mich-AeL

Another installment in AL's sport gone wrong series...plus a little something for you cooking enthusiasts.

Here's a great column by Dan Wetzel on a bird that ain't gonna be flying for quite some time.



And since we're on the topic of birds that don't fly...

post-AL

Everyone is so fucking sensitive. I mean, you get a little fired up during a ball game, hit a couple motherfuckers with a bat, and BOOM! You're off to jail.

Jose Offerman, of the L.I. Ducks these days, put a bat upside a few opponents heads after getting plunked. Seems fair to me. I mean, you hit me with a ball, I take a bat to yo' ass. (Remember Sean Connery's character in the Untouchables? "...Capone's guys put one of your men in the hospital. You put one of his in the morgue!") What's the problem?




What happened to the good old days? 8/22/1965: Juan Marichal clubs John Rosenboro upside the motherfucking head in a Giants/Dodgers game at Candlestick...

Juan Marichal getss suspended for nine days and fined $1,750.

mediev-AL

This was just too good to pass up. Ving Rhames' dogs got a little medieval on a brother's ass...






Man Fatally Mauled By Dogs At Ving Rhames' House

(CBS) LOS ANGELES Police say a man has been fatally mauled at the Brentwood home of actor Ving Rhames.

The man, an employee of the 48-year-old actor's, apparently was hired to take care of Rhames' property and his four bull mastiffs.

It is unclear how many of the dogs were involved in the mauling but all four have been taken into custory by Animal Control.

TMZ.com is reporting that Animal Control was called to the property at 7:15 a.m. and found a black male, 40, deceased, on the front lawn.

They also reported that Rhames, a 2-time Golden Globe winner, is out of town.

dors-AL

A l'il somthing for Solo

This post should be filed under "Nothing to do with anything 'cept ass." Solo was pissing about the fat guy pics. Don't say I never did anything for you, Solobreak.

dism-AL

Al Vents About Big Head Barry and another Fucking BOMB

Maybe it's just me, but I can shake it. I admit it. I'm fucking depressed by Barry-Big-Head-Bonds breaking Aaron's record. I shouldn't give a shit. I should just walk away and forget it like everyone else. But it sticks in my craw. I have to say it: FUCK BARRY!

Since I heard the news, I've stayed at home, eating comfort food and bon bons.



And now, I just want to cry, cry cry.

leth-AL weapon 2

Fuck Freddie, I'm

leth-AL

Moveitfred Kicks Ass!

Moveitfred has been on "the program" for a few months now.

Once y'all get on "the program" the greatest cycling team in the world comes knocking.

Moveitfred fahking kicks ass now!

Can you say Podium Girl Smorgasbord?

leth-AL

Used Bike Shorts

Freddy is busy packing his overnight duffel in preparation for a rip-roaring visit with none other than Heywood Jablome out in The Promised Land later this week.

Moveitfred is gettin' all tingly about his upcoming travels and the chance to spend some quality time with HJ.

Wouldn't you?

Wood has promised to take care of the grossly misproportioned Moveitfred by setting him up with some oversized steeds for riding. Wood also promised to outfit Moveitfred with helmet, pedals, and...gulp...some of Woodrow's castoff bike shorts.

Here's a recent photo of Wood and some of his NorCal buds after a particularly rousing bout of something they like to call "criterium tag."


Uh...y'know what Heywood, Moveitfred will bring his own bike shorts.

cath-AL-ic girls

LONDON (AFP) : Queen Elizabeth II's eldest grandchild could lose his place in the line of succession to the British throne if he marries his Catholic fiancee, newspapers reported Friday.

Citing sleuthing work by Catholic weekly The Tablet, newspapers said Peter Phillips' Canadian fiancee Autumn Kelly, 31, was baptised as a Catholic in Quebec. !!!!!!!

Bring It The F On

tentac-ALS

Wherein Al reports on the Lumpy Pancake Olympic Triathlon and tells all about getting stung by a fucking jellyfish

Yesterday was tough. It was terribly hot. At Seven in the AM, it was already well into the upper 80s and VERY HUMID!



There was some delay to start the swim. First, there was some discussion about the course marking. Next, there was some discussion, it seemed, about a passing wave of jellyfish. Both these points would prove important later. We began the swim, though, without incident.




Somewhere mid swim two things happened. 1) I realized that Stevie Wonder had marked the course. I was at the midway buoy and the course was swimming VERY LONG. There was a good deal of current, so I wondered if it just felt long. (Fighting current can be a real slow, grueling bitch.) But, post race, all Olympic competitors I spoke to said the same thing: "LONG!" 2) About 200 yards after midway, I felt something strange on my face, in my mouth. It was a squishy something. I pushed it away and noticed many other squishy somethings--jellyfish. I kept swimming, reasoning that the faster I was through them the better. I almost made it. I suffered one minor sting on the upper arm and neck. The suit protected me from the rest. The sting was annoying and a bit painful, but I was able to continue on without difficulty.

We transitioned to bike and I got going cleanly. I moved ass out of the water and got to my bike expeditiously. I ripped off the suit and got the shoes on quickly. I did not use the "shoes clipped in method." Instead, I ran in my shoes and clipped in as I pulled past the "mounting zone." All was smooth, and I was out on the road.






Have I mentioned that it was hot as a pair of balls? The bike was pretty flat except for one long, steep climb. And there was little wind. So the course wasn't very challenging in those ways. But it was brutal. The sun beat down and there was no air. A couple of notes: the course leader wiped out on the downhill. It was a very fast, steep section with a sharp turn to it and some road hazards--a rough section and an uneven manhole cover. I heard he went down here. I also heard he was taken away on a stretcher. I saw the ambulance. But I did not see the wreckage nor any EMTs at work. From the bike I transitioned cleanly to the run, grabbing a few gels, slamming on a cap, stowing the bike, slipping on the shoes. Then I was pounding the pavement...





The heat was ON! It was so humid and sweltering that runners were staggering and dropping. I saw several more ambulances along the route and heard of a "cross the line and drop" finisher who was scooped up and taken away. Gels and gatorade kept me upright, though. And I dumped a sea-ful of H2O on the ole noggin. I crossed the line in 2:54.09, and BOY was I glad to be done. I came in 70th overall, 55th among men, and 12th in the 35-40 Men bracket. I'm still re-hydrating and, needless to say, feeling a bit like hammered shit. But I'm a good deal better than poor Al K. He DQd in the swim when he stopped and swam ashore to get out of his wetsuit (it was WAY too warm for the full suit he had on). To add insult to injury, someone swiped the suit from where it lay on the beach. Poor fucker.

farcic-AL

Professional Sports Is a Joke

As the laughingstock that is the TdF confirms, cycling is a joke. And Bonds' quest for the final two homeruns to topple Aaron speaks volumes about the sham that is baseball. Bball is running for cover in the wake of this latest point shaving scandal. And don't say anything about football or Vick will bury you with one of his pitbulls. So let me ask you this, can anyone think of a worse time in professional sport? I mean, there have been terrible incidents--Black Sox, Ali banned, Festina etc. But have there been worse, across the board, times? July may well go down in history as the worst month ever for professional sport in the good ole U.S. of A.

And to top it all off, I've got a fucking head cold and a big event Sunday. But my Mets have come out of their slump after all star break, so it ain't all bad. Maybe they're on the Homer-diet.

Yummy

Dinner time.

heterosexu-AL

Al tires of the fat guy on the beach pics and the puny, fag cyclist photoshop fun. Here's a little something for the hetero males still in attendance.

Maybe...

Levi knows that 4th is good for the win this year?

sniff.....

Oh Vino. Oh dear. We wanted to believe you could fly, crash, and fly again....

Kisses!

Disco Inferno

Somebody needs to beat the shit out of Levi on Tuesday night. Rough him the fuck up, old school style with metal pipes and boot leather to the chin. Get him all beat up and pissed.

It's Wednesday or nothing to slay Hematopollo, and Levi's the guy who's got to put his balls on the spit and go down in flames so Contador can win.

For ONCE Levi needs to go on the attack early and often and blow down in flames on the last climb. Give Contador a chance to really attack early against a tenderized bird.

FUCK 4TH PLACE, LEVI! GO DOWN BLOODY AND SCREAMING! PLUMMET DOWN THE GC! SLAY THE CHICKEN!

Beach Rules

Welcome to this installment of Moveitfred's Beach Rules. Moveitfred and family spent a lovely weekend lounging at the local town beach here on the beautiful north shore of Long Island, and Moveitfred would simply like to pass along a few tips for those of you intent on spending any amount of time in a pleasant, sandy locale this summer.


Here is a lovely shot of the beach this past Sunday. Here on the beautiful north shore of Long Island we tend to get a pretty benign crowd of well-educated, family-centered, well-mannered white people out at the beach.

Here you can see one of the reasons for the banality: ankle-high surf ripping onshore from Long Island sound.

Rad.

Oh, what the fuck. At least we're not in Kansas. And the south shore beaches have some good breaks...

But back to the north shore and this pleasant community beach. OK people, even if you are just going down to your local watering hole and it's, y'know, no big deal 'cause it's only a few miles from your house and if you forget something you can just go home and get it, still please avoid a few common mistakes.

First off. People: the paddleball game is no fun. Even the raddest paddleboarders only hit the ball twice--a serve and return. Then the ball zips over someone's head or skitters onto the sand. End of round. Who cares? Is there any way to keep score? To win? Fuck paddleball.

Here you can see bleached white Ric Ocasek dude (fuck, man, it's the end of July! First day out in the sun?) playing a rousing game with his mildly hot cousin.

Just keep that paddleball shit away from Moveitfred.

Now Moveitfred appreciates the attempt at cool beach activity from this dad. See, he went over to Dicks with his tax return, waved that check in the manager's face, and said "Me and my boy want to kayak!"

As you can see he's got the full-blown kayak kit workin' the beach: from aqua shoes to neoprene gloves.

I'm sure this is great family fun, but please take part in this activity in the back bays away from Moveitfred. It disturbs Moveitfred when you beach your plastic craft and drag it along the rocky shore. The noise is horrific. Plus, this getup has got to result in some very un-rad tan lines.

Next. People, don't bring cheap lawn furniture to the beach. Any chair woven in Mexico by child labor needs to stay in the garage at home. Also, consider the patterns you will embed into your fat backs when you get up.

No, there are chairs designed for beach sitting. Purchase a couple.

Skin cancer is not cool. If your one of those pussies who is all jacked up with fear over the UVA and B's messing with your inherently beautiful skin, then get yourself an umbrella. Just don't purchase overstock from Circus Vargas. You don't want children clamouring for the elephants and clowns.

OK, we got a few things going on here. First, Rick and his hot little minx cousin are still playing the fucking paddleball.

But more importantly, people--tuck in your strings. Such a simple thing to do that will make a world of difference.

You may be saying to yourself, "But Moveitfred, I'm not a beach person." OK, OK, we can't all be rad like Moveitfred. Take this gruppetto. First, cut out the depressing goth look. Save the black shit for when playing D&D with your friends while listening to old Manson records.

The boardshorts are mildly cool on this dude, but pair those bad boys with a matching T if you've got the layered skin look working on your backside.

This kind of shit also disturbs Moveitfred and makes him throw up a little bit in his mouth.

Moveitfred hopes you are feeling a little better about your beach experience now. One final examination. Below we see somewhat of a rare sight along the sedate north shore beaches: the Long Island Douchebags. Normally one would find these specimins closer to the city, say adjacent to Massapequa or some such locales. But occasionally the tide shifts and these scrotes wash up just about anywhere.

Notice how the poly athletic shorts are taking on water and slipping into the depths to expose the all-cotton boxers. Now that's a comfy wet combo. Douchey Vincent on the right is trying to talk his younger cousin Richie into getting some Jesus bling and matching tats.

Here the two Douchies are joined by a third scrote and are being pulled toward Queens at low tide.

About 50 more miles, UberDouches....

OK, Moveitfred is tired. He would just like to close with a request. Please, purchase yourself a surf mag, educate yourself on the culture, and come prepared. Moveitfred wants you to fit in.

What the?

Suddenly Chicken is one of the top time trialers in the world? WTF? Did he just luck out with dry roads or is there, ahem, something else going on? He looked baked at the end of it all.

Is Levi giving his all and no better than a 5th place rider, or is he saving for something? Shooting par on every stage does not a Tour win. Do that too often and suddenly someone else is leading your team.

Can Vino get back 5 plus mins? That guy's Kazak blood looks boiling mad.

Is Evans the real deal? He seems to be having more success playing the Levi game.

Will Sastre and Mayo pop off some big days in the mountains? What the hell, right?

Who the hell is Kashechkin? Another one of those commie goons?

Is Klöden going to win the whole damn thing?

Tune in tomorrow....