. Let's wrap this up. I got a tanning appointment in 30.

HoG: You got it. How do you feel about the play of your quarterback in his upcoming sophomore season?

MS: Well, technically it'll be his first season as a starter.

HoG: Right. Of course.

MS: That kid's gonna tear it up. He gets the finest (does joint-smoking gesture, offers fake snarf) cheeba in town. We good?

HoG: Absolutely, coach. Thanks for your time.

MS: Don't thank me. Thank the front office (points aggressively at self) for getting that ass clown out of here on the first bus to Tampa. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a (offers finger quotes) marathon to run.

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