February12

A Letter From Ron Artest’s Great Dane

By: the mighty mjd

Hey guys. My name’s Socks. I’m normally not the letter-writing type. I’m really not. I just want to keep to myself and go about my days with no one bothering me. I don’t need any attention or any special favors, like Flip Murray’s turtle does. But I had to write this letter. It might be the last letter I ever get to write. I hope I have the strength to finish it.

God, am I starving. I haven’t eaten in a month and a half. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can barely move, and soon, my organs are going to start to fail. The situation is bleak. It is hopeless in here. I feel like Anne Frank, writing letters from her attic.

I’m so so hungry. I don’t need any T-Bonz, or Pup-Peroni, or Milk-Bones, nothing like that. I don’t even need Alpo or something out of a 99-cent, 50-pound bag of dog food. I’ll take anything. I tried to eat my own paw once. Oh, I’m so hungry. It hurts so bad.

How did I get like this? You’d have to ask… that guy who owns me. I don’t know his name. We’ve never actually met. I see him walking around sometimes, but that’s it. I don’t know that he knows my name, either. When I see him, I show him my exposed ribs, lay on the ground and wail in pain, and all he does is go, “QB, represent!” and keep walking. I wish I knew what that meant.

I mean, he acts like he likes me. It’s just that there’s something sort of wrong with him. Most people see a dog as skinny as me and think, “That dog should probably eat something.” Not this guy. He sees me and thinks, “That dog should probably I WISH I WORKED AT BEST BUY twinkies are delicious and I wonder what they’re made of I WILL RIP YOUR FACE OFF we play the Clippers tonight and Maggette is an easy check YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT, TAKE IT OFF, GIRL.” Something I like that. I don’t know.

It’s just like there’s something missing upstairs. He’s not mean to me, he just doesn’t understand certain things. For example, when I stop whining after one of his friends blows weed smoke in my face, it doesn’t mean I’m happy and content. It means that because I weigh 41 pounds, I get really high, really quickly, and my face doesn’t move anymore. Really, guys, I’m not “higher than a giraffe’s ass and feelin’ no pain.” I’m still in a lot of pain, I just happen to be hallucinating, too.

Really, all I know about the guy is that he drives a big Escalade, he likes to do nude push-ups, and everyone else in the neighborhood is terrified of him.

But I’m not… I think he’s probably a nice guy, except for the not-feeding-me thing. And I swear, I’d love him forever if he just fed me… you know, it doesn’t even have to be every day. Just two or three times a week. Please, God. Please let that man feed me. I’d give anything for just one bite of my owner’s favorite meal, Cristal and Slim Jims.

And I’ve heard the stories that he tried to feed me, but the American Bulldog stole all the food. That’s not true. It is true that the bulldog has eaten and I haven’t, but the bulldog doesn’t get fed either. Right now, he’s in the back, eating Rick Adelman. He kills people and eats them, and he never shares. He’s killed a lot of people… two mailmen, a handful of girl scouts (he did give me a few Thin Mints), a Jehovah’s witness, a cop, a few naked girls covered in glitter, and Bison Dele. Bison Dele was huge. The bulldog ate him for like a month.

The animal control people are my only hope right now. If I whale and cry for long enough, sometimes, the neighbors notice, and they’ll call them. I don’t want to go back to dog prison, but at least they’ll get me some food.

Stay strong, everyone. And if you have a steak, treasure it. Treasure that thing like it’s made of gold. God bless.

– Socks

Posted in: Letters from Pets, NBA11 comments

February11

NASCAR’s Made Some Changes, I See…

By: the mighty mjd

Melts in your mouth, but not in your hand.

I know ESPN’s excited about the coming out of John Amaechi, but I think their new “All headlines should be gay in nature” policy goes a little too far.

Posted in: Car Racing, Things That Aren't Sports1 comments

January30

A Letter From Barbaro

By: the mighty mjd

You probably knew it was coming… for reasons I may explain at a later date, I put it over at the Smorgasbord site. Here you go.

And if you’re going to comment, I’d suggest doing so here, as opposed to over there… it’s just that I check/moderate/approve these comments way more often than those.

Posted in: Letters from Pets17 comments

January18

A Letter From Tom Brady’s Poodle

By: the mighty mjd

Listen, I’m gonna need you to cut me a break here. I’ve got a couple of things working against me. First, I’m a poodle, and most people think poodles are pussies. Also, Tom Brady’s my owner, and most people think Tom Brady’s a pussy. Well, let me clear a couple of things up for you. I’m a poodle, but I’m not a pussy. And Tom Brady … well, I can’t lie to you, Tom Brady actually is kind of a pussy. But don’t hold that against me, you judgmental son of a bitch.

I’m writing because I just need to vent for a little bit. Don’t worry, I’m not suicidal, and I’m not going to run away or anything. But sometimes, life here in Tom Brady’s house sucks, and I’d like you to know about it. I don’t have a lot of friends. Humor me.

You wanna know why Tom Brady has a poodle? It’s because he thinks that if some random cocktease out there sees him pick me up, squeeze me and call me “A good little Mr. Fluffers” in some goddamn baby voice, that it’ll make her panties all wet. And it probably works … I mean, five nights a week, that guy’s pounding a different slice of poontang. All because he “loves his little Mr. Fluffers.” Horseshit. My name’s not even Mr. Fluffers.

To tell the truth, I don’t even have a name. Seriously, I have no name. The son of a bitch never bothered to give me one. Brady went to some adoption thing they were having at Petco on a Saturday, looked at the clerk and said, “Yeah, gimme that fluffy thing back there, some food, a shock collar, a newspaper to beat it with, I guess … I don’t know, whatever you give dogs. And by the way, sweetheart, my name’s Tom, and I’ll be inside you soon.” Next thing I know, I’m stuffed in a brown paper bag in the back of his Escalade, listening to him ram the Petco’s girls ass off of the steering wheel.

He thinks he’s so smooth. Tom just owns me so he can show off and pretend like he’s sooo confident in his masculinity that he doesn’t mind owning a poodle. That’s bullshit. It’s all an act. You remember that GQ spread Tom did, where he was holding a goat? He wanted me to be in that originally, but I bit his hand and told him to go fist himself. And then I raped that goat. No kidding.

But listen, Tom Brady’s got nothing on me. No bullshit. At the shelter, my nickname was “The Playtex,” because I was constantly in some beaver. I used to get it all the time … and if they wouldn’t give it to me, I’d take it. I raped a German Shepherd once (I’ve got a little bit of a problem with rape). You should’ve seen that litter of puppies. Ugliest things you’ve ever seen … I’ve been dodging alimony checks for three years on those mule-faced little bastards.

And listen, I know it shocks you to hear that a poodle can be a mack player like me, but it’s true… I just happen to look like a big pussy, because I’m a poodle. Hell, most people think all poodles are girls, but I love it when I “accidentally” give them a glimpse of the red rocket, and their eyes get all big, like, “Wow, that thing is HUGE.” And yeah, dollface, it is. And it pounds like a jackhammer.

Tom’s never had me fixed, which is the one nice thing I can say about him. The downside to that, though, is that he’s never had me fixed because he just doesn’t care. The dumbass doesn’t even know where the vet’s office is, and I’ve been pissing blood for about a week and a half. I wouldn’t mind getting that checked out.

So let me tell you about my life here. A sit in a pet carrier all day, and sometimes, the maid shoves me some food, maybe some water, if I’m lucky. I’ll sit here and sleep for the better part of eight hours. Tom comes home in the evenings, and if I start crying and whaling like I’m giving birth, he’ll say something like, “Fine, I’ll let you out if you’ll just shut up for a while,” and he’ll get off his ass and let me out. Then I spend the rest of the evening waiting for Tom to screw someone, so I can watch.

Sometimes, other things happen first. Like, sometimes Coach Belichick will come by, and he’ll usually kick me and call Tom a “fag” for owning a poodle. And then Tom will say, “Hey, it gets me laid,” and then they’ll high-five, and I’ll just sit there and wish that either of them would grow up.

Later, when Belichick leaves, Tom stands in front of a mirror and cries about being called a “fag.” Then he’ll go read some fawning article that Peter King wrote about him, and it makes him feel better. He’ll slap himself on the chest and say, “See, I’m not a fag!” and then listen to some Pantera for about ten minutes, before he turns it off because he remembers that he actually hates Pantera. This happens every goddamn time Belichick comes over. Every time.

But, just about every other night, I’ll walk around and try to watch Tom charm the panties off of some girl. Most of the time, it doesn’t take long. He’s like, “Hi, I’m Tom Brady,” and she’s like, “Oh? Well, let me show you a few things about my labia.” It’s tough, you know … back at the shelter, I was sending the red rocket into orbit daily and nightly. Over here, I’ve got to settle for watching supermodels get pounded.

It’s not fair, though, to make me just watch … you think I wouldn’t like to get on Gisele Bundchen for a little bit? You think I didn’t want to dirty-up Bridget Moynahan? You think I didn’t want to mount Tara Reid? Okay, I actually did mount Tara Reid once, but she was shitfaced, and she didn’t even notice. That’s probably because I couldn’t touch the sides.

I should probably get going, though. Belichick’s leaving soon, and if I don’t hide, he’ll kick me again … I swear, I hate that asshole.

Posted in: Letters from Pets, NFL37 comments

January15

…And Darkness Washed Over the Dude

By: the mighty mjd

We used to be friends, Reche Caldwell.Marty Schottenheimer might be fired by the time I wake up, and I’m not sure how I’ll feel about that. If you’d have asked me a couple of weeks ago, Marty would have been, in my mind, bulletproof. He’s been phenomenal for the Chargers through his tenure, even as the GM made moves that Marty didn’t want him to make… but I may be changing my mind on that.

And it’s not that I blame Marty for the loss yesterday… I don’t. The first half 4th-and-11 seemed a little bit goofy, maybe, but I’m certainly not pinning the loss on one play call. I just feel an awful lot now like I felt when it was rumored that the Pistons were about to fire Rick Carlisle. You’ve got a coach who’s solid, and who has accomplished a lot, and is a great coach in a lot of ways… but sometimes, one guy takes a team as far as he can take them. I don’t know if that’s the case or not, but… I’m not convinced that it isn’t.

So if Marty is gone… I don’t know, I haven’t completely made up my mind on that. For the time being, I don’t think I’ll despair or celebrate, no matter what happens.

Anyway, I wasn’t planning on posting anything tonight, but what the hell, it might be therapeautic. In the end, it just came down to mistakes. And that’s not luck, it’s not coincidence… down the stretch, the Chargers made mistakes, and the Patriots made plays.

The Chargers had things like Reche Caldwell muffing a punt in the third quarter, then muffing the attempted recovery. Drayton Florence picking up a 15-yard penalty after a third-down sack that would’ve left Steven Gostkowski with a 53-yard attempt, instead of the eventual 34-yarder that he hit. Marlon McCree fumbling after coming up with a big interception.

And the Patriots had things like Tom Brady lofting a ball over reasonably tight coverage to Reche Caldwell on a 3rd and 10 from the 34 yard line.

That’s not luck, and it’s not coincidence. Even if you feel like ramming a concrete dildo into Tom Brady’s earhole, it’s not a coincidence that he keeps coming up with these plays.

In things like the actual running, and blocking, and throwing, the basics of the game… the Chargers were probably better. Even after the Patriots abandoned their ineffective run game and switched into “spread the field and throw every play” mode, the Chargers acquitted themselves pretty well. Brady had 280 passing yards, which seems like a lot… but for 51 attempts, that’s pretty decent for a defense, especially when you consider the three interceptions. Tomlinson ran well… Rivers wasn’t great, but I don’t think he was terrible, either. He certainly wasn’t the reason for the loss.

Just a couple of mistakes by San Diego, and a couple of plays by New England. That was the difference. It’s not coincidence that Tom Brady and the Patriots keep doing this. And maybe it’s not coincidence that it keeps happening to Marty Schottenheimer either. I don’t know.

The silver lining, though, is that I went to see “Children of Men” last night after the loss, just to stop thinking about football for a while… and it more than served its purpose. I’m not even into futuristic, sci/fi type things, but the direction and cinematography in that thing… off the charts. Was glad I saw it.

Posted in: NFL24 comments

January12

The “Steroid Double Standard” Is A Myth

By: the mighty mjd

I’ve seen it talked about in a number of places recently. That Mark McGwire is a baseball pariah because of the perception that he used steroids, while “no one cares” that Shawne Merriman was framed busted for steroids. And maybe this is coming from a personal place, and not a particularly objective place, but I don’t see it. I don’t see the evidence that “no one cares” about Merriman’s steroid use. What I don’t see is this:

ROYALS ALL-STAR Mike Sweeney saw the recent Hall of Fame voting results and made a good point.

“It breaks my heart that a guy like [Mark] McGwire has been persecuted for something he never tested positive for or never admitted to,” Sweeney told the Kansas City Star, “yet there are guys playing on Sundays in the NFL that tested positive and people just seem to cover that up.”

He probably meant ignore rather than cover up. Still, his argument is a good one. Shawne Merriman led the NFL in sacks with 17. Maybe he would have had more if he didn’t have to sit out four games because of a steroid suspension.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to 17 without the juice. Merriman finished third in defensive player of the year voting and will be in uniform for the Chargers playoff game on Sunday.

McGwire? His reputation is slightly south of a snake’s belly.

Merriman did sit out, chief. Barry Bonds ever have to sit out a game?

Where are these people? Where are these people that completely accept steroid use in football? Where are these people that see Shawne Merriman and say, “Hey, that guy’s fast!” with no mention of steroids? I don’t think these people exist. I’ve never met one … and believe, I would damn sure like to.

I can’t watch 10 seconds of a Chargers game without some dickhead friend of mine injecting his ass with an air-syringe. I called a friend the other day to talk about Junior Seau’s being accused of some not-so-nice things, and he stretched himself out for some kind of “What, did he take a bunch of steroids like all San Diego linebackers?” joke. I was embarrassed for him, and then I had to insult his mother. You think I enjoyed that? You think I enjoyed telling this guy that I’m going to have to spend a week-and-a-half washing his mother’s feta-cheese stench off of me?

You’ll find people on both sides of the Mark McGwire/HOF debate, while I’ve found almost no one but myself on my side of the Shawne Merriman/Postseason Awards debate … which is odd, because it’s pretty much the exact same argument.

My point is that I think people do care about Merriman’s positive pee-pee test. And I’m not complaining about that, I would absolutely expect them to care … and the second I heard about it, I could glimpse the years and years of abuse for which I had just signed up.

But the “people care about McGwire, but don’t care about Merriman” thing … well, I think someone made that up. I don’t see any evidence of it. A first-time positive test in baseball gets someone suspended for 50 games. 30.9% of the season. A first-time positive in football gets a guy 4 games. 25% of the season. Ooooh, big difference.

What it is, I believe, is a sneaky little way for the learned, cultured, refined baseball fans of the world to cast stones at the illiterate meathead football fans of the word. “Hey, we care about this horrible tragedy, and you don’t. It’s really a shame that football fans are such simple-minded, paste-eating dolts, while our noble hearts bleed.”

Garbage.

Posted in: Uncategorized31 comments

January9

If I Went To Boise State, I’d Be Celebrating A National Championship Right Now

By: the mighty mjd

Why yes, sweetheart, you DO look like you want some turf burns. And her in the back? Sure, she can watch.I don’t say that with any disrespect to Florida — they did what they did, and they earned that pretty crystal football. But Florida isn’t the subject of this post, it’s Boise State, and there’s no team in the country that can say with 100% certainty that they are better than the Boise State Broncos.

Florida fans might say it, and I wouldn’t blame them if they did. But Oklahoma fans once said it, too. A lot of teams can probably make convincing arguments that they could beat Boise State, but still, at the end of the day, they’re just that: arguments. No one proved that Boise State could be beaten.

If I was a student at Boise State, I’d be so drunk right now that I’d piss pure distilled gin. And when I woke up tomorrow around 4 p.m., I’d spend the rest of the day making my own “national championship” t-shirt, I’d make my own replica of the Sears trophy out of broken glass and crazy glue, and then I’d make love to the luckiest girl on the Boise State campus and leave her with blue turf burns on 65% of her body.

And why shouldn’t they? Boise State did every single thing that they could do. Any task that was asked of them, they completed. And I know they didn’t play a monster schedule, and I know they barely beat Oklahoma, and there’s no way in hell that I would argue that they would beat Florida right now, but none of that matters. If you were a Boise State fan, all that would matter to you right now is that your team accomplished all that it could. They rose to every challenge, and no one can definitively say they’re better. Celebrate it.

Now, in the grander sense of the entire college football landscape, does that really mean anything? That a group of people decided to declare themselves national champions? No, not really. But the official national champions were dubbed as such because a different group of people sat down and crowned them national champions, so what the hell? If we’re going to be subjective about it, then to tell with it. Be as subjective as you want.

Both the AP and the Coaches Polls are in, and with 64 voters in each, there are a 128 possible first-place votes … Florida got 127 of them. Now, the coaches are required to vote for Florida as #1, and if that wasn’t the case, maybe they’d have snagged another vote or two.

I don’t know the grand identity of the lone son of a bitch who voted Boise State as the national champions, but I’d like to buy him a beer and take him out for a round of putt-putt.

Posted in: College Football21 comments

January8

Preview: BCS Championship Game

By: the mighty mjd

themightymjd.com is happy to bring you a series of previews for some of the bullshit college football bowl games coming up. You may find yourself in the position of not knowing a lot of some of the teams involved, and that’s okay. I don’t either. But that won’t stop me from making up things that, if you can manage to convince yourself are true, would certainly pique your interest in these games. And again, I should probably point out that none of this is factual. 100% made up. Probably.

Heisman-winning quarterback Troy Smith of Ohio State sits in the trainer’s room, stretched out on one of the two exam tables, his leg hanging off of the edge as he waits to have his ankle examined. Sitting on the floor next to him is a large red gym bag. Troy swings his legs and waits for a trainer, staring at the door, hoping he’ll be seen soon. Soon, the team’s head trainer sticks his head in the door.

Trainer: Troy, I’m real sorry, but I’ve got to go see the coach for a second here. You sit tight, and I’ll be back in about fifteen, okay?
Troy Smith: Fifteen?
Trainer: Yep. Fifteen minutes. Just relax. Play with a tongue depressor or something.
Troy Smith: (laughs) Alright.

The trainer smiles and turns away, pulling the door closed behind him. Troy Smith exhales, and pulls the big red gym bag up off the floor. He sets it to his side on the exam table, unzips it, and pulls out his Heisman trophy. He places the trophy upright on the edge of the bed, looks at it, laughs to himself, and pats it on the head. He turns back to the gym bag, and pulls out a rectangular Nike shoe box. He shoves the empty bag to the floor, sets the shoe box next to the Heisman, and opens it up. The box is full of all colors and varieties of doll clothes.

Troy Smith: Okay, let’s see. What does Mr. Heisman want to wear today? This feels like a green day for Mr. Heisman! Green, green, green! Oooh, this is pretty. Mr. Heisman should wear feather boas more often! And I think Mr. Heisman feels like he’s in the mood to wear a skirt today! Oh, he looks de-lish! A thick black belt can be very slimming, too, and Mr. Heisman likes these long white boots, and holding this umbrella makes him look perfect! Oh, Mr. Heisman, you are so stunning today, will you be my boyfr–

Smith is shocked into silence when the door opens and the trainer steps quickly through, moving directly towards the cabinets on the opposite side of the room.

Trainer: I knew I was forgettin’ somethin’, I had to grab my notes on that kid that has the — Hey, Troy, what are those… are those doll clothes over the exam table?
Troy Smith: NO!
Trainer: Well I believe they are, son, and do you have your Heisman trophy behind your back right now?
Troy Smith: NO! Why?
Trainer: Son, why the hell do your carry that Heisman with you everywhere, and what is the goddamn deal with all these doll clothes?
Troy Smith: (stands up quickly, doll clothes fall from his lap onto the floor, his Heisman still being held behind his back) Hey, so, um, we play Florida, right? Should be a great game, don’t you think?
Trainer: Boy, are you…? Christ, son. I’m gonna ask you one question, and I want you to answer me honestly. Son, are you dressing up your Heisman trophy in women’s doll clothes?
Troy Smith: (takes a deep breath and smushes his lips over to one side of his face, as he always did when faced with a difficult decision. His eyes lower to the ground, and they close.)
Trainer: Son? Look at me. You’re dressin’ your Heisman up like a Barbie Doll, aren’t you?
Troy Smith: (slowly nods)
Trainer: Well, I will be a son of a bitch. Our goddamn quarterback is playing dress-up with the most prestigious damn trophy in all of sports. Boy, are you one of them homosexuals? With the leather pants and everything?
Troy Smith: No, no, no… I’m not gay, I just think Mr. Heisman would like some sexy clothes.
Trainer: Some sexy clothes? It’s a goddamn bronze trophy, Troy, it don’t need no sexy clothes! Hell, it don’t even need water or air, cuz it ain’t alive! All it needs is for you to not gay it all up!
Troy Smith: Well, he might not need sexy clothes, but he deserves them, because we all do, because we’re all pretty in our own ways, so stop being mean!
Trainer: (exhales hard) Boy, I am just at a loss here. I come in thinkin’ I’m gonna tape up your ankle, and I end up seein’ you havin’ a personal little pride march for your Heisman. In 32 years of athletic trainin’, this is a first for me, son. This. Is. A. First. I don’t even know what to say here? What’s the protocol in this situation?
Troy Smith: You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?
Trainer: Well, I reckon not. We got through 11 games with no one carin’ that you’re a fruit–
Troy Smith: I am not gay!
Trainer: Splittin’ hairs, there, boy, ain’t we? Anyway, I figure it ain’t nobody’s business what you do with your Heisman trophy, so if you wanna make it look like Liza Minelli, that oughta be your business.
Troy Smith: Do you really think he looks like Liza? Ohmygosh! He does!
Trainer: Easy there, son. Just because I ain’t mad don’t mean I want you to tell me all about what brings out ol’ Heisman Liza’s eyes over there. Let’s just worry about than ankle.
Troy Smith: Okay. Well, how is my ankle?
Trainer: Well, right now, there’s a mini pink taffeta dress laying on it.
Troy Smith: That’s not pink, it’s vintage rose. And Troy’s going to be a bridesmaid in that dress, so don’t hurt his feelings.
Trainer: Goddamit, Troy.
Troy Smith: You said you didn’t care!
Trainer: I do care, Troy. This is deeply disturbin’. I’m questionin’ everything I ever believed right now. And I know I shouldn’t care, and it’s your business, and you can do what you want, but boy, you cannot make THE GODDAMNED HEISMAN TROPHY A BRIDESMAID, DO YOU HEAR ME?
Troy Smith: The rest of the wedding party is going to be so disappointed.
Trainer: Is it even legal for a guy to be a bridesmaid in the state of Ohio?
Troy Smith: (shrug)
Trainer: Son, your ankle’s gonna be fine, and I’d like you to get the hell out of here right now.
Troy Smith: Okay. (Troy Smith picks up the Heisman and puts it back in his bag, as well as a couple handfuls of doll clothes, and he walks gingerly out the door.)
Trainer: Troy?
Troy Smith: Yes?
Trainer: Mr. Heisman left a whole rack of nightgowns over there by the gauze.
Troy Smith: He’s so forgetful sometimes! Silly Mister Heisman!
Trainer: We are so screwed tonight.

Troy Smith’s ankle is fine, and he leads the Ohio State Buckeyes against the Florida Gators tonight at 8:15 for the national championship. Mr. Heisman is expected to be wearing something sheer.

Posted in: College Football10 comments

January8

Sometimes Life ISN’T Fair, You Little Bastard

By: the mighty mjd

NBC showed this earlier in the year when Peyton and Eli played against each other early in the regular season, and I wished I had recorded it. They played it again this weekend during the Colts/Chiefs game, and it magically found its way onto the internet. This kills me.

Posted in: NFL6 comments

January5

I Know You Want More Me

By: the mighty mjd

So I’d like to point you in the direction of The Big Picture, a blog that’s doing a series of interviews with… other bloggers. So here’s me, talking about myself, and trying in vain to not sound like an egomaniac.

Also, you may have noticed a little bit of a new look here. If you didn’t notice, you are probably strung out on something expensive, and you should just go lay down. It’s probably a work in progress, and the major point of the redesign was to find a better way to work in links to my FanHouse work, because … you know, that’s where most of my weekday blogging time is spent these days. So there’s better and easier access to that, all in one handy location.

Posted in: Housekeeping7 comments

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