Oldies, but Not Goodies

The Miami Heat Golden Oldies are part of a not-so-hot new trend sweeping the NBA. Geriatric dance teams. Apparently some of the league's front office gurus feel that instead of seeing a group of nice firm young blondes shaking their pom-poms during a break in the action, fans would rather feast their eyes on a bevy of blue-hairs swingin' around their saggy racks.

Currently, there are eight such teams terrorizing the league. Aside from the Golden Oldies, there are the:

New Jersey Nets NETSational Seniors

Detroit Pistons Motown Classics

Milwaukee Bucks Seniorgee! Dance Team

New Orleans Hornets Used to Bees

Chicago Bulls Swingin' Seniors

Orlando Magic Silver Stars

Denver Nuggets Silver Hotties

Unfortunately, the NBA is a copycat league. So if they don't already have one, get ready for your favorite team to introduce one of these sorry-ass troupes soon. Let us explore some possible names for these expansion dance teams no one's looking forward to:

Indiana Pacemakers

San Antonio Bone Spurs

Boston Cialis

Philadelphia 1476ers

Sacramento Kings and Queens of Incontinence

Los Angeles Leaker Girls

Washington Bed Whizzers

Phoenix Sons and Daughters of Revolutionary War Heroes

Toronto Raptors' Fossils

Los Angeles Now Where Did I Put My Clippers?

The big question behind any of these teams is "Why?" Why take any of the spotlight away from any of the lovely young ladies everyone wants to see? MILFs and cougars are one thing. But GILFs and sabertooth tigers are quite another. I mean, you have to be pretty sick and twisted to drool over grandmothers and/or extinct beasts, let alone during a basketball game. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be sitting in the seat in front of anyone like that. What's that old joke? "Who are the two most famous people to get shot in the back of the head at a theater? Abraham Lincoln and the guy sitting in front of Pee-Wee." Yeah, well, I don't exactly feel like being the first person to get shot in the back of the head at a basketball arena. I have enough hair gel, thank you.

Another question is, "How?" How are teams gonna afford all the emergency medical care for all these old folks? The cost of tickets these days is staggering and who the fuck wants to pay more just in case some old fart falls down and breaks a hip on the court? Or worse yet, has a heart attack. Can't be cheap to fire up those electric shock paddles. But I guess it could possibly be expensed as part of the pre-game pyrotechnics display. It just better not come out of my pocket in the form of more expensive tickets or $40 hotdogs at the concession stand.

If your shriveled up self really has nothing better to do in your retirement and thinks you can cut the mustard, Oldies tryouts are only a couple weeks away. See for yourself if you have what it takes to become someone everyone points at and laughs about.

Prune juice. Is it in you?

Skirt of the Week #4

This week's winner is Brandon Marshall. Or shall we say, Sarah Marshall?

What's your problem man? Does your vah jayjay still hurt from the Cutler fiasco? It sucks, but there's nothing you can do about it. Now get some balls, go back out there and make some catches. And try not to slap anymore bitches on the way.

Obama Salutes a Bunch of Guys Who Didn't Vote for Him

Recently, President Obama honored NASCAR's top drivers at the White House. If the sound of crickets chirping after every one of his jokes wasn't an indication this just wasn't his crowd, I don't know what was.

Can you really imagine any of these good ol' boys voting for this guy? I sure as hell did, but then again, I don't live in a trailer park or have any cousins in my immediate family. I keed, I keed. (Fans of Triumph and Obama may also enjoy this.)

Unfortunately, all I know about NASCAR is stuff I learned from watching Talladega Nights. So I'll refrain from commenting further since all I have to offer are ignorant jabs. That's what happens when you're raised west of the Mississippi on a steady diet of Denver Broncos football. But let's not talk about them now. It gives me a fuckin' headache.

Skirt of the Week #3

Forget the chance to win another Super Bowl or get revenge on the Packers. I think Megan's the reason Brett Favre came out of retirement to play for the Minnesota Vikings. She's very horny.

Economic Crisis Hits My World

Well, I was let go from yet another cheerleading squad last week. I was told the move was made for financial reasons. More specifically, a class-action lawsuit filed against me by every member of the Colorado 14ers' Cheerleaders. The girls claim I made unwanted sexual advances, held onto them "a little too long" during team drills, and was always staring at them "all creepy-like."

I don't want to get into all the he-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, she-said, right now. I'm still completely shocked and devastated by the accusations. But I want to make it clear that I'm 100% innocent and look forward to my day in court. In the meantime, I just need to find a job so I can get the fuck out of my mom's basement.

Skirt of the Week #2

Normally, "Skirt of the Week" will be reserved for sirens from the cheerleading world. But this week, I turned to the police blotter. For none other than Sahel Kazemi. This is a shot from Kazemi's DUI arrest, just two days before she decided to try out her new Glock on 9.

Damn girl, that skirt's about as short as your temper. Why is it that the crazy ones are always so fucking hot?

Death of a Big-Time Player

First off, I'd like to apologize for my hiatus. I've been wrestling some inner demons. Namely, Nybbas, Zagan and The Lord Dorkus Maximus.

Speaking of creatures who belong in the depths of hell, how 'bout this Sahel Kazemi bitch? You all know the story by now. Upon hearing the news of Steve McNair's death, I was in total disbelief.

"This can't be!" I thought.

"Is it really true?!" I said.

"How will this affect the value of his rookie card?" I wondered.

Through it all, I was hopin' the demise of one of my favorite footballers was just a bad dream. I was prayin' for another Music City Miracle. But sadly, it was all for naught. Air McNair's ship had really set sail for the pearly gates.

After the cold, hard truth finally sunk in, I wondered what was going through the minds of other pro athletes. Many of whom probably enjoy the company of more women in a month than I have in a fuckin' lifetime.

Take Roger Clemens, for example. You'd think the thought of McNair getting pumped full of lead would be enough to make "The Rocket" stop injecting himself into women outside his marriage. Though he'll never get into The Hall for strikeouts, he could very well be inducted for knockouts. She, she and she are just a few of the stunners allegedly in the hurler's trophy case. But Roger might want to stop adding to his collection before his wife kisses him goodnight with some high heat.

Matt Leinart should also consider chilling out with the hotties. That guy's played the field more than he's actually been on it the last couple years. He should now know more than ever that it's never good to participate in a game of "Musical Women." Especially when it involves a bald one with an umbrella.

Then there's Little Bitch Bryant. As you can see, I'm a big fan. Dude's probably wiping away more fake tears and buying a bigger diamond as we speak. He's probably thinking the bigger the rock, the more it'll weigh down The Misses's hand and the more difficult it'll be for her to get a shot off. Let's just say I'm hoping she has very strong arms.

Okay, that was uncalled for. I apologize. It just angers me that someone can be so good at scoring on and off the court. The Black Mamba probably still has more women than a pyramid of cheerleaders. But as recent events have shown, it only takes one imbalanced bundle of estrogen to make everything come tumbling down.