Monthly Archives: July 2010
The New York Times basically took Sports Illustrated‘s Ben Roethlisberger expose, reworded it, interviewed new “friends” and entitled it “Ben Roethlisberger’s Journey to Notoriety.”
You guys know that I have never been shy about my dislike of Ben. I’ve always been a critic. I’m just a blogger. I’ve never met Ben. He most likely does not know that I exist. I feel comfortable expressing my opinion of him and trying to do it in an entertaining way.
Yet, when Sports Illustrated approached me for an interview about Ben for their expose, I turned them down. I already told you this, but my gut said not to do it. It seemed like piling on, you know? And I didn’t want to pile on in such a negative, national kind of way.
So color me flabbergasted that between Sports Illustrated and now the New York Times, that so many of Ben’s old friends and aquaintances seemed to jump at the chance to talk negatively on the record about Ben.
I get it. He’s a jerk. Was a jerk. Remains a jerk. He has big personality problems. He might be sexually aggressive. But is it necessary for the people that knew him to continue illustrating all the ways he was, is, and remains a jerk?
What do they gain from this? What do they HAVE to gain?
I mean, I’m a blogger who had a lot to gain if I spoke to Sports Illustrated. Readership, sponsors, page hits, etc. I’ve never met the guy and I still said no. Yet here are all of these so-called friends and acquaintances of Ben’s, who knew him, who know him, who had/have intimate knowledge of his personal life, and with nothing to gain, they had no qualms about dishing to the New York Times about him after the Sports Illustrated piece already hit months ago.
It just seems so pathetic.
There is a world of difference between a random reader who has never met me, speaking negatively about me to the press, versus, I don’t know, a friend from college doing it all, “OMG. I thought I knew her but she turned into such an egotistical bitch.”
One of those, you can brush off as coming with the territory. The other, is just plain unnecessary.
I checked twitter to see how others were reacting to this article, and I couldn’t find anyone that expressed a sentiment similar to mine.
What do you guys think? Kick him while he’s down and burn him in the media, or leave him where he lays, at rock bottom, still trying to pick himself up?
I vote the latter.
Okay, boys. I’ll bump the There down.
Now your co-workers won’t think you’re trolling the Hot Shirtless Studs sites.
Would you rather look at pigeon stuff? Wish granted.
1. Take a look at the Shaw Report in Entertainment Weekly, as scanned in by reader Jill:
I have no idea who any of those people are, but if I had to guess, I’d go with reality stars of some sort.
But, seriously, penguins are out? Pigeons are in?
Adorable, loving, soft, cuddly, chin-scritch-worthy, entertaining penguins are out and poop-bombing, air-diving, disease-riddled, evil-doing, bridge-destroying knowing bastards are in?
The only time I can imagine pigeons being IN and penguins being OUT is if they discover that pigeon blood cures cancer and that penguins eat kittens.
And even then, who knows. Maybe kittens are delicious.
2. Reader Rebecca snapped this photo in Philly, much like the one previously spotted in New York:
No questions asked, because, you see, someone stole this pigeon. Clearly. It didn’t just, I don’t know, fly away.
How awesome would it be if someone finds a pigeon and is all, “Well, it’s the darndest thing. It answers to Pierre and has a white spot on his head, but he will not eat a freaking jellybean.”
It’s been, oh, about four months or so now that I have been receiving emails, from both men and women mind you, basically saying, “Joe Manganiello is from Pittsburgh and he deserves to be named an official Smoking Hot Burgher,” or “Joe Manganiello jwomwefmwoefmweo orgasm wemqwoikq burgher mqkwm swoon,” or “Have you seen this fine piece of Pittsburgh ass?”
And you know what? Joe Manganiello, who currently stars on the hit HBO show True Blood, is pretty damn hot:
But, I mean, I don’t watch True Blood yet (going to get Season 1 on DVD), so when I saw his chiseled face and Adonis-like body, I was all, “Self, this man is good looking. But there’s no THERE there.” And you know I like there to be some THERE there when it comes to hot burghers. Look at my self-united husbands for the love of God. Daniel — generous, religious, kind. David — generous, kind, dedicated to Pittsburgh. Matt — super smart, putting Pittsburgh on the map.
I ignored the emails about Joe until such a time that I found the There.
I found the There.
Go watch Joe Manganiello’s interview on Good Day LA. Try to ignore the booby ditzes who won’t shut the hell up.
Start at 3:15 when Joe Manganiello first brings up Pittsburgh. Listen as he talks about Pittsburgh. About the Steelers. About Pitt Football. Listen as he says, “I bleed black and gold.” Listen as he brings up Namath, Fitzgerald, and Marino. Listen. Swoon. Love.
Is it weird that I get a bit emotional when I watch things like that? I think it’s weird. I can’t help it. I think I might love Pittsburgh too much.
Regardless, in addition to now being an official Smokin’ Hot Burgher, Joe Manganiello is my new imaginary self-united husband and I think he’ll fit in nicely with Matt, David, and Daniel.
So, ladies, step off.
[awkward kung fu moves]
Here’s a real winner in the effiest What The Effie that ever did effie.
i am looking for a professionally stuffed dog that has been tanned and moth proofed. i would like to have it by the end of august for a wedding present. preferably a big dog, not a purse dog, but beggars cant be choosers. please send pics and asking price. will pick up!
1. Four billion dollars says this request came out of Fayette County.
2. They want a big dog, but God, I hope someone tries to sell him/her a taxidermied chihuahua. What would that even look like? Oh, wait. I found one:
In the name of Jesus Christ, BE GONE!
3. I have
wracked racked my brain, put the edge of my glasses in my mouth and gently chewed introspectively, tilted my head quizzically, contemplatively assumed The Thinking Man posture, rubbed my chin thoughtfully, and there was no light bulb. There was no AHA! moment. No eureka. I did not need Mr. Watson to come here. There is no reason I can come up with that a person would want to gift someone else’s taxidermied dog to a couple on their wedding day.
4. Oh, wait! [light bulb!] AHA! Eureka! Watson, come here. I need you!
I got it. [puts on sunglasses] Revenge.
“I just hate the guy … Malkin knew Ovechkin and introduced me to him and the first impression wasn’t great. I’m not really gonna say what happened but I’m like, ‘OK, this guy is a real douche.'”
Max Talbot should start his own church, because what good is speaking the gospel truth if you’ve got no one to shout “Testify!” to you?