Shaq – Biggest sports star of the modern era?

Today is a sad, sad day. My heart cries out a lonely song. I knew it was coming; hell, we all should have seen it coming: Shaq has retired. I would have Shaqrificed my left leg to give Shaquille O’Neal one last shot at recapturing his old form, but the time was right.

The Shaqtus, The Big Leprechaun, The Big Shamrock, The Big Aristotle, The Big Baryshnikov, Shaq Daddy, Shaq Fu, The Diesel, Superman (the original Superman, Dwight…other than the real Superman). If there is one thing that can not be debated, it’s that no celebrity figure in modern or ancient times (like the ’80s) has had such an uncanny knack for self proclaiming highly entertaining nicknames. (And as a quick aside, Shaq has asked fans for help creating his nickname in retirement. My choices: The Big Early Bird Special or The Big Arthritic)

But Shaq’s late-career knack for using nicknames to stay relevant while the Lego pieces he called body parts kept falling apart and eroding his play was only one small part of why I am convinced Shaq was the biggest sports star of the Millenium Era, which I’d describe as the era of athletes that dominated the sports landscape in the decade before and after the year 2000.

First, I am well aware Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretsky and Dale Earnhardt were competing in part of this era and were bigger stars than Shaq, but the fact is all of them belong to a different time. Jordan’s title-winning Bulls will always be tied to the very end of the NBA’s Golden Age of Magic, Bird, Barkley, Isiah, etc. Gretsky was still The Great One in the ’90s, but his star status was never the same after peaking that first year after leaving Edmonton for L.A. Earnhardt was the last great driver of NASCAR’s Budweiser-Swilling Go-Fuck-Yourself-Because-Mustaches-Are-Awesome Real Redneck era; not the $500 sunglasses, pussy fight, manicure-before-the-race era NASCAR is enjoying today.

Still, the Millenium Era has some impressive stars – Tiger in his prime, Roy Jones Jr., Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, Derek Jeter, Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Brett Favre, Allen Iverson and Shaq’s own personal nemesis Kobe, the Tommy Gunn to Shaq’s aging Rocky.

Roy Jones in his prime was incredible – as dominant and entertaining as Ali, but his terrible attempt at a rap career alone is enough to dim his star under Shaq’s. And for anyone who wants to hate on Shaq’s rap career, don’t forget The Diesel put out a platinum album in ’93, followed that up with a gold album in ’94 and, the ultimate testament, even Biggie gave Shaq props for his rap skills once upon a time. Sorry, Roy.

Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire – juice. Enough said. (Did you know Barry Bonds’ head grew like an inch in circumference from the start of his career to the end? Seriously! Look it up. But it was just the flax seed oil, right, Barry?)

Derek Jeter? Jeet is a mega-star no doubt; anyone who’s ruled the Big Apple for 15 years and banged the crazy out of Mariah Carey is, but the fact is the guy’s just never been that great of a baseball player. I’m sorry, dude is a savvy, smart, classy guy, but Yankees fans are convinced whoever is the face of their franchise gets to take ritual baths in the semen of Babe Ruth, Joe Dimaggio and Mickey Mantle, therefore making them equal to all former Yankee greats.

Tiger? Tiger owned this title before his little penchant for nailing anything with a pulse and a vagina, pulse optional, went public. You simply cannot be the biggest sports star of an era if you are picking up waitresses at the IHOP and driving them back to their trailer after banging them. That’s not even Class A minor league baseball level. That’s your drunk redneck uncle in Reno shit right there. The man might have won majors at a never before seen pace right through the heart of the Millenium Era, but Tiger’s head and body are so broken down now that even the mystic healing powers of Shaq’s Icy/Hot can’t heal him.

Whereas Shaq’s star has faded steadily over the past four seasons due to age an injury, he’s remained a pretty desired commodity for quality teams with legit title hopes. Contrast that to Iverson, who fell so far from grace so fast that he hopped on a plane thinking he had been banished to the NBA wasteland of Memphis only to walk out of the terminal in Turkey, less than two years removed from scoring over 25 per game with ‘Melo on a solid Denver team. A.I. hasn’t commented on the rumors that he was checking out Osama bin Laden’s crib in Pakistan ahead of his tryout with the Islamabad Goatherders of the Pakistani Basketball Association.

Lastly, Kobe, who has the wonderful distinction of being the face of the NBA for those terrible couple of seasons when he surpassed Shaq as the Lakers top weapon and before everyone could run to Lebron as fast as they could just so they didn’t have to pay attention to Kobe whining anymore. So why is Shaq bigger than Kobe, who the NBA always worked harder to promote than The Diesel? A) Shaq was better than Kobe in each of their primes. Shaq was literally unstoppable and played a one-of-a-kind game that no one has or ever will play again. Kobe is great at rising to the occasion, but there are literally dozens of players in the past 20 years that can pretty much do what Kobe does. B) Shaq was a legitimate cultural phenomenon when he blew up in the mid-90s. Kobe, pretty much, was the pretty boy primadonna that girls thought was cute and Europeans liked because he was a fan of soccer, both of which just annoyed most American fans. C) Shaq never raped anyone (Oh, right, Kobe never did either…). D) Kobe’s one extra title will never erase Shaq dissing him over and over again in impromptu raps.

But enough of those other guys. This is a celebration of Shaq, and he makes his own case for greatest sports star of his era, and one of the tops of all time.

As a player, Shaq tallied: 6 NBA Finals appearances, 4 NBA titles, 3 Finals MVP awards, 1 NBA MVP award (a travesty perpetrated by Karl Malone loving voters), 15 All-Star appearances, 14 All-NBA team awards and 3 NBA All-Defensive Team awards. He ranks 5th all time in NBA scoring, 12th in rebounds and 7th in blocks

As a celebrity, Shaq cut four rap albums (one platinum) and scored a Billboard top 40 hit; starred in his own Super Nintendo video game (Shaq Fu); swam against Michael Phelps, boxed Oscar de la Hoya and took on Olympic beach volleyball gold medalists Misty May and Kerri Walsh in his reality TV show Shaq Vs; starred as Neon in all-time classic sports flick Blue Chips then set a new standard for acting athlete ridiculousness by starring as rapping genie Kazaam and a kid-friendly Robocop in Steel (hate on Kazaam if you will, but no terrible box office bust is cited with more regularity by nostalgic 20-something potheads than Kazaam); and proved he has the best dance moves of any plus-7-footer in history, first by throwing down with the Jabbawokeez in the greatest All-Star game entry in sports history then schooling Justin Bieber in a Shaq Vs dance off.

Seriously, who the hell can top that combined resume? If all this Shaq nostalgia doesn’t have you a little misty to see the big man go, something is just plain wrong with you. We’ll miss you, Big Shuffleboarder.


America, the Ridiculous: Greatest absurdities of our great nation

America, the ridiculous, how I love you. For all the great things about you that don’t ever need to be repeated again (I’ve had about enough of your pompous lip, amber waves of grain), even the things in this country that are utterly deplorable are so entertaining that you have to just shake your head and say, “Oh, America! You…”

Let’s try it out:

You: Hey, America, a cabal of private companies conspired to skirt every one of your safety regulations en route to a preventable disaster that killed 11 people and dumped 5 million barrels of oil into the Gulf of Mexico, utterly destroying the region’s fishing and tourism industry for at least a year. What are you going to do?

America: Well, sounds like we need to create some new jobs then. How bout we do that by opening up offshore deepwater drilling in the Gulf without making any improvements or changes to prevent the same thing from happening again? And gas prices are getting kind of high, so let’s talk about more drilling again!

You: Oh, America! You…

It just makes me want to sing about this magical land we share:

O beautiful for spacious guts,

For amber waves of peroxide hair,

For purple cartoon dinosaurs

With all your fruity flair!

America! America!

God damn, the absurdity

Are those Kardashians on my TV again?

From E! to M-TeeeVeeeee!

Well, now that I’ve got that patriotic flourish out of my system, let’s try to figure out the absolutely, most ridiculous things about our great nation.

1. Totino’s pizzas still only cost .99 cents

Depending on the cost of living in your neighborhood and the quality of your local Walmart, Totino’s deliciously life-shortening Crisp Crust Party Pizza’s are still readily available for under a buck. Let’s think about that. What are the inputs that go into delivering you a Totino’s combination pizza? Pig, cow, wheat, corn, cheese, plastic, paper. You’re telling me you can raise cows and pigs and process their nasty bits, chemically produce low grade cheese, grow wheat and corn and refine it down several steps into “crust”, put it all together in a factory, pump it full of more preservatives than Bob Barker, wrap it, ship it and power the freezers to store it, all for under a buck? There’s a lesson here you should probably fear about what goes on behind the closed doors of the American food manufacturing machine, but who are we at LND to question the down right magical, delicious and economic results provided by Don Totino?

2. Gun control? We’d rather be shot in the face!

Maybe we shouldn’t sell automatic assault weapons anymore? HELP, AMERICA, SOME COMMIE IS TRYING TO KILL THE SECOND AMENDMENT! No, no, sorry. My bad. How about we just do away with extended ammo clips, you know, because it typically doesn’t take 30 shots to shoot a deer or kill the guy trying to rob your house? HOW AM I GOING TO DEFEND MYSELF FROM THE TYRANNY OF GOVERNMENT, YOU SOCIALIST SOB! Oh, wow, didn’t know that was going to be a problem. Um, ok, I’ve got it. How about we just use readily available technology to identify who bought the bullet just in case, you know, that bullet is used in one of the 15,000 to 20,000 murders in the U.S. every year? I WON’T BE A VICTIM! AIN’T NO CRIME WOULD HAPPEN IF I HAD MY GUNS! Well, I guess I shouldn’t even bother bringing up having to conduct background checks at gun shows… DON’T TREAD ON ME! GO AMERICA!

Ah, yes, in a land where crazy people indiscriminately mow down whoever had the misfortune to be out trying to get that 2-for-1 special on chicken fingers more frequently than Sarah Palin passes on making a controversy about her, we are more worried about retaining our ability to overthrow the government by force than saving a few hundred completely savable lives. Soooo, gun crowd, you know it’s pretty easy to overthrow the American government, right? You just vote them out. Or, ask Tunisia, you just use Twitter. Ok, now that we’ve got that solved, I am starting a new nonprofit: I will set up a Twitter account for every Castle Law-loving, militia-joining redneck that turns in their home arsenal.

3. Justin Beiber pays $750 for his haircut

For reals, J-Biebs (a Canadian) reportedly pays American stylist Vanessa Price a cool $750 for EVERY TRIM of that massive mop-top. At one trim per two weeks, that’s only $19,500 per annum for upkeep of “The Bieber.” Now, I’m not going to hate on the kid because he made a hairdo that has existed for about 40 years into an international sensation, but this kid has got a long time to live and, for anyone who has followed the careers of Lindsey Lohan or Macauley Kulkin knows, that fame and fortune isn’t going to last forever. Someone needs to tell him how easy it is to blow millions on overpriced haircuts and the international army of 16-year-old dirty snatches trying to suck up all his coin like a cheap parlor trick at a rundown strip club. J-Biebs – hear me and hear me good: It’s called Flowbee. You can get the same do for the one time low, low price of  $83.

4. Public health care, definitely communist

Let’s get all John Locke, social contract on the peoples. Ok, let’s not. But how does it make sense that America finds universal agreement that the country should provide free public education to all and yet we should not provide free public access to stuff to keep you alive? Let’s ask loud yelling loves America guy again: FREE MARKET, BEST CARE IN THE WORLD, GOVERNMENT…NO INNOVATION, LONG WAITS, GO TO FRANCE COMMIE!

Ok, thanks for that eloquent explanation, loud yelling loves America guy. But has free public education stifled the thousands of high performing, insanely expensive private schools around the nation that give any attendee a massive leg up in life over their public school competition? Doesn’t seem so. So why can’t those wealthy enough continue to support private insurance plans and pay for the latest health care innovations, kind of like how rich kids at private school get a better education than poor kids at public school?

5. People still like Anne Hathaway

I was absolutely crushed this week at the news that Anne Hathaway had landed the role as the new Catwoman. How could Christopher Nolan, who to this point has directed one of the most amazing reboots of a series destroyed by Joel Schumaker, Jim Carrey and Arnold Schwarzenegger ever, make such a terrible casting decision?

Hathaway is the exact saccharin, silly, sugar sweet sort of thespian that destroyed Batman the first time when Schumaker took over from the appropriately dark Tim Burton. Seriously, just look at this woman’s filmography: The Princess Diaries (1 and 2)? Hoodwinked? Becoming Jane? Valentine’s Day? Rachel Getting Married? BRIDE WARS???? How does this woman keep getting work? Jesus, The Devil Wears Prada? Yeah, the devil made me watch that movie with my wife.

There is no greater testament to America’s endless capacity to forgive and love a girl-next-door face than the fact Anne Hathaway still has a career.

So, I ask you, America, it is your country. What is the most absurd thing about us?

Better racist rant: Mel Gibson or Floyd Mayweather Jr.

Whatever happened to the days when heroes were heroes — real American, square-jawed, apple pie-loving, pure, chaste, wholesome role models? Like back in the days when men were men, like John Wayne, and we could all dream of getting on the diamond with legends like Ted Williams or Mickey Mantle.

Wait, what’s that? Wayne was a racist asshole; a self-described white supremacist who believed many black folk shouldn’t be allowed in public? Williams’ Red Sox and Mantle’s Yankees were two of the most institutionally racist franchises in sports history? What the fuck? America used to suck; we just didn’t have cell phones with high quality digital audio and HD video capabilities to record everything and the Internets to broadcast the hate vomit of our celebri-douches to the world.

 All those old, angry, racist bastards can take their “America’s Golden Age” and “Greatest Generation,” slather it in Aunt Jemima syrup, serve it with a side of Uncle Ben’s rice and go watch Uncle Remus on the Disney Channel. Today, with the magic of modern technology, we know how to out our racist demagogues: Just hit play in time for their weakest moment, and let the stream-of-consciousness, full mental meltdown ensue. There’s nothing like a good all out rant to show a celebrity for what they really are. The racist, anti semitic, chauvinistic, sexist, smurfist comments that come pouring out like diarrhea of the mouth not only fairly destroy their conjured images but provide fun and entertainment for us all for years to come!

So thank you Youtube, Ustream, Twitter, celebrity blogs, hidden cameras and cell phone recordings! If it weren’t for you, we could never debate the better racist meltdown of 2010 — English, Jew, women and black hating actor Mel Gibson or professional boxer Floyd Mayweather Jr., able to demean more than a billion Asians in a single blow.

Mel Gibson’s “Raped by a pack of N[bomb]s” rant

In early July, acclaimed actor, Oscar-winning director and hate-filled drunken anti semite Mel Gibson’s career took another beating worse than Jesus in Passion of the Christ when a slew of recordings featuring Gibson partaking in wild, huffing tongue lashings of his baby mama, Oksana Grigorieva, made their inevitable way to the Internets. Aside from these recordings serving as a reminder to the general public to run immediately in Gibson’s presence and as a future teaching aid in college psych classes for generations to come, one particular clip includes Gibson dredging up more racist comedy gold from the shit-stained rotted corpse that is his subconscious. We’re not sure what was better: Gibson browbeating Grigorieva about how terrible her fake boobs looked  (“They’re too big and they look stupid. They look like some Vegas bitch. They look like a Vegas whore”) or then shoving off into a 19th century style tirade about how she always goes out in public looking like a skank. But, hey, Mel knows What Women Want, so she must have had it coming. Gibson’s frustration over Oksana flaunting her Grigorievas all around town boiled over into lynch ‘em level racist territory when he kindly informed her that “you look like a fucking bitch in heat. And if you get raped by a pack of n[bomb]s, it’ll be your fault.” And who said chivalry was dead? Mel’s not playing blame the victim here, he’s just trying to save his fair maiden from black people. Unfortunately, I think old Braveheart is confusing black people with wild roaming packs of zombie dogs that feed on white women’s vaginas. Don’t worry, Mel, asshole racists have been making that mistake for years.

Floyd Mayweather Jr.’s “Make me a sushi roll” rant

Where Mel provided anyone in the universe with access to the electromagnetic spectrum unintentional comedic gold, Pretty Boy Floyd in September decided to try his hand at some racist standup for his peeps on Ustream. And his delivery is flawless: He warms up the room like any good Alpha Dog contender of the ring would by telling the word what he’s going to do to national treasure and demigod of the Filipino people, world boxing champ Manny Pacquiao. And so the comedic formula goes, the first step in successfully burning someone is to make fun of their physical appearance. Pacquiao just so happens to be a pocket man. Floyd says: “The fans ain’t gotta worry about me fighting the midget.” Check. Good job, Floyd. Step 2 in the comedy play book is to make fun of someone’s ethnicity, but toe the line so you don’t go crashing into “So a kike and a wop walk into a bar” territory. Floyd says: “Once I stomp the midget I’mma make that mother fucker make me a sushi roll and cook me some rice. He better make me a shrimp tempura cut roll.” Alright, a little harsh, but good enough. Check No. 2. Moving on … Wait. Floyd? Are you listening? I said moving on. No, no, you’re done with the ethnicity requirement. Oh shit. Michael Richards alert. CODE RED! WE HAVE A MICHAEL RICHARDS ALERT! Here Floyd goes: “You know how it is, we gonna cook that mother fucker with some cats and dogs.” Well, damn, Pretty Boy. Now you’ve gone and struck a nerve with close to 2 billion Asians. And if you’re going to make the eat cats and dogs joke, at least do it right and make it about a Chinese guy. (Don’t worry, I just sent a Michael Richards racist stand up alert on myself. Jeff Foxworthy will be here to castrate my comedy in five minutes).

The Verdict

Floyd’s racist rant was much more unique, crossing into fairly untouched racist territory, and tackling a generally untouched Pacific island ethnicity of Asian-Spanish descent. He gets racist rant style points for that. Meanwhile, we already know Mel Gibson is a bat shit crazy racist. It’s not 2007 anymore so the novelty has worn off, and Mel is just retreading well traveled ground on a minority that has spent way too much time under the boot of dickfuck white supremacists in celebrity sheep’s clothing. It’s almost like Mel is just on autopilot. Dropping a couple of n-bombs mid rant for Mel is like breathing in your sleep for anyone else.

On the other hand, Floyd is a boxer. Half of the man’s profession is to fight, the other half is to spin up hype by saying terrible, insulting things about future opponents. And Floyd has fought in more than 40 professional boxing matches, meaning he’s been punched in the head probably a minimum of 4,000 times. You can’t exactly expect Shakespeare and Socrates from the man. Mel might be playing old tricks, but in context the man is telling the mother of his child she’s going to get raped by men he probably imagines all have walrus dicks covered in spikes because she has ugly fake boobs and dresses like Katy Perry on Sesame Street.

Sorry, Floyd. Your undefeated record ends here. Your winner, and still undefeated, crazy fucking racist CHAAMPION OF THE WOOORRRRLLLLDDDD: Mel “The N-Bomber” Gib-sooonnnnnnnn!

Ain’t nobody gots to know: Most shameful celebrity you’d do

Most men have experienced this moment of shame: You’re hanging out with your friends at a party, some girl straight out of Where the Wild Things Are starts putting the “I’m lonely and will lick your toenails” vibes on you, and, before you know it, your will fades and you bail out the back door with Broomhilda while praying no one notices. The next day the inevitable happens: “Hey dude, where’d you go last night during the party? We ended up playing some sweet strip beer pong with these Swedish exchange chicks.”

You panic. They can’t know you put your James in The Giant Peach. So you lie. “Um, I shat myself. Yeah, damndest thing. That Natty Light wasn’t sitting right with some oysters I ate, and I up and shat my pants. Had to go home.”

“What? You ate oysters?” the response comes. “Whatever dude. Let me tell you about these Swedish girls.” Crisis averted. You would rather have the world think you pooped yourself than know you played pig in Butterfaceandeverythingelse’s swamp blanket.

On the flip side, who hasn’t played the old celebrities I most want to bang game? May the overly intense, three-hour debate over Angelina Jolie, Scar-Jo, Jessica Alba, Megan Fox and Emma Watson ensue (Wait, Hermoine’s 18 now, right? Yes? Sweet.) This classic late night debate is most likely to result in pseudo-gay man wrasslin’ as testosteroned up dudes let out the sexual frustration accumulated from the fact they have no more chance to bed any of said super hotties than my spayed dog has a chance of giving birth to a litter of Thundercats or Matthew McConoughey and wife Camilla Alves have of giving birth to a baby genius (“Vida is Portuguese for life, and that’s what God gave us this morning,” McConoughey said about the naming of his most recent child in January. Nice observation, Matty. Is your next child’s name going to mean “Slimy, gross and kind of blue” in Chinese?)

Anyways, so what would happen if we combined the reality of “Girl I’d do if no one was looking” with the surreality of “Celebrity I’d most want to touch with my nasty bits?” Surprisingly, an amazing smorgasbord of kink, shame, infectious disease and nightmares.

In order of least to most shameful, here are the celebs I’d do the Hokie Pokie with if nobody ever had to know:

6. Brooke Hogan

Brooke is young, nubile, supple … and like 7’3. Unless you’re into playing little spoon while Yao Ming with tits makes you suck your thumb and think of a happier place — like a prison shower — you should probably pass on this one. And considering Brooke’s weird Daddy-can-you-rub-my-ass relationship with fake wrestling legend Hulk Hogan, you’d probably end up in a tag team match you would not want aired on pay-per-view, Brother.

Shame factor: 5 out of 10. Failed pop starlet Amazon women that have public pseudo-sexual relationships with their flamboyant fathers should not be served as a side dish with your summer sausage. Brooke is also stronger than you, so that’s never great for the old pride.

Scar factor: 8 out of 10. If Hulk didn’t actually participate, he would at a minimum be contractually obligated to be in the room encouraging his daughter to show you how a real man puts a penis in a Figure Four.

5. Betty White

Every man aged 25 to 61 has had this discussion: Which Golden Girl would you do? The problem is, with the sad passing of sassy Southern hussy and No. 1 pick in the Golden Girl fantasy draft Rue McClanahan (Blanche Devereaux), 88-year-old Betty White is now the last surviving Golden Girl. Close your eyes, keep a doctor on call and get ready to feed this leading lady of senior comedy your Snickers bar because you know there’s no denying the Jupiter-like gravitational pull of doing the no pants dance with a Golden Girl. Just be gentle; Betty is the last of her kind.

Shame factor: 6 out of 10. Banging an octogenarian is never something you should strive for, but Betty White is hot with the hipsters right now so you’d actually accumulate cred with the under-25s.

Scar factor: 8 out of 10. If you’re lucky, Betty dies before insertion. If you’re unlucky, she starts telling stories about milking goats in St. Olaf mid-act.

4. Courtney Love

Pros: You would be following the footsteps of rock legend and sultan of slacker cool Kurt Cobain; you already know her boobs are surprisingly exquisite thanks to The People vs. Larry Flynt.

Cons: You would be following in the footsteps of the roughly 9,000 mascara-wearing, indie rockers that have turned Courtney’s vagina into Seattle’s own Cave of the Winds; syphilis

Shame factor: 8 out of 10. Having sex with a heroine addict is never something that’s going to go in your trophy case, but if Courtney actually chose to have sex with you your only choices would probably be do it or be stabbed in the neck with a used drug needle.

Scar factor: 7 out of 10. Most likely, your retinas will survive the sight of her needle-pierced body, but Courtney Love is a dirty enough human being that you’d probably need a psychologist to help you bury the experience deeper than the real gun Courtney used to off Kurt.

3. Rachel Dratch

Former SNL funny woman Rachel Dratch is the sort of sad troll woman that, if you agreed to bang her only if she wore a bag over her head, would have a bag at the ready to pull out of her purse. But on the upside, you can feel free to use old Peter Wifebeater to unleash your shame and anguish on Rachel because to her it’s just going to feel like the same ugly stick that’s been beating her since birth.

Shame factor: 9 out of 10. In a long history of unattractive female SNL alums, you will have landed your jet plane in the Kyrgyzstan of female comediennes. Frankly, you’d probably be better off with Gilda Radner’s corpse.

Scar factor: 6 out 10. Although she looks like the lovechild of Rodney Dangerfield and Rex from Toy Story, Rachel is a very funny lady. She’ll teach you how to turn your pain into joy for all, which it will be for your friends when you show them a picture of Rachel and they think you had sex with Elijah Wood.

2. Amy Winehouse

See Courtney Love; increase alcohol, heroine, cocaine and horse semen levels in the blood stream tenfold. If your friends found out you had sex with Amy Winehouse, they would probably excuse themselves to wash their bodies with steel wool. Don’t expect them to return your phone calls, either.

Shame factor: 8 out of 10. Having sex with a passed out near-corpse is not a good start, but the Winehouse costumes your friends will wear each Halloween to mock you for years to come will haunt you.

Scar factor: 9 out of 10. When Amy overdoses while you’re balls deep in a vagina full of war stories more graphic than the storming Normandy scene in Saving Private Ryan and then vomits on herself, you will not be the same. The constant mental image of her snaggle tooth staring at you while you were doing your dirty work would not sit well, either.

1.  Hillary Clinton

Quite literally, you would be suckling from the teets of power. You know you’d do it. You’d rub Hildawg’s nub until she promised you a minor ambassadorship. Most dudes would dust off the cobwebs collecting around Madame Secretary of State’s little diplomat just in the hope Bill Clinton would find out and send a personal thank you letter for getting that righteous hag off her Monica Lewinsky high horse.

Shame factor: 8 out of 10. One phrase: Pant suit. What could be worse than the morning after making the Queen of the Rainbow Pant Suits scream until she saw ROY G. BIV? Peeling off that primary color pant suit to see the horrors of what lies within the Secretary’s chamber to begin with, that’s what. Also, if you are playing sloppy seconds to Slick Willy, you are not leaving a lot of room for self respect.

Scar factor: 10 out of 10. Do you honestly think there is any chance Hildawg’s flower has been watered since the Lewinsky scandal? Not a chance, and that was 1999, probably 8 years after President Clinton actually last regulated that Superfund site. That woman has a lot of demons pent up. There’s no way your Secretary of Snake is going to compromise with Hil’s wide side. She’s going to have you tortured like a Guantanamo Prison inmate, and believe you me you don’t want any part of that water board. Good luck.

If you actually put your bologna poney in any of these cows’ pens, LND won’t mock you. In fact, we will honor you with the Hillary salute.

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