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.

Thanks to Bruce Arthur for the video.

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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.

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So I’m at a bar watching one of my favorite bands, the Lloyd Dobler Effect taking the stage after the game. Haven’t heard of them? Well, then why the hell didn’t you check out my New Year’s post? Anyway, they aren’t famous. But we go back to 2002 and you probably won’t meet a nicer group of musicians. Decent gig for them since playing across the street after a huge game around the holidays probably means a good door for them. A couple members are wearing Caps jerseys. Given the broader audience, they’re mixing in a few more covers than usual – some awesome and some not my favorite. For instance, their guitarist is a huge devotee of Canadian indie pop like myself and sings on a phenomenal folk-rock cover of Stars’ “Elevator Love Letter,” which is

I'd consider revising my "No Penguins Fans" policy for her

pretty much my favorite song in the world to begin with. They also threw down a very popular cover of “Little Lion Man,” which is a song I don’t even like because I can’t stand the dude’s voice, but with a different person singing it was surprisingly good. Not to mention their requested (by me) cover of “Doin’ the Butt” and their hip-hop number for the evening, “Gin and Juice.” On the downside, Weezer’s “Beverly Hills” and “Island in the Sun.” Why? Even they didn’t look like they were enjoying it, especially the latter. Come on, you should know that Weezer died after their first 2 albums. Anyway, there’s a handful of people who know their songs, like 3 people (including me), and a modest crowd of people enjoying the show.

And then in come the douchebags. Yes, let’s give a toast to the douchebags. And to be fair, every team has douchebags as fans, so I’m not calling out either squad, despite being an enormous Caps fan and hating the Penguins. I don’t like many Penguins fans, but it’s possible to co-exist and talk semi-rationally – myself and K-Gun for instance – and each concede and decry the douchebag faction of the fan bases.

Now that we’ve established that, in stride and crow two female Penguins fans, one drunk off her ass. Early 20′s. The drunker of the two is all chesty (and by that I mean boastful, though she did have a good body) about the game and is all up in everyone’s face, even though everyone’s mostly watching the band. OK, so this chick along with black spandex pants is wearing a light blue Crosby jersey, which is a johnson-killer for this guy anyway. And she’s … well, she is conventionally attractive, but not in a way that seems particularly authentic. One might describe her as “trashy hot.” Let me put it this way: She’s the kind of girl that Gally would rabidly encourage you to follow on Twitter. Her friend is also wearing black spandex pants and a black Penguins t-shirt and she’s … well, the very definition of average. She looks like the girl next door, but not in the Hollywood-ized wicked-alluring-impossibly-cute way. I mean, a literal girl next door. Like on a scale of 1-10, she’s a 5. And there’s nothing fucking wrong with that. I’m probably a 4. Maybe 3 ½.

OK, so Trashy Crosby immediately starts making an ass out of herself. She pushes through the crowd yelling about how the Penguins won (which they really didn’t because shootouts aren’t real) and starts screaming about it at the band. For a retort, Chris Bruno, the guitarist, responds, “You two are about as hot as Sidney Crosby with that moustache,” which just encourages her more. Throughout the next batch of songs, she proceeds to make a serious of lewd and suggestive gestures at the band’s drummer (who, by the way, is married with children) and is met with a combination of the finger and being ignored. (Her

Do not want.

apparently less drunken and lascivious friend is halfheartedly repping the Penguins, but mostly standing around). After realizing she probably isn’t going to get railed by a band member between sets, she sets her sights on the rest of the crowd. None of whom seem particularly interested in a drunken booty dance with someone that’s off their ass. I actively turned my back. Most others just ignored her. Until her real target demo showed up. A group of stereotypical “bros” in Caps jerseys. Straight Dane Cook, homey.

To most of their initial credit, most of them were initially nonplussed. Until she managed to snare one of them. Now this dude, he was tall, lanky, Asian-ish (which isn’t at all relevant to the story), and looked about 18, but did have a beer, so I’ll give him credit for legal drinking age since they can be tough about IDs in the arena district. He gave a look like Santa Claus had come 2 days early that a trashy hot girl was all the fuck over him on the dance floor, even if she was wearing a Crosby jersey. Now admittedly, he already displayed his spectacularly bad taste in that he sported an Alexander Semin jersey. I hate selfish, talented enigmas and hope the Caps don’t re-sign his bitch ass. Anyway, Douchey Semin’s friends laughed at him. A lot. He looked like the cat who ate the canary and was about to eat some more cat. I did a lot of standing around shaking my head like Lee Trevino in “Happy Gilmore.”

OK, time for an aside. Even if she wasn’t wearing a Crosby jersey, I’m glad that most people weren’t giving her the time of day, because there really is a code here that Douchey Semin was breaking. If there’s a substantial drunkenness discrepancy, you gotta leave it alone. Because then it’s like date rape. This unwritten law has been a great cause of my not getting laid, but also being able to live with myself. I guess I will say that Douchey Semin found a solution, which was trying to catch up in alcohol consumption.

The original Douchey Semin

So I decide to insert myself. No, not that way. Because they’re annoying me. So I pull out my phone and type, “You can do better,” on it and show it to Douchey Semin. He brushes his shoulder off, essentially telling me to fuck off and that he can’t or doesn’t want to. So, you’re thinking. Kind of a dick move on my part? Maybe. It’s entirely possible that I may be known in some circles as what some may call a “hater.” I don’t really like to see other people getting some when I’m not. Especially if it’s under some kinda sketchy circumstances. But maybe I’m just using my “codes” to mask sexual frustration. I’m far from a perfect person and this is one of my flaws. Remember, like they taught you in smart person English class, a non-omniscient narrator is only as reliable as his/her perspective.

So these 2 are making a trashy spectacle with their dirty dancing. Meanwhile, the Average Friend is trying to separate the two. I can’t see what she’s saying to Douchey Semin, but it seems to equate to, “This girl’s off her ass and we need to get her the fuck home.” She does not seem to be having any effect and looks dismayed and frustrated. She has that look in her eyes like, “This fucking happens every time we go out and it sucks.” I actually kinda felt bad for her. Being the perpetual babysitter to a more attractive friend sucks balls. I’ve been there. I almost considering striking up a platonic conversation over this and trying to help call Trashy Crosby a cab. (For whatever reason, I have this thing with trying to get drunk girls cabs so they don’t get date raped; I spent at least an hour on New Year’s Eve helping strangers. I have issues. We know this). But then Trashy Crosby went to the restroom and our story took a turn.

Trashy Crosby was in the restroom for a long time. Who knows what she was doing in there. Blow? Hurling? A vibrator? Sleeping? Got me. What I do know

Don't fuck with the babysitter! Or in this case, do!

is that the second she left, the Average Friend, who had spent the last 30 minutes trying to pry Trashy Crosby’s vagina off Douchey Semin’s penis was on Douchey Semin like Nick Denton on a rail of coke. She’s got his Caps hat on her head and they’re dance-fucking worse than he was with Trashy Crosby. Soon, as the ways would have it, they’re having a disgusting drunken make-out in the middle of the floor, despite the fact that the Average Friend didn’t really appear that drunk until just now. Eventually, those two went home – and by “home” I mean somewhere that wasn’t in the bar – together. And Trashy Crosby snared some other bro Caps fan. Maybe one of Douchey Semin’s friends, but I couldn’t tell because those frattish white guys all look alike. And they left together. I guess everyone went home happy. But I was still amazed by the epic steal of Douchey Semin by the Average Friend. Not that he was much, or any of a prize. But that she used a move that could only be best described as “The Fake Babysitter.” Pretend to spend substantial time and energy trying to keep your friend out of trouble and then pounce on the guy you’ve finally gotten her off of. Leaving your friend to fend for herself. Machiavellian genius.

So what was I doing during all this drunken debauchery and going places to get fucked in the ass? Glad you asked. I met a woman who was a rabid fan of the band (one of the other 2 there besides me) and whose birthday it was. Bought her a drink for her birthday, danced a bit, exchanged contact information, silently realized the logistical circumstances of our transportation precluded any possibilities, and went home. Having made yet another new friend. Classy as always. Heart of gold and bollocks of blue. Such is the life of Old King Clancy.

But that’s not what you should take away from this. If you’re a member of a douchebag collective, and I know at least a few of you are, and you really don’t like your friends that much, and you don’t have much of a conscience, try “The Fake Babysitter.” Apparently highly effective. Like I said, learn something new every day. Now, get the fuck out of here!

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1. Some Heartfelt New Year’s Wishes From Old King Clancy

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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.

3. Repeat.

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.

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1. Logic’s Christmas List
2. I’m Burnin’ For You: A Merry Cockburn Christmas Special

Pic mostly unrelated

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!

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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]

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1. FX’s The League: A Draft Board Expose Sneak Peak
2. The Gally Blog Fantasy Football League

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.

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1. FX’s The League Can Blow Me
2. The Gally Blog Fantasy Football League
3. The Gally Blog Fantasy Football Draft

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…

Bow Chicka Wow Wow

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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.

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