Just Give Me The Damn (Redacted)

The food service establishment closest to my office happens to be a Subway in a strip mall. I go there about once a week. Right next door to the Subway is a tanning salon, and the primary desk employee at that tanning salon is this hot little blonde who always smiles at me.

Many a time I've walked by the blonde, smiled back at her, and fantasized that one day she would pull me into her business, throw me down on a tanning bed and fuck me blue. It never happened, but it was totally in the works, dude.

Anyway, I went to Subway yesterday and the blonde was gone. The tanning salon is moving somewhere far away, and I'll probably never see her pouty lips or perfect ass again.

Keyshawn Johnson is also gone, cut by the Carolina Panthers after they drafted his clone Dwayne Jarrett. His career stats are pretty nice: 10K+ yards, 814 catches, 64 TDs and a ring in a decade of solid work. He'll get some run for the Hall but hopefully won't get in, and he'll try out for a few teams but hopefully won't sign with the Broncos.

I'm really going to miss that blonde. She used to make my day. Keyshawn? Not so much.

If you're into the funny videos on the YouTube, go here for more mocking of Keyshawn. This comes via Deadspin, and With Leather, and pretty much every other sports blog around. We like to do things last around here, but with style.

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We Are Hot Chicks Wednesday: Girls We Know, Girls We Don't

Today's installment, Girls We Know, Girls We Don't, features, well, you get it. We'll have a space-bar-jammed peek at some scantily clad receptacles of meast in a way you've most certainly gotten tired of but continue to ogle never seen before.





Miss Adriana "Don't Call Me Jose's Wife" Lima sports an interesting lingerie duo that we don't know the name of. Her face, while not quite as intriguing as certain images of it -- kivered in man cocktail -- circulating the Interwebs, delivers an interesting effect here. One might add that her midsection does the same.

We haven't the slightest on who this fine piece of meast rubbage is, but we like her. Lots. Her "Break-'em-off-Some" gaze, and Amazon 'do let you know she means business. And by business, I mean Cock-a-Doodle-motherfuckin'-Doo. Big props on reminding us how unruly fake tits, naked tanning, and bikini waxing can make a man go blind.

If Miss Banks wasn't in mind when the Underground wrote the line "Ladies, oh how I love ta' thump thee," they should throw those lyrics in the trash and write 'em again. We know. She's all over the place. She has an obnoxious television show, and you could shoot a drive-in movie off of her fivehead. What better to match her lovely top in this pic, though, than a good old-fashioned pearl necklace. As much as Cecil despises loves quoting Blue Collar Comedy, even he would have to agree that the work order attached to that facial expression reads a little something like "get 'er done."

No idea who this broad is. Nice stockings, though. And tits. And facial skin that is hot, soft, and absorbent all in one. She should be available in your local grocery store aisle. Speaking of aisles, that narrow corridor looks like a horrible spot to catch yourself alone with her in.

Leeann Tweeden hails from the great state of Virgina. She has graced the pages of a certain publication's Sexy Book of Lingerie, for which we were thankful. Several times. She also graces pictured stool with the pleasure of touching her delicious backside. Eat your heart out, Anthony Ray. She also has -- um -- some really nice gloves.

Thanks to SI, and numerous other nauseating pieces of media, we're well aware of this young lady's existence. What bad remarks could you drudge up against such a fine package? Absolutely nothing. She's flawless. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a dolphin at my door that needs flogging.

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Oh no, no. Too high, it's too high.

In the fields of journalism and sportsbloggery, the most overrated goal is that of the "scoop." No one gives a shit who was first, unless you are first and you are wrong.

That being said--I am the first to advance this theme on all of the Internets. So I want credit, Dan Patrick, Bill Simmons, Dan Shaughnessy, or any of you other big-name ripoff artists. This is my scoop, bitches.

The Cleveland Indians play in a shithole city that is blanketed in snow. Today, after cancelling a doubleheader for the third straight day (they have not played an official game since last Wednesday), the team announced it is moving its home series to Milwaukee's domed Miller Park.

I'm not sure how many soldiers in HoG Nation know this, but Milwaukee has played host to the Indians before. Old County Stadium played the role of Cleveland's Mistake By The Lake ballpark in Major League. I know this because back in college I used to bang a girl from Milwaukee who served as an extra on the film. Other than that tidbit, the only interesting thing that ever came out of her mouth was my junk.

The Brewers' radio voice, Bob Uecker, also played the role of drunken Indians announcer Harry Doyle.

Anyway, my theory is that this little bit of meteorological karma will propel the Cleveland Indians to the World Series. I know, it's a stretch, and the Tribe can't pitch a lick, but sometimes to take home a championship you need a little help.

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