The Man pictured above is one Ueli Steck. He is not the most physically imposing man that you’ll ever come across, but his tremendous skill at mountain climbing brings up to the Rushmore of Manly Men. In 2008 after abandoning an attempt to climb Annapurna, he returned to base camp. Days later though, Spanish climber Inaki Ochoa de Olza collapsed during an attempt up the mountain, and Ueli climbed to try and save the man’s life, though it was too late. Think about that the next time someone asks for help moving furniture and you’re too lazy to help.
Anyways, I kind of rambled on there. Moving on. In 2003 climber Christoph Hainz did a speed climb in four and a half hours, which inspired Ueli(Warning, link in Swiss). In 2007 Ueli climbed the 13,025 ft Eiger mountain in three hours and fifty four minutes. Unsatisfied and knowing he had not reached his potential, he set out to make himself leaner, faster and stronger.
After receiving criticism on his record for using the route and hooks of a previous climber, he gave the climbing world a big eff you and threw up his middle fingers(figuratively, of course, he seems to be a really nice guy). Having already shed 9 lbs from his previous climbing weight, he decided to go minimalist in an effort to beat his time. He carried some energy gels, bars, crampons, ice axes and a climbing rope up with him as his only supplies. The rope was in case of emergency only and not intended to be part of his actual climbing procedure.
So with minimal supplies, and a sure heart, he set off in 2008 to beat his already record time of Eiger, this time with a film crew. He broke his own record by over an hour and he used no one else’s route or previously existing equipment. Ueli climbed the 13,025 foot tall mountain in an astonishing 2 hours and 47 minutes. With no real safety gear or precautions. In doing so, he has shown himself as one of the manliest men of being a man. Nothing you do will ever even approach what he accomplished. Below the jump is an utterly breathtaking 4 minute HD video clip that is a promo for the upcoming film, “Swiss Machine” by Sender Films. I recommend that you watch it on full screen HD for all it’s brilliant glory.
Wait, the contract didn’t say anything about a muddy gangbang.
Erin Andrews is going to be a spokesperson for Reebok Zigtech just like Chad OchoCinco and Peyton Manning. Good for her. Remember when she was the “it” girl online? I seem to recall the nickname Erin “Pageviews.” I guess we all got tired of her after the peeping Tom video. As a collective blog culture we said, “Well, that orgasm was fun.” Then after the monstrous sexing we gave her in our minds we slipped out the door once she had fallen asleep. Maybe some people felt bad for objectifying her after someone actually acted on their lust for Andrews, but those are the kind of people who aren’t elbow-deep in the kind of pussy I am. Your mom’s vagina has really gaped over the years. Here’s the video that may stir your Erin Andrews boner just one last time. Wait, am I the only one who finds girls’ workout clothes extremely arousing? I hope not.
Author: Old King Clancy Published: January 12th, 2011
I’m not one to write about drunken hookup stories. It’s clichéd, cheap, exploitative, clichéd, bad form, douchey, lazy, the worst form of “humble brag,” and also clichéd. HOWEVER, writing about drunken hookup stories involving people that aren’t you? That’s just people-watching. And now matter how many times you think you’ve seen it all, people can surprise you. So why don’t you sit right back, and I, I may tell you a tale. A tale of drunken douchebaggery and thespianism set in the backdrop of fair Washington, DC. Across the street from the MCI Verizon Center after a Penguins-Capitals game that I wasn’t at.
Well it’s Christmas time, as you may know. One of the things that comes from this is baking. Well, I’m here to help you fellas out, and/or some of of you ladies. Well below is compiled the simplest, easiest and most complete Christmas cake of all time. It’s sure to impress your friends, family and especially that special someone in your life. It might even get you some Christmas booty. Who knows. Enjoy.
1. Sample the Johnnie Walker to check quality.
2. Take a large bowl, check the whisky again. To be sure it is the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink.
4. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.
5. Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again.
6. Make sure the whisky is still OK. Try another cup.
7. Turn off the mixerer.
8. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
9. Mix on the turner.
10. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers pry it loose with a drewscriver.
11. Sample the whisky to check for tonsisticity.
12. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who giveshz a shit.
13. Check the whisky. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
14. Add one table.
15. Add a spoon of sugar, or something. Whatever you can find.
16. Greash the oven and piss in the fridge.
17. Turn the cake tin 350 defrees.
18. Don’t forget to beat off the turner.
19. Throw the bowl out of the f**king window.
20. Check the whisky again and go to bed.
Note: This recipe is not my creation. I got it from a special someone who got it from an email thread. It is impossible to credit the originator. Anyways, enjoy.
If you hadn’t had the joy of watching the aborted fetus that is the trailer to the new 3D animated Yogi Bear movie, well fret not; it’s right beneath this word right here. Warning, go grab a beer or some paint thinner first.
I’ll give you a moment to finish that bottle of draino…. If you want to have a good cry now while rocking back and forth in the shower, I’d completely understand. It’s not often that something comes along and touches your childhood right in the swimsuit area. At least not so vigorously and without warning or lube.
The only good thing to come out of this shit show is the candy you received after to buy your silence fact that they made an incredibly awesome alternate ending. Not the kind of alternate ending you’d normally think of in a family comedy like this. It’s not a series of faux animated outtakes, like one would expect. It’s an incredibly dark and twisted, somber ending. Kind of like David Lynch thought it up. This had to be some inside joke that was made up by a bunch of film students that was never expected to see the light of day. I imagine it’ll get taken down right away, but in the meantime, enjoy! (more…)
The two bangable chicks on The League (though they sure as hell don't look it here). I think the one on the left was a janitor on My Name is Earl. (I better be right about that. I'm not successful enough to make it without the Latinos.)
I was going to review the latest episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, “Who Got Dee Pregnant?”, but that’d take all of one line to do (the episode was slow except for the McPoyle family, who are the one recurring face that never fails to amuse on that show). So, instead, I’m going to devote a couple of words to the show that follows Always Sunny each Thursday night, The League.
For those of you unfamiliar with The League, it’s the story of a group of suburbanite, 30-something guys who participate in a fantasy football league. Each week they get into some zany hijinks, throw around some fantasy football talk, maybe encounter an NFL player making a cameo and bam, it’s over before you know it. Sometimes, I even laugh. Sounds pretty innocuous, right?
Well, for the most part, it is. I don’t want to come off as some titanic blowhard ranting about how The League represents a new low in programming, because it doesn’t. My gripe is that it’s artificial as Halle Berry’s tits. (I’m sorry if that ruined any fantasies out there. They might be fake, but they’re still spectacular.) I couldn’t create a show more based around demographic profiling than if I went out there and pitched The Xbox MMA Maxim Monster Energy White Males with Money Ages 25-34 Happy Hour to Spike.
The show is a naked attempt at pandering to a demo, which would be fine if it wasn’t so obscenely formulaic, but each episode breaks down as follows: 50% zany plot line, 30% fantasy football talk, 10% reinforcing the thought that average to below-average looking men land hot wives, so you have sex appeal even if you’re not in the gym because you’re watching this show, 5% making you think that, even if you lead this vacuous lifestyle, it’s okay because you’re watching other people live the same life on television and 5% other. As you can see, there’s a lot of wiggle room for creativity.
So tell me if you agree with my assessment of The League. I’ll be the first to admit I’m a goddamn hypocrite, because I’ve watched pretty much every episode of the show thus far. But I’m not proud of that fact. (I like how I tried to end that one on a moral high note, like I haven’t watched every episode of Jersey Shore this season at least twice.)
Say what you will, but, compared to The League, this show's as indy as Resevoir Dogs.
[Edit: Papa G is new around these here parts and will be creating original content for us as well as sharing posts from his site, In Papas Basement, so be nice to him, or treat him like the rest of the staff. Whatever. This post originally aired here]
Here is the strange and sort of confusing draft board from last night’s episode of The League. Aaron Rodgers fell all the way to pick 17? Ray Rice to 11? Ben Roethlisberger got taken in the sixth round? Anyways, I’ll have a full writeup after I’m done my 200 mile trek to a house filled with Scotch. If you also believe the draft board is faulty or that I’m insane and it’s perfectly legit, let me know in the comments.
Oh, and clicking on the draft board should bring up a full size version.
HBO’s True Blood has garnered a reputation as one of television’s raciest shows, and rightfully so: It’s rife with copious amounts of sex graphically depicted on screen (that last line almost sounds more at home in a letter written by an angry mom to the network). Not just any old sex, either: There’s chicks screwing vampires, guys screwing vampires, vampires screwing each other (this scene of Vampire Bill banging another vampire is possibly the most unintentionally funny thing ever put to film), dudes banging dudes, dude vampires banging dude vampires…you get my point.
The one place the show has played things strangely conservatively, however, is with the various shape-shifters that inhabit the show. There are werewolves, werepanthers, weredogs (I’m still holding my breath for a werewhale), yet any time they’re shown getting it on, it is invariably in human form. As the French say, “Le WTF!” You’re telling me that, if you had the power to turn into a wolf at will, you wouldn’t morph into one mid-coitus as a joke to freak out a girlfriend you were about to dump? Any time I see the shape-shifting Sam Merlotte getting some, the thought of him delivering the line “How about some real doggiestyle?” with a straight face right before he morphs into a canine consumes me. So how about it, HBO? You ready to give me my 15-dollars-a-month’s worth? Ya stinkin’ puritans…
Poor Brett Favre. His adventures in reproductive organ image transference appear to have gone horribly awry, and now everyone in the world (including his wife!) knows about it. So where did he go wrong? Well, that’s why I’m here to help today. With the WSR method, you too can successfully send dong pictures to unsuspecting women (or men, Gally)!
1) Be in the same age range.
Brett’s first mistake was sending pictures to someone half his age. They’re going to be disgusted by it, unless you’re Roger Sterling. Really, the only way you should be sending cock shots to anyone who isn’t within about 3-5 years of your age is if it’s a woman who’s about 15-20 years older than you. But for this piece, we’re not going to get into advanced technique.
2) Timing is everything.
Once you’ve got the right target, you need to pick the right time. Realistically, you need to know when they’re going to want to be looking at a phallus. That’s why I recommend sending your picture at between 12:45 am and 2 am on a Friday or Saturday. She’ll probably be out drinking, and that’s the ideal time to strike. Whatever you do, don’t send some picture on a Monday afternoon of you manhandling yourself while sitting around wearing just a pair of crocs.
3) Make sure you have the right equipment.
Really, the last and most important thing is the one you probably have no control over. If you can take a picture of your junk and you don’t need to lean back to get it all in the frame, you’re too small. Delete the picture, and forget everything else you read here.
If you follow these easy steps, you too can embarrass yourself for one and only one person. But any mistake with any of these steps could lead to national infamy.