Taking in a Metalskool show...oh Tony...will you ever learn? Escorting your drunk, straight to DVD, busted weave girlfriend back to the car.

For shame. Bitch can't hold her booze.

A few days ago when they were allegedly broken up a friend of mine said, "See? Tony doesn't keep any girlfriends. He just keeps bitches he fucks." This friend must be wrong. Oh Tony...I am disappointed. At least when she's drunk she keeps that big 'ole mouth closed. I was about to say something along the lines of "she keeps that mouth full of something" or "at least Tony has done something right this year because that bitch has a huge mouth" but alas...I didn't. I'm getting lazy.

[Dlisted]

Labels: drunk, jessica simpson better watch her back, tony romo

If recent history has taught us anything, it's that at least one quarterback playing in the Super Bowl has to be a total drunk.


I'm sorry Brett, it just wasn't meant to be.

Labels: ben roflsberger, drunk, eli manning, sexy rexy, super bowl

Labels: baron davis, drunk, party party party

Just when you thought you were done looking at gay Brady Quinn pictures, they pull you back in.


Brady forgoes the crotch grab this time for the far more subtle hand on thigh and cuppage of the breast

If you just can't get enough of Brady acting totally straight, then head on over to Drunk Athlete to check out the rest.


And as a bonus, here's something abstractly related to both embarrassing photos and Brady Quinn. The Brothers Mottram over at Mr. Irrelevant did a little detective work and discovered that the infamous "Urlacher Tit Grab Girl" is currently on the show Rock of Love vying for the attention of Bret Michaels.



Yes, she's trying to win the heart of the same Bret Michaels that Brady Quinn occasionally joins for awkward sing-a-longs and backstage photo ops. Let's hope Brady's not the jealous type. Ba-zing!

See kids, that's bringing it full circle.

Labels: brady quinn, drunk, sweet sweet man lovin'

This past weekend I made my way to a Fort Worth Cats game. Minor league baseball at it's finest.

Ah the Ft. Worth skyline at night.
The game was great because of these things:

1) Way cheaper tickets than MLB games
2) The game time entertainment
3) One of the Cats at bat songs was Tool's "The Pot"
4) Beautiful LaGrave Field (the last time I was there was when Mandy and I attended a concert that featured the surviving members of Great White)
5) The heckling

I haven't gotten to experience good heckling in a little while either, so this was a long time coming.

I set my sites on the third baseman for the Omaha Saltlicks. I had forgotten to get a roster before the game so I had to resort to just calling him Third Base. And believe me folks, there is nothing more intimidating than a five foot girl in black Chuck Taylor's and a pink little league shirt drunkenly screaming, "Thhiiiiiiirrrrdddd baaaaaaaassssssseeeeeee!!!!!" every chance she could. I did finally get his attention by the end of the game. He just looked up at us shrugged his shoulders. I think he really was confused as to why the short, stacked girl with the "way to proud of Texas" baseball cap on was yelling at him.

My party was conveniently just a stones throw away from the visiting teams seating section. So when the Cat's mascot, Dodger, went to silly string one of the player's moms I was in earshot when I yelled "PUNCH HER IN THE FACE DODGER!" Or the section favorite "Ole ole ole ole!"

There's dodger, just encouraging me. Don't encourage me Dodge, it just makes it worse.

The only downsides to the game were:

1) Losing. By a lot.
2) $5 a beer, GOOD GOD.
3) Having to pretend like I knew all the words to "Put me in coach" even though I was far too drunk to remember them
4) The old people at the game judging me when I yelled profanities
5) Trying and failing at starting the wave
6) Being the only one in the section to do the YMCA a la Brady Quinn

Go to a minor league game. Get drunk, and yell at the players. Because much like this diagram explains, baseball games and beer (and me) make any situation better. Hooray!



That yellow section is where you want to be.

EDIT: They are not the Saltlicks, they are the Saltdogs. My drunk ass kept referring to them as the Saltlicks during the game, and I guess I did a good job convincing myself that that was their real name.

And the super hot 3rd baseman was Jay Yaconetti. It should be noted that he received the majority of the heckling because he had such a fine ass. Love them baseball pants.

Labels: adventures, baseball, drunk

The world now knows of the time I got drunk and picked up a bottle of beer in the parking lot and drank it after a Stars game.

Big time thank you (and maybe a titty flash) to Mr. Irrelevant for including us in his "Out of the basement, onto the game" post.

In case you don't know this is the tale of our favorite in-person sports moment:

Try as we might we never got tickets to the NBA Finals last year, so we made damn sure that we were at the Mavericks home opener against the Spurs this season. Yeah the Mavs lost, but half the fun of the game was heckling the Spurs fans. I got into it with an elderly gentleman, who I completely owned and who had to be escorted out of our section by security. Then after the game we took it upon ourselves to boo and berate every Spurs fan that walked within earshot. That is until we were forcibly removed from the AAC by our male companions, who really didn't want to defend our honor against the hefty Spurs fan headed our way. Perhaps we shouldn't have called her fat. We really should have been ashamed of ourselves, but we knew that somewhere Mark Cuban was smiling.

A close second would have to be the time that Lauren got so belligerently drunk at a Dallas Stars hockey game that she was convinced she was actually at a Dallas Burn soccer game. She wouldn't stop spouting torrents of profanity ("Let's f---innnn go Burrrrnnnn!!!) in front of the children in the neighboring seats and on the way out she decided it would be a great idea to grab a half-drunk beer from the parking lot and polish it off. I'd like to be able to say that I made that last part up, but I definitely didn't. What can I say? We go balls out when it comes to sporting events.

Labels: blogging, drunk, mavs

Miami Heat forward James Posey was arrested this morning for sipping on a little to much of that sizzurp and driving his car.

Once out of the car, Posey displayed "bloodshot eyes, slurred speech, and an odor of an alcoholic beverage on his breath,'' the police report said. The player also was unsteady on his feet and swayed while standing, police said.

But when he got caught he wasn't actually driving...he had stopped in the middle of the road and was talking with pedestrians and other drivers.

Now when I've had a bit too much to drink I just throw my keys at whoever is closest to me and demand they take me home. But not James. He tries...decides he's a little too tipsy to make it...and throws that bitch in park. Great advice for everyone who has found themselves in that predicament.

Don't even pull over. Just stop. Highway, county road, off-ramp, school zone, a stranger's driveway...all good places to just chill until the buzz wears off. And while you're there, holler at the people around you. Might as well make some conversation and maybe some new friends while you're sobering up.

A tip of the hat to you Mr. Posey.


[SI.com]

Labels: chronic alcoholism, drunk

If you've ever wondered what a hot piece of man meat looks like after one too many Smirnoff Ice's then just take a gander at these:



Oh David. You have the Drunk Eyes. I know them well. My friends can tell how drunk I am by looking at my eyes, too. They can also tell how drunk I am by how many times I've flashed my boobs and broken a beer bottle and threatened to "Fucking kill you!"

Poor Posh. All it took was the smell of Beck's bitch beer to get her drunk.

And why the hat Becksy-Poo? I know you are fashion forward and model gorgeous and all...but that's just fugly. I'd still let you tap it with the hat on, though.

[Source is the hilarious Dlisted]

Labels: becks, drunk, hot, masturbate and cry

If Peyton without a shirt wasn't enough, how about the Steelers' nose tackle Casey Hampton to entrance you?



I can't really say much...I may or may not have done the exact same thing Friday night.

And yes. If you search hard enough I'm sure you can find those pictures, too.

Via Drunk Athlete

Labels: chronic alcoholism, drunk, pittsburgh steelers