

It happened. Just as we expected it would.The sky fell.
Washington state passed same-sex marriage laws, and the Beast reared up in the east and swallowed several fishermen whole.
That's the opening of one of the best things ever written on the subject of gay marriage. It's by Alexandra Petri, it's on washingtonpost.com, and you should go read the whole thing.
The post ends with this should-be-inscribed-in-stone-somewhere passage, which may make you laugh, cry and nod your head sagely all at the same time:

As the days of Star Wars, atomic wedgies and awkward boners gave way to varsity football, S.A.T.'s and negotiating bra straps, John, as he was officially later self-renamed, was known by most in the high school power structure as "Bill's brother." And why not? I was an upper-class BMOC. The sportos, motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads, they all adored me. They thought I was a righteous dude. John still had a bowl cut. Then one day, he escaped my shadow, ditched the Flowbee, became a man, and is now a big-wig corporate muckety-muck, with a wife, kid, a big-ass house and can buy and sell families. As for me? Having peaked in high school, I'm now a part-time radio hack and 2-bit sarcastic sports blogger currently writing about how awesome I was 25 years ago. Irony can be pretty ironic sometimes.

Anyway, fans of the beloved Ewings were hornswoggled when the last episode revealed the entire 1985 season was nothing but a dream. Duped, dumb-struck, hoodwinked and betrayed, the Dallas faithful didn't know what to believe and wondered just what else was real, and what was nothing more than a figment of Pamela's imagination (and sweet rack...what, what'd I say).
My point is, sadly and tragically Joe Paterno's last chapter has been written and has forever tarnished an otherwise positive and inspirational book. Passions predictably run deep on both sides. Supporters stress the positives and that one bad decision should not undo decades of good work. Logical and understandable argument, if not for the fact that the one bad decision, unfortunately, is severely, drastically, and diametrically the polar opposite of what a man of Paterno's perceived character would have done. Bottom line is he chose to preserve the reputation of a program over the safety of a child, which to a lot of people is unforgivable. What's horrifyingly worse is that after the pervert was caught red-handed and essentially got away with it, it didn't end there. You know there were more children after that one. And those could have been prevented. Which makes JoePa slightly more than a bystander at that point. And that's what I find unforgivable.
But maybe that's just me.
Doggie-paddling back to the shallow end of the pool, the woman who played Thunderbug, the Tampa Bay Lightning mascot, was fired for spraying silly-string on a fat, pale, loud, belligerent, douchebag. Or as we like to call around here, a Boston Bruins fan. The mouth-breathing neanderthal, who apparently misplaced his sense of humor along with his running shoes and inside voice, shoved Thunderbug to the ground. Don't get your shoulder hair in a lather, Mongo. You can't treat everyone like they're your wife. Turned out the walking condom ad flew into a rage after discovering it wasn't a can of Easy Cheese.
Eight coaches have run though One Buc Place since the Tampa Bay Buccaneers' inception in 1976. All but one (John McKay) were shit-canned. Those are some sweet odds. Enter number nine; A no-nonsense, hard-nosed disciplinarian from Jersey named Greg Schiano (cue the Sopranos theme). Schiano took the Head Coaching job at the State University of New Jersey when the words "Rutgers" and "Football" went together like pralines and dick. Since then he's built the program to a solid "pretty good" status and has made the USF Bulls his personal bitch. Which means he's already won more games in Raymond James Stadium that Raheem Morris. Zing!
Three helpful hints on your North to South transition, Greg:

Meetings suck.

Speaking of God, the Tebow love/hate fest continues for at least another week after Timmy once again pissed off every smug expert in broadcasting by doing something in his second year that Josh Freeman or Matthew Stafford couldn't do in three, Matt Ryan couldn't do in four, and Carson Palmer couldn't do in nine. Win a playoff game. I can almost hear the collective teeth-grinding. I've also discovered a bizarre irony among the football citizenry.


In The Book of Kink: Sex Beyond the Missionary, Eva Christina explores the hidden and often misunderstood world of fetishism. The book covers everything from the history of kinks to how-tos. Below is a sample of some of the lesser-known fetishes Christina illuminates.

This seems to be the first in a rash of dildo related crimes in Bradenton recently. Just last week an undercover officer arrested a suspected prostitute after she performed oral sex on the strap-on penis he pulled out of his pants. No word on if the officer used the same strap-on penis confiscated from the aforementioned crime scene. If so, this tampering with evidence may explain why the State Attorney's Office decided to drop the felony assault charges against Taylor this week.

The party-rocking duo, LMFAO, just released the video for their next club hit: "Sexy and I Know It." Keeping with their motif of outlandish outfits and party boy antics, the group hits Venice Beach in their loud, neon gear. They quickly strip away their bike shorts and sleeveless beach shirts to reveal front-loaded Speedos. Pop and locking their musical manhood draped in animal print spandex, they compete in an impromptu thrusting competition with a rival Speedo dance crew. Ron Jeremy even makes a cameo appearance, obviously jealous of the duo's dynamic, dancing junk.