Tiger Who? Seems like every day we are asked who our pick for Golfer of the year is going to be. Well, I know its only October, but we are ready to announce Buzz Pirates Golfer of the year: John Daly. How did this incredible athlete win this coveted crown? Well seems as if Daly was found passed out drunk in a Hooter’s parking lot by police. Police officers were summoned to the Hooters at 120 Hanes Square Circle in Winston-Salem at 2:17am to find this incredible athlete. He spent a night in a North Carolina Jail for his actions. I’m telling you that you better watch this kid, because he’s going straight to the top!
Here on the left, Daly shows off his pre and post game rituals for excelling as a classy athlete.
Also, if you are both disgusting and shameless, dressing as John Daly could be a good last minute Halloween costume. Below, here’s our man playing a round of golf shirtless and shoeless.
So, congratulations Mr. Daly on this amazing achievement. Further proving that unless you are Tiger Woods, golf…is not a sport.
Heather Locklear was arrested over the weekend on suspicion of driving while under the influence of prescription drugs. Police found the TV star parked on the side of a road blocking traffic. She was booked into the Santa Barbara County Jail and was let go on $5,000 bail. She still looks great, even in her mug shot. She’s like the female Dick Clark…sort of. Still there is a hint of crazy eyes going on in this picture…maybe more then a hint. Anyway, Heather has inspired our first look at celebrity mug shots. (You can click on the pictures to get a closer look).
George Carlin – 1972, Wisconsin for violating obscenity laws with his “Seven words you can never say on television” routine. Charges were later dismissed by judge. He will be missed.
Rosa Parks – 1956 arrest in Montgomery bus boycotts. She was 43 at the time. Including this photo doesn’t exactly fit the mold of funny celebrity mug shots, but I think its an interesting bit of history. The photo was discovered in July 2004 in a storage room.
Deion Sanders – 1996 – Lee County Florida. In probably the weakest football player crime ever. Primetime was caught trespassing when he was fishing on private property. That smile is always dy-no-mite!
As a Mets fan, i can see how getting drunk at the game is an important part of dealing with the stress. With such a tight race for the NL East, and last year’s disaster still lingering… the fans need to blow off some steam. So what happens when you are drunk and sleeping at the game? You get beer cups stacked on your head, much to the delight of the Shea faithful…
Remember the good old days of television, when sitcoms didn’t suck? When sexual harassment in the workplace was ok, drinking beer at noon was acceptable, and lawyers and doctors hung out with mailmen? When you could go to a place to take a break from all your worries – a place where everyone knew your name? As I was flicking around the TV last night, unable to find a single thing to enjoy, I realized how much I missed one of the best sitcoms ever – Cheers. So I threw together these 10 Classic NORM! Quotes from Cheers. Enjoy.
Sam: What’s new, Normie?
Norm: Terrorists, Sam. They’ve taken over my stomach. They’re demanding beer.
Norm: [coming in from the rain] Evening, everybody.
Sam: Still pouring, Norm?
Norm: That’s funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.
Coach: “What’ll it be, Normie?”
Norm: “Just the usual Coach. I’ll have a froth of beer and a snorkel.”
Woody: Can I pour you a draft, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: A little early, isn’t it Woody?
Woody: For a beer?
Norm: No, for stupid questions.
Woody: Hey, Mr. Peterson, there’s a cold one waiting for you.
Norm: I know, and if she calls, I’m not here.
Woody: Hey, Mr. Peterson, Jack Frost nipping at your nose?
Norm: Yep, now let’s get Joe Beer nipping at my liver, huh?
Woody: “What’s going on, Mr. Peterson?”
Norm: “A flashing sign in my gut that says, ‘Insert beer here.'”
Sam: “What’s the story, Norm?”
Norm: “Boy meets beer. Boy drinks beer. Boy meets another beer.”
Woody: “Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson?”
Norm: “Alright, but stop me at one….make that one-thirty.”
Sam: “How’s life treating you Norm?”
Norm: “Like it caught me sleeping with its wife.”
That would be Dutch for “King of Beers”. After many attempts, Belgian-Brazilian brewer InBev has finally been able to woo Anheuser-Busch board members who agreed to sell the company for $70 a share. The $52 billion dollar takeover makes InBev the largest brewer in the world.
I can’t help but to think a classic piece of Americana has been sold off from under our noses. Gone are the days of NASCAR, double-wides, and ice cold Buds. Get used to the new motif: Chocolate, Waffles, and luke warm Budweiser. Poor residents of St. Louis, Missouri. They must feel like the citizens of Springfield when Mr. Burns sold the Nuclear Power Plant to the Germans.
Meanwhile, InBev continues its quest for global domination one beer at a time. In addition to all Anheuser-Busch products, they are also the owners of Beck’s, Stella Artois, Bass Ale, St. Pauli Girl, Labatt, Löwenbräu, and about 295 others. Check out the entire list of beers owned by InBev. Something definitely doesn’t add up here. Most of these beers don’t suck. Maybe this is good for Budweiser after all.
Below is a map of InBev global occupation. Watch out Greenland Brewhouse! InBev is coming for you!
Ohhhh Yeahhh…Your days of searching under the refrigerator for the last good ping-pong ball just so you can play a little Beer Pong (or Beruit, as I like to call it) are over! No more desperately trying to reshape the ball by microwaving it in a cup of water after the drunk bastard on the losing team accidentally steps on it. No more duck taping balls or using your dad’s practice golf balls made out of plastic.
You can now play Beer Pong on Wii. Check…it…out…
I don’t know…call me old fashioned, but I still prefer to drink out of cups with tons of shit in the bottom of them. I guess this is still a good backup!
I heard from TMZ that you checked in to rebad recently. On behalf of all music fans everywhere, I ask…no…I beg…why…Steven why?!
You are in your sixties. You have clearly proven that you can survive the rock star lifestyle. So I ask you to please take a note from the journal of SIR (in my opinion) Keith Richards, and throw caution to the wind. Party it up.
Please don’t go to rehab. We cannot stand to hear another sober rendition of Amazing, Crazy, Lying, Crying or whatever corny, repetitive ballad that rolls out of your seltzer drinkin’ monster lips. Have a drink. Do some lines. Hell…shoot up for all I care. Its been more than 30 years and we are still waiting for another Sweet Emotion, Dream On, or Walk This Way (with or without a kick ass rap group).
We want you to stop selling out and start making music like you used to….from your heart and completely fucked up out of your mind.
The people of Maryland are known to have a bit of an identity crisis. Geographically, the state is located below the Mason-Dixon Line, but in reality Maryland is hardly considered a Southern state. However, on the third Saturday in May all that seems to change for an entire day. The bandannas come out, the tee-shirt sleeves get rolled up, and the beer gets shot-gunned faster ‘n you can say tater salad. It can only mean one thing, its time for Preakness again.
Yes, Preakness is a very prestigious horse race that is part of the illustrious Triple Crown. But what most people don’t realize is that it is also a day for thousands of wannabe rednecks to crowd the Preakness Infield and party like they were in the deep south. Doctors, lawyers, even politicians (as well as actual red necks, hicks, and poor white trash), line up outside the gates of Pimlico Race Track as early as 6am to get the best spot on the infield grass. The local news covers the event all day long and interviews people sitting on their coolers waiting to get in. Last year I kid you not, the very first person in line was my attorney, SHIT HOUSED by 7am. It probably would have bothered me if I wasn’t shot gunning a beer with him later that day.
For such a prestigious race, the track itself is surprisingly located in one of the roughest neighborhoods of Baltimore. If you’ve ever seen The Wire, you’d know to avoid this area on any other day of the year. But on this Saturday, the local corner kids realize that the crack is not the party favor of choice for infield patrons. So to make up for lost profits they wheel coolers of beer through the hood in stolen shopping carts for five bucks from drunk and lazy crackers. It is ethnic diversity at its finest.
As the day wears on, the sun gets hotter, people get drunker, and party get wilder. Bodies are glowing red with sunburn. People are puking on the grass. Port-a-poties are filled to disgusting capacity. Dudes no longer go IN the portable johns, but start pissing directly ON them. And then the chicks get crazy. I don’t know what it is about thousands of guys chanting “show your tits! show your tits!” that actually makes a girls show her tits, but it seems to work. The whole place makes Mardi Gras look like Disneyland.
Finally, around 6pm horse-mounted police start herding drunk bodies off the infield and out through the gates. Again, the news cameras are waiting to interview people as the day winds to an end. “What did you think of the race?” is a common question from the local news reporter. Half naked, red as a tomato, and stumbling through the gate, the slurred response always seems to be “What race?”.
Check out more pictures of last year’s Preakness. …And you thought I was kidding about the shoppings carts (check out slide 13).
Break out the tequila everyone, its Cinco De Mayo! Time to celebrate the long tradition of the important cultural significance of…ummm…hmmm…being May fifth?
Like St. Patrick’s day, Cinco De Mayo has turned into another “cultural holiday” where Americans suddenly feel inspired to celebrate their cultural tolerance by whipping out the margaritas and getting shit faced. In a time when people are arguing for stricter boarder control and a crack down on illegal immigration the other 365* days of the year, Cinco De Mayo shows that all you need is a simple excuse to get hammered on a random Monday in May in order for people to forget these important issues.
Here is the hilarious part…contrary to what you will hear in any American bar this evening, Cinco De Mayo is NOT the date that Mexico celebrates its independence. That date is September 16th, a day that is a very important national and patriotic holiday for Mexico. May 5th, on the other hand, is not even a Federal Mexican holiday. In fact, its barely even celebrated in Mexico. It is only celebrated in one particular state in honor of the Mexican Army’s victory over the French at Puebla. A year later, the French took over all of Mexico.
So Drink Up America! You deserve it! Or at least you can tell your boss that tomorrow when you roll in two hours late with bloodshot eyes and reeking of tequila. At least you showed your pride in Mexican culture.