Needling Barry

Here at D and D we hold ourselves to the highest standards of journalistic ethics. While blogsters and the mainstream media have had a field day with tragic stories involving Barry Bonds, Michael Vick, and allegedly crooked NBA officials, we have maintained that, like all Americans, these citizens are innocent until proven guilty. That being said, Barry Bonds is a cheatin’, no good, needle stickin, clear and cream usin’ lying piece of shit. He couldn’t carry Hammerin’ Hank’s jock strap. Hell, the only thing that douche bag hasn’t hammered is the backside of his personal trainer, Greg Anderson, who is doing hard time in the pokey for covering Barry’s needle scarred ass.

Oh, I can hear you bleeding heart liberal Hilary lickin’ Osama humpin’ cry babies right now.

“Oh, Hairy, that’s not fair. You have no proof.”

“Oh, Hairy, this is another case of keeping the black man down.”

“Oh, Hairy, you are just pissed because the Cubs have gone 99 years without winning the World Series and the Marlins have already won two.”

OK. That Marlins thing does burn my ass. But the rest of it is just plain horseshit. Want proof. Here goes.

I was at the first annual Anna Nicole Smith Memorial Trailer Park’s Flea Market Extravaganza, and let me tell you, it was a fine sale. I plunked down twelve dollars for a lot of seven shoe boxes full of baseball cards, Garbage Pail Kids cards, and pop tabs (the pop tabs I will send to little Billy Spchinctal, who needs 10,000 more tabs to qualify for a kidney transplant). Over the last few weeks I have been sorting through my cards, and along with a Buddy Biancalana World Series action card, I found damning proof that Mr. Barry Lamar Bonds is a juicer. Feast your eyes on this, sports fans, and tell Hairy that Mr. Bonds hasn’t done more juicin’ than a hooker with a cleft palate.



Wake up, you head in the sand namby-pamby nipple suckers! I implore you, when Barry Bonds steps to the plate in his quest to surpass the rightful king of the round-trippers, all Americans should stand at the ready, hands on their commodes, so when this cheatin’ piece of shit hits #756, they can flush their toilets, sending a resounding message that we don’t give a shit about Mr. Barry Bonds. Nuff said.

What's on our Victrola?

Editor's Note: These are dark Football-less days where all we have to talk about is baseball or come up with greatness like PCU. (of course, Hairy Carrey can't bear to post something about his beloved Cubs for fear that he'll be the next goat-blowing Steve Bartman) So Savant has pulled this out of his ass come up with a very nice idea that WILL illicit many comments. Notice I said WILL? Not a request. We'll add in our other faves over the next couple of week. Also keep an eye out for our nominees for the first installment of the Downy Awards -- the best of our posts and some other shit. Here's Savant -- PK out.




As an editorial staff, we at down and distant agree that healthy doses of both sarcasm and politically incorrect rude internet banter are good for the soul. We do, however, like to stretch the limits of what's possible…from time-to-time. As an aside, in college (during a Hell Week "shower") Hairy Carry once tried to stretch PK's balloon knot "limits." Although all parties agreed to never speak of it again, I'd just like to say that I'm a non-judgmental person and I don't think there's anything wrong with that…but I digress…

Here now for your reading pleasure periodic break from masturbating is the first entry in our d&d staff series "Favorite Rock Albums."

Alive! - KISS, 1975 Probably the best live rock album ever (apologies to "Frampton Comes Alive" and "Live at Leeds" by The Who). This multi-platinum double-album from "The Hottest Band in The World" ushered-in an era of loud, raw stadium rock that helped balance the music industry against the "disco" phenomenon of the mid-70's. Unlike bands who planted the seeds of Heavy Metal (Blue Cheer, Black Sabbath, and Led Zeppelin), the early music of KISS was heavy and raw, but combined this with more Beatle-esque pop riffs to create songs that were almost always less than 3 1/2 minutes, thus, appealing to the short attention span of a younger generation. Most songs were, on some level, about getting laid...with an occasional nod to partying…both topics which d&d zealously supports.

Although KISS had been around for a couple years and was quickly gaining notoriety as one of the best live acts, their first three albums (KISS, Hotter Than Hell, and Dressed To Kill) were selling pretty well, but not great. The band was such a huge live draw that Casablanca Records and KISS both wanted to produce an album that was almost like a souvenir of going to the show. Having the balls to produce not only a live album, but a DOUBLE live album (during an era when there didn't appear to be a demand for live albums) would lay the foundation to help KISS break-through and become the most popular band of the mid-70's (according to several gallop polls - most recently 1978). They recorded several shows during early 1975 (Cleveland, the OSU Pike House, Detroit, and Iowa) which would, with only minor studio overdubs, become Alive!

Despite producing more gold albums than almost any other band not named either "The Beatles" or "Jim Nabors", KISS was never popular with the critics. They would, however, influence several generations of heavier bands including Van Halen, Motley Crue, Guns-N-Roses, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Pantera, and Rob Zombie. Furthermore, due to their mass-appeal in the 70's and marketing prowess, they command a faithful following unlike almost any other band.

* Editorial note - it has been rumored that Savant owns his very own KISS ball-gag

** Savant's rebuttal - Mmrruumphhh. Mmrruumphhh!!!!!

*** Editorial response - Shhh...shhh

If you're going to listen to Alive! (and I think you should), I recommend you do so with the volume cranked-up to eleven (11) with your a woman in the back seat of a '75 Camero after drinking lots of alcohol. Best cuts include the high-energy openers "Deuce" and "Strutter." the heavy classic 'Cold Gin," and, of course, "Rock-N-Roll All Night.



"Rock On, Fuckers!

Munch on My Carpet

Jesus, maybe the next time I get the trots I should throw a cat's face up my ass so I can get the ball sucking that has been going on around here since that last post. I mean when 'ol Mike Hamburger is the first jotting down some comments, you're doing something right. Well to follow that up I decided to let things cool down a bit with a little history lesson for you.

The carpet industry in the United States began in 1791 when William Sprague started the first woven carpet mill in Philadelphia. Others opened during the early 1800s in New England. Included in that area was Beattie Manufacturing Company in Little Falls, New Jersey, a company that operated until 1979.

In 1839, Erastus Bigelow permanently reshaped the industry with the invention of the power loom for weaving carpets. Bigelow's loom, which doubled carpet production the first year after its creation and tripled it by 1850, is now part of the Smithsonian Institution's collections. He continued to devote his life to innovation -- 35 separate patents were issued to him between 1839 and 1876. Bigelow introduced the first broadloom carpet in 1877.

The power loom with Jacquard mechanism was developed in 1849, and Brussels carpet was first manufactured by the Clinton Company of Massachusetts. The Brussels loom was slightly modified, making possible the manufacture of Wilton carpet. Later, the Hartford Carpet Company joined with Clinton Company to become Bigelow Carpet Company.

In 1878, four Shuttleworth brothers brought 14 looms from England and established their manufacturing plant in Amsterdam, New York. In 1905, the company introduced a new carpet, Karnak Wilton. Its instant success was phenomenal. Flooded with orders, a new building had to be constructed to exclusively handle Karnak production. Weavers worked four and five years without changing either the color or pattern on their looms.

Alexander Smith started his carpet manufacturing plant in 1845 in West Farms, New York. An American, Halcyon Skinner, had perfected the power loom for making Royal Axminster in 1876. He and Alexander Smith combined, forming a very successful carpet company. Alexander Smith was elected to Congress in 1878, but died on the evening of Election Day. Sixteen hundred people were employed at his factory at the time of his death. Alexander Smith & Sons continued. During World War I, the carpet looms were converted to make tent duck and navy blankets. In 1929 Alexander Smith & Sons was the largest manufacturer of carpets and rugs in the world.

Suck That.

Poon

I wiped my ass with a cat

I guess getting something crammed up your ass is just a fact of life.

Pork Chop recently turned 40, and since Pork Chop’s dad died last year of colon cancer, Pork Chop’s wife made him go get a colonoscopy. Now, we all have to die of something. Pork Chop is thinking of going out the way the Good Doctor Hunter S. Thompson did—high, drunk and with a .45 causing mortal brain damage.

Because the stuff you have to drink the day before the procedure is terrible. Well, it doesn’t taste that terrible, but its effects are devastating, plus it’s oily in texture and you have to chug it every 15 minutes for about four hours and it makes you feel like you’re going to spray out your internal organs.

Before you start drinking this stuff, though, you have to take four laxatives. Four. That alone is enough to do two day’s worth of damage. Then, you drink a gallon of this mule piss, which makes you crap out everything you’ve eaten since you were 15 years old. By the end of the day, I could have shit through a screen door into a two liter bottle of Sprite. And towards the end of this awful callisthenic, when you wipe your ass, your hand is trembling because you know how much it’s going to hurt when you touch your bunghole for the 75th time that day. I mean, I thought I was starting my period.

Pork Chop’s wife and kid recently got a kitten and named her Scout. It’s from To Kill a Mockingbird. Read a book. Anyway, this cat loves to come into the bathroom when I’m pissing and stand on her back legs and look into the water. She appreciates the heavy sound of my ropey stream as much as the next animal, I guess. So this day before my colonoscopy, Scout is hanging around the bathroom a lot. I guess she mistook the sound of another 16 ounces of water squirting out of my ass for a good urine slash.

It was early evening and I was miserable, sitting on the can and flinching away from another wiping. But I did what was necessary and leaned over on my left ass cheek, because that’s the way normal right handed people wipe their asses, and Scout sneaks up from behind the commode and pokes her head between my cheek and the seat. But I didn’t know she was there. So when I reached back to wipe, instead of applying the Cottonelle to my sphincter, I grabbed the back of her head and wiped my asshole with her face. I’m still laughing about the look she had on her face. If a cat can be appalled, she was.

Pork Chop Out

Drama my ass

Do you watch Entourage? I like it, my wife hates it, so that probably means it’s good. Hey, she’s still bitching at me for being a Neanderthal because I don’t want to watch The Age of Innocence. OK, so it’s a Martin Scorcese piece. So what? Two hours of boredom and no fucking or fighting. Great.

So, in Entourage, asshole Johnny Drama hooks up with a woman he wanted to bang 20 years ago and she brings along her friend for Turtle. The friend is supposed to give the best rim job in Los Angeles . But she’s fat and looks like a guy dressed up like a chick. Long story short, the good looking chick pulls a switch at the end and fucks Turtle, leaving Drama to his fate of rim jobbery. His face looks so sad as he gets his salad tossed.

My point is, if some chick gives you a rim job and jacks you off at the same time, that’s gay. What’s the difference if a chick does it or a guy? You’re getting your asshole licked while you get a reach around. If you don’t get some pussy afterward (and who would want to fuck that fat chick?), you might as well take the skin bus to poop town.

Things That Make Me Go “Hmmmmm”

Maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but I need to get a few things off my chest. Every time I turn on the idiot box, open a paper, or browse through some shitty magazine while waiting for a high school drop out with terminal acne to ring up my groceries, I see pictures of the twosome being marketed as America’s new sweethearts, David Beckham and his tart of a cum-dumpster wife, Posh Spice. This douche bag is being hailed as a “savior”, an “ambassador”, and a “pioneer”. What sport does Beckham play—oh, that’s right—soccer—communist kickball. Give me a break! Look at these pictures:















OK. They are nice pictures. I’ll give them that. But he still plays fuckin’ soccer.

On another note, THE Ohio State University announced the hiring of their new president, E Gordon Gee(k), this past week.

Gee’s first move was to replace athletic director Gene Smith with a younger administrator who he hopes will connect with the student athletes:


Finally, the University of Michigan (U-SCUM) has unveiled a monument to head football coach Lloyd Carr commemorating his role in elevating the OSU-Michigan game to its status as a rivalry:

Keywords like a mutha.....

Avid down and distant reader, CFG, sends in a picture of his workspace

Making good on an earlier threat, today kids we are going to take a look at what keywords unsuspecting rubes visitors to Down and Distant use to find us. We use Statcounter which logs where our visitors come from, where they land and what key words they use to get here. Luckily for deviants like Hairy Carray and IndyBuckeye we can’t track what other sites you visit. Though, I suspect they're very GILFy and it probably involve ball-gags and nipple-clamps. Sorting through the literally thousands hundreds scores of visitors we get daily would be too much, so I’ll just hit some highlights.

O’Mazin Grace - More than a couple of folks tapped this into google and came up with Poon’s quick hit about the NBA lottery and a video of his Poon's half-brother singing the venerable spiritual O’Mazin Grace. He's a good singer, you should check it out.

Cyndi Lauper – Buckeye Savant’s pleadings to keep his relationship from taking up residence on the Island of Sappho brought a bunch of visitors. Mostly from Cyndi’s official fan site. Welcome carpet munchers. Zing.

Chris Isaak – I seemed to have stirred up the pot with his fans in a Chris Isaak chatroom. I’d barely heard of the guy whose music is described as a blend of country, blues, rock and roll, pop and surf rock. Add a dash of death metal and a pinch of rap and reggae and we might have something to talk about. I do like the comment from Anonymous though; you really can’t hear “Ass Hat” enough.

Roofie Colada – I’m not kidding. 6 people actually stopped by D and D after searching Roofie Colada. I’m not sure but I bet they were looking for a good recipe or maybe to find out if it works better in a Hello Kitty glass. (Insert clown suit joke here.) I am sure however they were disappointed to find out the post was a conversation with John McEnroe about tennis shoes.

Well now that was fun, no? It certainly wasn’t a blatant attempt to get words like “GILFy” and “Nipple-Clamp” in the interweb-world so maybe we can get more suckers new visitors on the ole bait and switch gambit. Because that would be cheap.

AWESOMENESS UPDATE: This just in....Someone in Virginia wanted to know "How to Suntan your pubes" which of course brought them to Savants piece on baseball promotions. He knows how to draw em in, that's fo sho.

PK out.

Yawn

Who hasn't wanted to see this?

I thought I’d take a break from my nonstop high-stress underpaid job hung-over idling while Googling trannies in school girl outfits to throw a little Down and Distant love at you. Last night was the Midsummer Classic – MLB All-Star Game. Yawn. I know it’s regarded as the best all-star game of any professional sport, but what is signifies to me is three days of no sports. The Dearth Days Of Summer. It makes me want to drink. Oh wait, what doesn’t? Anyway, I watched the player introductions and the National Anthem and then changed the channel before I felt the need to jam an ice pick in my temple to relieve the boredom. Speaking of the Anthem, Chris Isaak should have sung with this guy instead of the back up guy he used last night. He’s better and gets the crowd way more into it.


Leave some comments on the All-Star game if you have any, or on School Girl Trannies for that matter.

Tomorrow we take a look at the keyword searches that bring people to Down and Distant. Stay tuned.

PK out

Have you seen my weiner

Joey "Jaws" Chestnut recently downed 66 steaming wieners between soft cushy buns! That's not only a good weekend on Fire Island, but also good-enough to win the annual Nathan's Coney Island Hot Dog-Eating Championship held on the 4th of July. Finally, an American has won the mustard belt in the tube-steak tussle. Chestnut beat 6-time champ Takeru Kobayashi as both set personal-best competitive eating records. I suppose it's fitting that the championship reside in our country, perhaps the most gluttonous of all.

Several of our staff have been known to take down a plate or three of food at a sitting (including the unbelievable pairing of a patty melt with pancakes by P.K., a feat which had never been accomplished before) and always lived to tell about it. Still, I can't help but ask the obvious question: just what in the hell does their stool look like the next day? 66 wieners and buns?!?

Sweet Jesus.

Once we know that answer, we'll have, as our friend and possible future down and distant contributor Paul Harvey says, "the rest of the story."

Good for you Joey - those bowels aren't going to impact themselves.

War competitive eating!

Savant Out.