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Archive for the ‘hot women’ Category

Officially golf season is upon us. Yeah, I know that the PGA Tour schedule started last month. Big fucking deal. Memo to PGA: When football is on, nobody gives a shit about golf. Go ahead and CC that to hockey and basketball while you’re at it. Come to think of it, nobody really gives a shit about either one of them regardless. Except during March Madness. Because gambling is good.

But I digress.

Typically, the first golf tourney after football is the AT&T Pebble Beach. As referenced here earlier, also known back in the day as the Crosby Clambake. I must also echo the sentiment that the word “celebrity” is being stretched to the limits of the definition.

Forget Dean Martin and Bing Crosby. I’d be happy if actual living celebrities showed up for this tournament. Face it, the only time this tourney lives up to the hype is when Bill Murray shows up. Clint Eastwood owns the joint and is too busy writing checks and putting up with the general ass pain of being the host. So he doesn’t get to play anymore. Get Sam Jackson or Vince Fucking Gill at least. Instead of generic no-name country star and actor who has been dead to me since this godawful career choice. And when, exactly, did Chris Berman become a celebrity? He’s a sports anchor. That rates somewhere between advertising sales executive and child molester on the Douchebag Scale. Besides, he’s a fucking crybaby. I’m sorry that’s not true. A FAT fucking crybaby. David Feherty is a bigger celeb and he’s actually COVERING the tournament.

The local and national media quickly run out of angles to cover at Pebble. Other than gratuitous shots of whales in Monterey Bay and important investigations into Who Dressed Costner Like A Dickhead, there isn’t a lot going on.

The San Jose paper brings up a good point, “Where are the chicks?”

The article specifically mentions Jessica Alba as a chick whose good with sticks. I’m sure they mean this Jessica Alba.

Less clothes!

This would really give the Clambake some sex appeal which it desperately needs. Especially if there’s a swimsuit competition.

That’s much better.

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What a great time to be in Arizona. Of course, there is a professional tackle football game being played there tomorrow. And all weekend is the golf tournament they play there, whatever the fuck they call it these days.

This tournament is a Super Bowl weekend tradition, with the rowdiest hole in golf, the par-3 16th. It’s the only hole in professional tournament golf where you will get booed for a bad shot.

And, from what I understand, Arizona is always crawling with folks like this:
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Note that these young ladies are both flashing the hand signal commonly known as “the Shocker.” This hand signal is a request for someone, presumably me, to perform simultaneous vaginal and anal digital intercourse upon them.

Oh, yeah. I want to go to Arizona.

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Welcome Erin Fans

We get a lot of traffic from people searching for Erin Andrews. So here’s a photo of Erin Andrews holding a pizza.

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And here is a picture of Erin Andrews’ ass.

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You’re welcome.

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St. Maartin, Orient Beach, Jan. 23, 2028:

Jessica: I can’t believe it’s like, been like 20 years, can you?

Tony: Time sure flies.

Jessica: You remember, like, when we, like, first met, and you were, like, playing football, and they like totally blamed me for you losing that game.

Tony: You know I don’t like talking about those days, Jess. You don’t hear me bringing up your “country record” or your “acting career,” do you?

Jessica: OK, you’re like totally right. I could like totally go for the buffet right now! Are ya hungry!?

Tony: I guess so. Where are Donni-Marie and Roman and Dallasina?

Jessica: Aunt Ashlee and Uncle Terrell took them to a movie.

(Stops to pick up a shell) You know, being, like, the wife of a car dealership part-owner isn’t so bad.

Tony: (Please, can just shut your fucking pie-hole for ten seconds?! Ever?!) How many times do I have to tell you, it’s “equity partner in a transportation industry venture”? Hey! Isn’t that Carrot Top over there?

Tony Romo and Jessica Simpson in thongs on the beach

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Dear Eli,

Hi! My name is Jessica! lol! You may have heard of me, or know who I am, as I am sometimes in the internets that any U.S. American can see or read regarding my so-called social life and the boys I have sometimes gone on (totally innocent! lol!!) dates with like John Mayer and this boy that I dated up until yesterday.  Oh, yeah, and you might have heard of me because I had my married life with my EX!!!!! husband (lol!!) made into a TV show.

Anyway, I don’t really do this ALL that often (lol!) but I wanted to see if you wanted to like, I don’t know, hook up or something. I mean, I like totally have two tickets to Cozumel for a couple of days, and I thought you might want to get away for a while. I mean, you may have heard about me and my EX!!! boyfriend, Tony, but we like totally broke up yesterday. And I couldn’t be happier, because he is like, totally a LOSER! As in he’s a LOSER and you’re a WINNER! And I think winners are, like totally, HAWT!!!! So I just thought I’d check and see, you know, like who knows, right? give it a shot.

So I’m sort of shy, but friendly when you get to know me, and I like to cook and work in the garden. I’m equally as comfortable in jeans as in an evening gown. I like to go hiking and rafting, or just curl up with a nice glass of wine by a nice fire! Can’t wait to hear from you.

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Dear Jessica,

Thanks for the kind email. I asked my big brother. He says I’m not allowed to meet you. Do you like Kenny Chesney?

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Uh, do you have Tom Brady’s digits?

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Maria Sharapova is doing well at the Australian Open.

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We have no interest in Women’s tennis at Making it Rain.

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So we don’t really have anything to say about her domintion on the court this week.

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Because we have no interest in Women’s Tennis here.

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We do like golf, though.

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So here is a photo of Natalie Gulbis doing yoga before a round of golf.

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Now that’s just not fair.

Here’s Yoko Ono:

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and here’s Jessica Simpson:

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While I’ll admit Yolo’s rocking the Pilates legs at age 74, I don’t think that there’s an able-bodied male in our entire readership (both of you) who wouldn’t have made exactly the same choice as that young horn dog, Tony Romo.

I personally would do whatever it took to survive the weekend. I can only imagine what the customs agents in Cabo would think about my duffel bag full of viagra, popsicle sticks and duct tape, but I wouldn’t want to waste any time with detumescence.

On a related note, there is now a possibility that the Super Bowl could bring a coaching matchup between those two laugh riot quote machines, Bill Belichick and Tom Coughlan. I’ll bet the media is really looking forward to that week of interviews.

I’m afraid that it could mean more time for insightful commentary by Shannon Sharpe. Fuck, now I’ll have to wipe all the spit off from the inside of my plasma screen.

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You know what they say about dogs looking like their owners…

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