All blogs are works of gonzo journalism and should not be regarded as truth; they are but entertainment.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Carrot Top: Completely Retarded


Its a typical drunken Sunday night in Las Vegas, Nevada.

The Luxor Hotel is alive with activity: Sunday can be that last chance to squeeze another dollar out of a gambling tourist before he makes the trek home, or a chance to really wow an elderly couple lost in the glo
w of Vegas with dazzling lights and a nice show. In regards to the latter, the hotel has accommodations outfitted with the necessary components needed to put on any type of act or entertainment. Its Atrium Showcase, has seating for four-hundred and fifty people, and has the space for dining and a kitchen staff. On this particular Sunday Night, its act is one which regularly fills the Atrium to capacity, 3 nights a week, with dinner and a show. . .

The shiny silver doors to the Atrium Showcase fling open, the contents of its innards pour out at a rapid rate, all doubling over with laughter, the happy audience of yet another sucessful show. The headliner in question, is none other than Carrot Top, who now stands center stage, basking in his own glory, as twenty dollar bills shower down from the ceiling, bathing him in greeny goodness. . .

But it is then, that Carrot Top wakes up in his bed, disapp
ointed that it is yet still just a dream. . . He stares at the white ceiling of his hotel room, and is reminded of himself - blank, nothing, talentless. He injects some steroids, stares at his shrinking testicles in the mirror, and draws on his eyebrows before heading out to the gym. There he lifts weights, often hoping to get noticed and harassed for a photo, which he would pretend to be annoyed with but would give him the distinct pleasure of showing off his roid bloated bisceps. He can easily lift 400 pounds thanks to the wonder drug, and often does so while staring at himself in the mirror. From there, he's off to any of the dark corners of Vegas, to those run down pockets of human despair and forgotten dreams, to the sort of place where Gary Coleman would fit right in. He does this until he eventually succums to sleep, and dreams the same taunting dream that haunts him in his waking life, that dream to actually be considered funny.

But this is not how it always was, Carrot Top was not alwa
ys a shell of a human being, headlining for the savage dogs that run Vegas. At one time he was just your typical ginger, as annoying as a tenacious gnat in your ear, and as prone to beatings as a pencil pushing geek in The Great Suck (high school.) Carrot Top was born Scott Thompson, in Cocoa Beach, Florida, to an astronaut and a ripe beet. His father worked for NASA during its more successful years, where he was training astronauts to drive moon landers, along with a few other top secret experiments. One of which happened to involve beets, and after long arduous days in the lab, he managed to breed a ripe organic beet with human sperm, the result of which we all know today as the ridiculous looking prop comic: Carrot Top. From a young age, Carrot Top expressed an interest in comedy, and often claims that his father was the reason for him getting into the business. . . Which may further explain why he is unfunny.

His reign of treachery started in the college scene, which "appreciated his wit and quirkiness." It would be there that he would develop his prop comedy, and use it to much success. No one is quite sure how he managed to become mainstream, he is kind of like that strange case of herpes you wake up to in unknowing terror. He simply showed up one day, and much to everyone's dismay. Regardless, Carrot Top was named "Comedian of the Year" in 1994 (which goes to show you how unfunny 1994 really was), and was also given the seemingly made up award of "Best Male Sit-Down Turn Around Bop Your Head Onto The Ground Comedian." It is there that Carrot Top's career plataued, a dormant period of mediocrity where once again he shuffled back into the shadows and took time away from the spot light. There he remained, for four long years of stale repetitious comedy, and infinite retardation that plagued local clubs and small comedy houses all across the country.

That is until 1998, when Carrot Top unleashed upon the worl
d an idea which he had been molding over in his head. He was back in Hollywood, and this time, with a gem of a script that would change comedy history forever. . .


Chairman of the Board, the tale of a bum surf boarder who befriends a very rich man, the bond of their short friendship being so strong that upon the rich man's deathbed he gives the company to the young bright faced Carrot Top. This in turn angers the man's nephew and rightful heir, causing him to go on a vengeful warpath to get back what he believes to be rightfully his. The movie really just serves as an opportunity for Carrot Top to show off more of his prop jokes, as his character, although a lazy surfer, has a knack for invention. One scene in the movie is intended to showcase his comic prowess, through the characters many inventions, thusly becoming a three minute long comedy bomb that could be easily called the worst scene in all of movie history. Carrot Top, as the new owner of the company, stands in front of a group of aging white men, all in suits, proposing new products for the company, which are all really just more of his idiotic tinker toys set to lame punch-lines.

Aside from offending everyone who watched it, and bastardizing the very idea of "comedy," Chairman of the Board accomplished very little, apart from sullying the career of an already forgotten face: Carrot Top. The movie served only to remind America that its festering case of red-headed herpes was back, this time in feature film. It was like Carrot Top was always there, lying dormant, just waiting for his opportunity to spring up again and give everyone a case of the "aw shits." The movie has been dubbed one of the worst comedies ever, and this still remains to be true today, although Rob Schnider is trying awfully hard to claim the title.

Fortunately for the world, Carrot Top has never been given a starring role again, unless of course you consider his little part in the CALL AT&T campaign. After the movie
he once again fell into a dormancy period, during which time Carrot Top started to develop strange fantasies. . . Demented by a crushing blow from Hollywood, Scott Thompson lost touch of himself, started fancying himself as a lady, and took to prancing around his home in women's clothing. With money in the bank, he paid for plastic surgery, drastically changing his face as if to get away from the pain of having to look at himself in the mirror every morning. His friends at the time, if he had any, probably watched in horror, the slow and tragic mutation from his every day nerdy red-head self to the Hulkish steroid freak with drawn on Chola eye brows he became. He developed this look that made him always appear shocked: his eye brows had been pulled back to stretch the face and remove age lines. Other altercations included a nose which now pointed downwards, a shaved jaw-line for a more feminine look, and a tucked in chin. Despite his look, he continued to live out some sort of demented existence appearing on random late night talk shows, or on sitcoms, but only for brief tollerable moments.

Today, somehow, much to my amazement, he sells out the Atrium Showcase at the Luxor Hotel, working three nights headlining, sharing Tuesdays to work with Cryss Angel, in a sort of dual-shit format. What his show precisely entails, I dare not know, nor do I care to think about the infinitely retarded people who actually choose his entertainment in Vegas, out of all the other options available to them there. Carrot Top however brings up the rather difficult process of defining his retardation.

For he certainly suffers from quite a few:
Epic Retardation
Utter Retardation
Infinite Retardation
Hopeless Retardation

Pathetic Retardation
Genetic Retardation
Unimaginative Retardation

This leads me to conclude that there can only be one definition for Carrot Top, he is completely retarded.

complete retardation: Retardation which results from 2 or more retardations. Victims exhibit traits found in other retardations including: epic retardation, infinite retardation, and genetic retardation. Said victims are "completely retarded."

IN SUMMATION:


ROIDS + GINGER = BLANKA from STREET FIGHTER.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

The State of Utah - Genetically Retarded


Its Thursday night in Salt Lake City, Utah, and that means only one thing: its Hang a Faggot Night at Energy Solutions Arena. Energy Solutions Arena is the sports venue built to house 20,000 basketball fans, 56 Luxury Suites, and 668 Club Seats. Its built like a college arena, which is to say its small but well utilized, so much so that a polygamist and hard-core Jazz fan could keep an eye on his 13 wives and 14 children, without having to strain his eyes. The arena was constructed solely to help generate money, and until lately, it has been a rather luck-luster endeavor. A statue of Karl Malone sits out front, his visage captured in bronze, standing tall in a Jazz uniform, holding a hunting rifle and smiling proud. Another statue stands near by, John Stockton, his hands on his hips, his infamous short shorts well intact and preserved until the end of time. Mormons out front hand out pamphlets about their religion, amongst all the hecklers, the scalpers, and men behind stands selling programs.

Third Game of the series, Lakers and Jazz, fans adopting that usual mob mentality, yelling at players and booing Kobe every time he touches the ball. It is among their brethren that they feel most comfortable, as if their face won't be matched with a hateful slur of words or a death threat. When alone though, they are as fragile as fine China, as weak as waxpaper. Well known facts are that at any Utah Jazz game, there are at least 40 KKK members, 800 NRA m
embers, and 250 self-admitted products of incest. . . and all of them sitting together, as if their respective clubs raffle em out at every hate-meeting. The camera pans the crowd, none of them drinking beers, most of them white, healthy. . . full of shit. A man leans over and whispers something into his daughters ear, rubbing her thighs suggestively, while wife stares out into the distance with half lit eyes. Much to their enjoyment, the Jazz lead most of the game, holding a slight lead at half-time. The half-time show, advertised as Hang-A-Faggot Night, is quite popular among Jazz fans, it often draws the biggest audiences and does much in padding the wallets of the brains behind the whole scheme.
.
Faggot hanged, taking him exactly 2 minutes, 36 seconds to cease breathing and die... He was taken down and the dancers came out with a new routine set to the song "Soldja B
oy." The Utah Jazz mascot, known simply as Jazz Bear tried to attempt a massive dunk through a ring of fire, but was shot dead midflight. A fan and apparent hunter, apparently was just looking for one more prize to hang up in his living room, which is already said to be festooned with skunks, various elks, beaver, hawks, and a giant moose head. Perhaps having a bear be the mascot for the Jazz team, wasn't such a good idea after all, beside the fact that a bear has nothing to do with Jazz, nor does Jazz have anything to do with Utah.
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The game played out with very little drama, the Utah scum playing just good enough to beat out the Lakers. . . The most frustrating part had to be watching these genetically retarded individuals enjoy themselves. The majority of them were all the products of decades of interbreeding, in the backwoods, along the creek, in dilapidated cabins by the lake. Its a wonder these people can even dress themselves. I half expected to see at any moment a redneck in a fresh new trucker hat, smiling gleefully among his genetically retarded brethren.

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genetic retardation:
Retardation which is shared by blood and/or genes. Victims are said to be "genetically retarded."
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Its is no doubt that many of
the people in Utah suffer from various different types of retardation, but none is more prevalent than genetic retardation. . . 80% of Utah is genetically retarded, most of whom live in and around Salt Lake City. . . This hotbed of retardation is said to have been the promise land for Brighamn Young and his fellow Mormons, all of whom have no doubt been interbreeding since their arrival 1847: a staggering statistic when you consider its current population of 1,686,703 people: all of the same blood, related some how by some way or the other. They're good people, with a love for nature, hunting, sniffing glue, and of course God. They are like any other family suffering from lack of a vast gene pool due to inbreeding: constant medical conditions, epic retardation, physical abnormalities, and a firm believe in some sort of God, which no doubt probably hates them...
Utah has been the home of such individuals as:

  • Sam Walton, founder of Walmart
  • Karl Rove political adviser to George H.W. Bush
  • Warren G. Harding
  • Nolan Bushnell, founder of Atari and Chuck-E-Cheese
  • John Stockton, Karl Malone
  • Steve Young, QB for 49ers
  • Rosanne Barr, comedian, actor, dyke
  • Donny Osmond, Marie Osmond
  • Robert Redford
  • James Woods
  • Jewel
  • Faye Dunaway
  • Ted Bundy, serial killer
  • Butch Cassidy, Mormon convicted of double murder
The entire state of Utah, its peoples, its Jazz fans, are hereby added to the annals of Infinitely Retarded, in the subgroup of Genetically Retarded individuals.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Alvin and The Chimpmunks: Agelessly Retarded

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Thursday, April 16, 2009

Pauly Shore: Legally Retarded


Of the many events in 1968 which have affected the society we know today, there is one which often goes unmentioned, forgotten somewhere amongst the social change of the time and the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Somewhere in the streets of Hollywood, California, a baby was born, to Mitzi Shore and Sammy Shore, a comedy club owner and a comedian, respectively. Their son, they named Pauly Shore, and from that day on started the mediocre and head-shaking career that tore up Hollywood, one horrible movie at a time. Apparently Pauly learned his craft hanging around his mom's club, The Comedy Store and somewhere in there, after much drinking and head trauma, the "Weasel" character was created; a sort of second rate Jay, without the genius of Silent Bob. He was a typical stoner, who spoke is his own babbling talk, and told jokes that only kids or complete stoners found funny: a characteristic which MTV recognized and imediately took advantage of. If there is anything MTV knows about their viewers, it is that they love to eat up charaqetures of themselves, as seen with the success of Beavis and Butthead. Shore's Weasel character was perfect for this; a middle class white kid, living in a glorified world of 7-11 and munchies, and soon the headband wearing retard was on MTV. Shore's duties were to host MTV's Spring Break, an easy job for someone who needed to possess only small amounts of charisma, the package they were selling sex, drugs, and rock n' roll was already enough. . .

Fast forward to 1995, the winds of Southern California whip around the courthouse with a certain urgency; the doors to the building fly open, and out barrels Pauly Shore, hair a mess on his head and a stupid grin on his face.

"Woo-hoo Bah-Uh-Dee (buddy), its as cool as a cue-cumber (cucumber). My melon's been offically declared legally retarded Bah-uh-dee(buddy)." He then jumps into his convertible, and speeds off, laughing like a deranged mad man finally let out of the looney bin.

legal retardation :
An act of retardation which is legally verified by the state or a board of scientifc experts. Or a retard who is labeled as such under similar conditions. Victims are said to be "legally retarded."

With this legal retardation, Pauly went back to making films. First on his slate was Jury Duty, which was a lot like 12 Angry Men, only not anywhere as good. The plot revolves around the utter retardation of Pauly Shore, who's character believes that despite all the dread people put into having to report for jury duty, it could actually be quite the money making venture. He is of course, quite wrong, and spends several weeks on jury duty, much to his enjoyment, only to receive three dollars for all his troubles. Following suit with the usual Hollywood bullshit, he also gets the girl in the movie, despite her being way out of his league and him being utterly retarded.

Second on his list came a piece of film that critics loved to tear down, comparing it to "metal finger nails clawing up a chalk board" and "the sort of dread one feels at a funeral." This film would be created at the peak of his retardation, and the decline of his career. I remember seeing the title of it across the street from the apartment I was visiting, in Hawaii. It was on a marquee in big bold leaders: BIO-DOME. The movie leashed upon the world, and became an instant classic, not because of its superiority, but rather because of its inferiority. It has been regarded as one of the worst movie ever made, and has consistently received bad reviews since its conception. The two characters, are played by of course Pauly Shore and the rather falling Baldwin brother, Stephen Baldwin. They play two friends who have found each other and share a common quality: RETARDATION. The two are dumb enough to confuse one mans vision of Eden, a biological experiment labeled Bio-Dome, for a mall. They drive by one day, in a quest to regain the love of their equally retarded girlfriends. They stop in to take a much needed piss, thusly endangering the ecosystem. The two are trapped in there for a year, with a group of the finest minds the biology world has to offer, who tend to the plant life and conduct many experiments.

But it isn't the plot which makes the movie retarded, its its characters. Somehow we are lead to believe that these two stoner retard lay-abouts have girlfriends, who happen to love them enough to get back together them, even after a year being locked in the Bio-Dome. This is even more puzzling, when considering the fact that the two were chasing around two hot scientists inside the dome, who were entirely too hot for them, and would have nothing to do with with two idiots with brains the size of peanuts. Regardless, Hollywood has a way of making losers heroes, the power of creation after all is without bounds. . .

We are lucky though, in that this is where Pauly Shore's lack-luster career starts to sputter to a stop. Perhaps he was no longer marketable, or perhaps movie studios were just tired of losing money. Nonetheless, Pauly Shore left his mark on the world, although it is an ugly one. Pauly Shore can now be seen scumming around the improv circuit, and must consider himself lucky that no matter how bad his career may get, he's always got a home at the Comedy Store, his mother's club. . . That is unless she too is forced to watch one of his movies again, she me then disown him. He too, has a home, here at Infinitely Retarded, where is king of Straight To DVD. . . Which of course is a distinction some movies receive around here, that is to say ones that are so bad that they should have gone straight to DVD.

STRAIGHT TO DVD STARS:
Ed Wood (Plan 9 From Outerspace)
Martin Lawrence (Big Mommas House 2, Bad Boys 2)
Rob Schneider (Everythings he's ever made, most notably The Hot Chick, The Animal, Bench Warmers)
Halle Barry (Catwoman)
Vanilla Ice (Cool as Ice)
Shaquille O'Neal (Kazzam, Steel)
Ben Affleck (Gigli, Chasing Amy)
Jennifer Lopez (Gigli)
Tom Green (Freddy Got Fingered)
Dan Akyroyd (Caddyshack II)
Jaimie Kennedy (Son of the Mask)
Paris Hilton (The Hottie and The Nottie, House of Wax)
Pauly Shore (Jury Duty, Bio-Dome)


Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Opening Day: Randy Johnson and The Giants: Cursed Retardation?


Randy Johnson took the mound for the Giants on Opening day against Los Doyers. . . Mr. Mean himself, standing at 6'10" nothing but legs and arms, a stretched out Gumby, staring down at you with two beady eyes and a face full of hate. In his hay-day, Randy could throw a fastball up to 100 mph with deadly accuracy: in March 2001 he managed to kill a dove one game, during Spring Training. Apparently a "freak accident," the dove swooped in just as Randy released the ball, and just like that, the dove was obliterated and turned to feathers, but one could also just as easily believe that Randy intentionally did it; destroying a symbol of peace sounds right up his alley. . .

Randy is the only player to have ever killed a living creature during a game.

But that was in his hay-day, and now his fastball aint as fast, his slider doesn't move as much, and he isn't rocking the greasy shoulder length mullet. Regardless, he still looks like the kind of guy that would go after you with a rifle if you pissed him off in a bar, or cut him off on the highway: a complete loose cannon with the ability to rifle in one right between your eyes, whether on the field with a fastball, or on the street with a bullet from his bolt action Winchester Model 70.
Randy was coming in, undefeated previously in Dodger Stadium, 6-0, but today however was quite different. First in the bottom of the third he gave up a homer to Hudson, then in the fourth he gave up 4 hits and 2 walks, including a homerun and a double for 6 runs. The rest was all quite ugly, the Doyers ended the night winning 11-1. The Giants on the other hand, are doing dreadful, they've lost more than they've won, and today looked like they could not hit the broad side of a barn, striking out 11 times as a team, all at the hands of one, Chad Billingsly.

The game of baseball has always had its superstitions, some more bizarre than others, but none is more prominent than "The curse." The Giants seem to adhere two to of their own curses, when explaining the short comings of their mediocre teams, year after year. One is dubbed "The Curse of Coogan's Bluff," which dates back to right before the team left from New York to San Francisco. Coogan's Bluff was the name of the site where the Giants played. Apparently the towns people there, were crazy irrational people, who still believed in vampires and werewolfs, and always crossed the street when seeing black cats, and decreed that upon the team leaving, they would never again win a world series. So far this has held up to be true, and thusly for the past 50 years, The Giants have suffered from cursed retardation. Their second curse, which happens to be more recent, is an even more pathetic attempt of trying to explain their teams inaffectiveness. The scapegoat this time happens to be their own commentator, Mike Krukow.

Unlike Vin Sculley and Harray Caray, who are loved by fans and spoken fondly of, Mike Krukow bears the cross of failure The Giants have embodied, even though he doesn't even play the game. The curse states that every preason he claims they have a shot to win it all, and as a result they don't, and the only way this will, is if he refrains from making such a prediction.

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These two curses, bring The San Francisco Giants, and all its fans, staff, owners, and players, in a special distinction of retardation that few teams in the Major Leagues have: Cursed Retardation.
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cursed retardation: said victim, suffers from retardation resulting from a local curse or superstition. Said curse can result from a person, living or dead, a change in team location/name, a bad trade, an inanimate object, or a certain event in the teams history. Or simply Alex Rodriguez, who is a well know cursed retard.
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TEAMS SUFFERING FROM CURSED RETARDATION:
Chicago Cubs
Boston Red Sox (Curse Broken)
Chicago White Sox (Curse Broken)
Los Angeles Angels (Curse Broken)
New York Yankees
Cleveland Idians
San Francisco Giants

Certainly the Giants can't be looking forward to facing the Dodgers again today, and I can't say that I blame em. Things seem to be looking up, the team is finally producing the offense many were quick to question in the first 4 games. Manny isn't hitting for power yet, but he'll come along soon.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The Unfortunate Retardation of Greg Oden


Deemed a real prize in a market saturated with talent of such a high level that any edge one can obtain over the competition is sought out and blown up to great proportions, the physical prowess of Greg Oden made him a rare commodity and real prize in 2007.  So much so, that he was the number one pick in a draft that included the likes of Kevin Durant. . . So much so, in fact, that Walter Brenham of Portland, Oregon went two weeks without beating his wife upon hearing the news that Greg Oden would be drafted to his beloved Portland Trailblazers, as reported by his eight year old son:

"Mommy isn't bruised anymore, and Daddy doesn't yell as much.  He doesn't give her the bad touch no more.  I don't hide under the bed and make a no-no in my pants.  I know a mean monster lives under there, but he isn't as scary as Daddy.  Greg Oden is my hero."

The Trailblazers were a little more than giddy with the notion of a successful future after many failed seasons, apparently just as much as fans of Portland basketball (I say this because I honestly didn't know there were any fans of Portland basketball).  And they had every right to be more than a little tight in the britches, with hardly concealed erections: Greg Oden was built like an ox with all the size and bulk necessary to take up space in the paint and clog any potential lanes to the basket.  In college he was such a force that many were already touting him to be the next Shaquille O'Neal, for even if  things didn't work out and he was just an average basketball player, there was no getting around that much meat and pure brute strength.

In a decadent era bent by referees that couldn't be trusted and a lenient interpretation of the rules that gave an advantage to guards, many said Oden would still dominate.  He would disappoint any guards that weaved their way through the defense for a layup with a block or a hefty foul that would make them reluctant to do the same in the future.  He would bring glory back to Portland and bring the fickle eye of media back upon them. Portland would swell with wealth.  The harsh surrounding lands would be overcome with suburbs and Walmarts would dot the land as far as the eye could see.

I mean, this was some serious American Dream shit we are talking here; pure Horatio Alger. 

Yet, what followed his entrance into the league was a career so sorry he was regarded much like a prized stud in the eyes of a farm hand who could only shake his head at the growing stock of failed offspring spawned from an inferior seed he never believed to be possible: it was only a matter of time before the once touted saving grace and 'golden calf' was taken out back and put out of its misery with all the nonchalance given to a rabid dog.  For though Oden had a cranial structure like a caveman, ears like mudflaps, and two-hundred and eighty-five pounds of muscle slapped on muscle, Oden's grace of genes ended there.  For all that length and width was built on knees made of peanut brittle, and between those flappy ears was the brain of an ox.  Oden was more than willing to break his back under a load he knew he couldn't handle, not from any sense of pride or hard work, but rather a dense stupidity that sought smiles over frowns and pats of encouragement over the harsh pain of the crop without any real understanding as to why.

It was a malady that caused Oden to miss the 07-08 season with a knee injury of such severity it could only be repaired with surgery.  It was an impressive debut that had been shattered by a twist of fate.  So much for winning.  It made the owners bitter, it made Oden bitter, and made the weakest of Trailblazer fans bitter/borderline suicidal.  Sure, there were those who were still optimistic, despite being Blazer fans caught in the state of Oregon, and they swelled and grew big with hopes and dreams of the next season. . .

But what happened the following season?  Well, Oden did the same thing, this time surviving thirteen scoreless minutes in the first game of his 'rookie' season before he injured his left foot, and though it only took him out of the game for two weeks he returned only to injure his left knee a few games later.  And so the wretched folk of Oregon took to drowning themselves while Oden found himself enduring a rate of injury that got him paid to sit on the bench like an oversized towel boy with sasquatch hands and a dim dream to be out there with all the other guys--to one day lace up some sweatshop shoes and go toe to toe with some of the greatest players to ever play the game.

That is of course, if it wasn't for his damn knees--and its only a matter of time before they turn to jelly and he is sent into an early retirement.  Which brings us to the now, three years in the league, twenty one games played and a thousand some odd injuries later. . .

Greg Oden's lack of ability on the court was proved yesterday against the Lakers, as it has been on many other occasions.  Andrew Bynum, with more experience and natural talent made Greg Oden look like a lumbering imbecile simply going through the motions of an overpaid center (perhaps he has lost his heart after all?).  It has reached the point where The Portland Trailblazers should simply cut their losses and trade him for a farm animal--God knows an eighty pound goat would probably fare much better in the league.

I was hoping yesterday's game would end in a bench clearing mob of violence and complete madness. . . I invisioned it starting with Oden falling back on his dumb ox ways, pushing  Bynum after realizing how bad he has made him look all night. . . This would entice the Lakers bench to clear, followed by the bench of the Trailblazers, as the game still seemed to weigh under the Ariza/Sanchez hard foul that resulted in Sanchez being carted off to the hospital for a siesta of unknown duration. The physicality of the game and the buzz of the fans would only fuel the fire, anything bound to happen, and when it did it would be ugly.  I could see the headlines in the sports page already.

3 DEAD, 1 CRITICALLY INJURED IN NBA BRAWL


The scuffle would be so vicious that Oden would be dead along with two other Blazers so uninteresting and talentless they need not even be mentioned by name. . .  Roy would be the victim of a newly torn achilles of such severity rumor would float through the league that retirement had been considered. . .  And a week later, a somber procession would flow through the rotten streets of Portland, Blazer fans dripping with rain, dripping with salty tears--some of them clutching young ones who bawl and sniffle and whine like they had been told their parents had been eradicated from the earth and shuffled off this mortal coil not a minute prior.

Such are the thoughts of a sports fan during the playoffs.  They are vicious and mean--but at least I can admit it, which is more than Walter Brenham can say. . .

Congratulations Trailblazers, you're now just another team on the list of epically retarded teams caught underneath the woe of bad luck and dreadful decisions.  Your history allows for such a dignified distinction. Take for instance the early to mid-nineties, when your team, The Blazers, were literally blazers, with a majority of your players getting caught with dope, namely Staudomire and Rasheed Wallace.  It appears that such a habit has even reached the front office, as choosing Oden over Kevin Durant, a player who has played three times as many games during which he has averaged twenty-two points a game (as opposed to Oden's 9) and has averaged just as many rebounds despite being three inches smaller and a small forward, is no doubt a bit of dopery even Cheech and Chong shake their head at.

You're credentials are quite extensive:

  • Staudomire, Wallace, Woods -- all arrested for marijuana possession. . .  Staudomire twice.
  • Woods -- pleads guilty to animal abuse for staging dog fights in his home
  • Ruben Patterson -- caught up in sexual assault charge, now a registered sex offender
  • Jermaine O'Neal traded for Dale Davis (lulz)
  • Arvydas Sabonis leaves team after having towel thrown in his face by teammate, Wallace
  • Zach Randolph and Ruben Patterson involved in fist fight during practice (nice team unity)
  • Wallace suspended after threatening a referee
  • Rose Garden declares bankruptcy (2007), simply no one willing to go to games for fear of actually being seen attending a Trailblazers game
  • 2005-2006 season, Blazers set a leagues worst 21-61 record (lulz)
  • Blazers pick Greg Oden over Kevin Durant
The only trail the Trailblazers have blazed is the one leading toward obscurity, failure, and epic retardation.


It is for these reasons that iR declares you epically retarded.  

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