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Archive for August, 2008

    Under a new moon Dr. Googley Eyes munched on a slice of New York’s droopiest while the Hamburgler somehow beat Gulbis in 4 sets.  Gulbis had more errors than I have yawns (right now).  How many errors does it take to get to the center of your being?  According to Sarte’s Being and Nothingness and Gulbis’ performance versus Dirty Dick the answer is 60. Picture lots of pondering and bubble gum popping. Yes, 60 unforced errors.  Even Monfils let out a barely audible, sacrebleu.  It was both of their birthdays, but really it was more Roddick’s birthday than it was Gulbis’, who was relegated to signing little girls’ giant, novelty tennis balls while Roddick joked with weird post-match-interview-guy about booty dancing and shooting craps, or something…I dunno, I kinda lost interest.  Roddick looks good (for a grade A date rapist dressed as the hamburgler in Queens in late August), but it’s pretty obvious how you gotta beat him:  Hit the fucking ball inside those white lines!  The Hamburgler faces Seppi next, whose toughest match came against the Spanish Cookie Monster. Not exactly the Eye-talian Stallion.  It took him 5 sets to beat Lee.  Me thinks you’ll be seeing a lot more of Dirty Dick taking hits from the bong and  eating Cheerios on your couch as you leave for work in the morning.  The Hamburgler made off with the goods, 3-6, 7-5, 6-2, 7-5.  Oh, and did you guys see Gulbis’ drop shot, serving 5-6 in the fourth?  When that ball hit the cord, and dropped in I pretty much fell in love.  I mean where does he put his gonads when he plays?  There is no way those fuckers fit in a pair of tighty whities.

     Do you like girls who give it up?  Do you like girls who give it up back to back to back?  Do you like tight, fit, Chinese girls who scream?  Do you like Serbian cream dreams with butter faces?  Are you tired of me asking you what you like?  Good, ’cause I’m done.  In typical Forehead form, Jankohead kept eveyone in suspense while her mom drank whipped cream through a straw.  Up a set, and serving for the set at 6-5 the final game lasted 831 minutes and 78 deuces.  Neither girl really wanted it (or they both really wanted it?).  Jie Zheng, (whom everybody called Jie Zheng at Wimbledon and the Olympics, is now called Zheng Jie) apparently the shortest person on the planet the way the ass caketators talk incessantly about how short she is, had plenty of chances but finally choked down the last shot, losing 7-5, 7-5.  Jank faces Caroline “Don’t Call Me Wozniack” Wozniacki in the third (*takes sip of Diet Tab and yawns*).

     Davydenko defeated the old man but not the sea, 6-4, 6-4, 7-6.  This time I yawned but did not sip my Diet Tab.

     Federer beat Alves.  If you don’t know him you have at least one thing in common with the rest of the world. Next up, Kevin Bacon.  He wears a watch while he plays and paces like a wild cougar during matches.  Dr. Googs and Crazy Man McEnPleaseShutTheFuckUP went on and on about how well all these young up and comers (gross!) are playing.  Apparently all you have to do is not be broken every time you serve and you’ve suddenly caught the attention of, well, yeah, the guy with the biggest eyes on the planet and a crazy old loon.  Federer gave Alves a painless brazilian, 6-3, 7-5, 6-4. He faces Stepanek in the 3rd round.  Yeah, the same guy who stole Vaidisova from under my nasty nose hairs and beat Federer while he was…oh yeah, while he was getting over an infectious disease that makes you extremely tired.  Which reminds me, Federer, if you’re reading this (like we agreed you would), stop stealing sips of Dr. Peppers from girls you know in high school.  Seriously, how else do you get mono?

     If Haas played Hewitt would time stop? These two play more 5 setters than pads of butter I put on my porkwiches.  Haas got bumped by some guys lovely lady lumps, 2-6, 2-6, 7-6, 6-3, 6-3.  What a gamer, huh?  Apparently all you have to do to get into the US Open is wear your hat backwards. Forget what you’ve done for me lately, what have you done for yourself, or tennis? Ferris Muller is from Luxembourg.  If you don’t know it’s a hotbed of tennis in the heart of Africa.  He faces Almagro next. Someone more adept at actually following tennis can probably tell you more about this fruit cake from Spain.

     Srebotnik finally got corn rows out of my hair.  Seriously, does the Kooze get her hair done in someone’s garage back in Russia before each slam.  Yeah, yeah, I know she didn’t have corns this year, but like they say, once a corn row, always a corn row.  Srebotnik goes undercover again to see if Schnyder is playing with a full deck (of genitals) after beating the Kooze 6-3, 6-7, 6-3.  I think the WTA should adopt this new slogan: “The WTA, the 21 Jumpstreet of Trannies”.  Maybe we could polish that up.  

     Safin lost and Andreev won.  My only question is, who broke more rackets?

     On the way home Reynolds and Ginepri shared a Coors Light on Greyhound after being knocked out in the 2nd.  I think there’s a fairy tale about those two that goes something like, “…and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men and all the electrical tape in the world couldn’t get these two ass cakes into the 3rd round (again?)).” I bet you they argued over who got to smash the empty can on their head.

     Samuel Powers is in.  I mean, c’mon he played a guy from Fresno. Is that even legal?  We can’t shoot wild boar in our own (landlord’s) backyard, but people from Fresno can, at will, enter the US Open? At one point McenPuke stated, “I think he’s finally taking this tennis thing serious.”  Uhhh, hello, the guy is 28 years old! Not only did he miss the bus, he missed the taxi, the plane took off 8 years ago, a kid rode through a puddle on his BMX and splashed his knee caps with dirty gutter water, and a guy on a pogo stick just bounced past him.  Did I mention he’s from Fresno?

     My chub would like to add: Tsonga, oui! Cornet, oui (she’s going all the way if you didn’t know already)! Ai Sugiyama, hai! Bah-toe-lee, oui!  Monfils, oui!

     Oh, and Sam Querry is playing Karlovic.  A drink for everytime you hear the word “tall”?  It is Saturday.

     Blake faces Mardy “Where Are My Socks” Fish.  Is it possible they’ll both lose? Let’s hope so.  

     Let’s Go (on a 3 day bender)!!!!! Happy labor day weekend for all of you who labor through life.

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  Do you know what the fuck that is?  Well Do you?  It’s a doorag.  But it’s not just any doorag, it’s a leather doorag.  But it’s not just any leather doorag, it’s a leather doorag with the American flag on it.  Eleven stars on it, to proudly represent the 11 states of this great, fat nation of ours.  I wear this thing during the U.S. Open to commemorate the freedom that this country has which allows me to wear such awesome head gear. I go to fancy dinners with it on.  I lather up in the shower with this thing.  And yes, when I’m watching the U.S. Open and eating my Vietnamese Sandwiches (Namwiches) I sport this awesome rag of doo. So,  if any of you choose to fuck with me, via email or otherwise, you might want to ask your self, “do I,___________(fill in your name here), want to fuck with a guy who wears such an awesome piece of  patriotic head gear?”  For the safety of you and your loved ones, I hope the answer to that question is a resounding, “no.”  I bring this up for two reasons.  The first one being that early rounds of tennis tournaments are extremely fucking boring and I have literally nothing to write about.  So boring in fact that I have to put the word “fucking” in front of “boring.”  The other is because some sicko sent me a disturbing image of Jankohead and (*cough*) Mattek, together…touching.  I tried to upload the photo as a screen shot from my email (it was sent as a document which I can’t upload on WP) but my Mac barfed all over my fingers when I tried to have him digest this putrid sight.  I’ll recreate the image as best I can.  Basically Mattek is on all fours, eating dog food out of a dogs mouth while wearing some sort of tribal muumuu (with headband) and Jankohead is standing next to her with her fingers pinching the edge of her nose as she’s ignored all warnings to get no closer than a 6 mile radius within Mattek’s penis barf bag*.  If more disturbing images come my way I may be forced to head butt you.  The leather padding on this thing is very deceiving and will hurt you.  Okay, I’ve said my piece.  Wordpress is EXTREMELY (see:caps) glitchy right now so I’m just going to give you a quick rundown of the matches that piqued the interest of my chub.  

     Fabrice Santoro was humiliated (again) as Roddick essentially stoned him to death with tennis balls.  Dirty Dick aced Santoro 15 times, winning 6-2, 6-2, 6-2.  If you look under match statistics you’ll see that the number of douchey Roddick fans outnumbered those of Blake in Blake’s match versus Young.  Maybe the U.S. could have like a day of rest from all it’s agro, douchey yelling and screaming? Maybe?  Dirty Dick faces Gulbis next which should be sweet ’cause Gulbis’ adorableness should balance out the date rape vibes emanating from the other side of the court.

     Davenport, 58, induced sleep in the 8 Americans who, for some reason, tried to watch the match. She won. Yay.  If I want to see old ladies not playing tennis I’ll pop in my Geriatrics Anyone?  porno.  And what’s up with her kid?  Is it made out of gold or something?  Why am I constantly looking up from my dusk jerk sesh to see her barfspring drooling everywhere? So the turkey baster method does work.  Congratulations to you and your ear dropper, now please leave the 2nd round post haste.  She has to get past the Jank if she even gets that far. Ain’t gonna happen folks.  Mr. Mom faces Bah-toe-lee in the 2nd. ‘Nuff said.

     Tipsarevic bowed down to Warburg(er)!  The existential in me wants to applaud him.  Can you imagine if Meusburger wasn’t beaten today (in straights no less)?  Can you also imagine if Warburg added “er” to the end of his last name?  The possibility of an all burger finals.  Forget the Serbian invasion, I’m talking burgervasion over here.  

     Shittiest post ever? I’m right there with you.  I promise tomorrow will be filled with greatness. Or more shit, I never really know with these things.  But have you seen other blogs on WordPress regarding tennis?  It’s like diaries for retarded tennis enthusiasts. Anyway, Let’s Go!!!!! (to bed).  

     *Lies

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        Meusburger! After a couple failed attempts at reppin’ the burger she finally went behind the counter, grabbed a handful of dead cow flesh, rolled it up into a giant pink ball (stay back Mirk, it’s not a snowball), squished it, threw a little salt n’ pep on it, and tended to the grill.  Did someone say straights?  Lourdes Dominguez Lino (not a character from Don Quixote) got the fast food treatment, bowing down to das Überraschen Meusburger 6-1, 6-2. Talk about rare (A-O!), Lino was barely cooked, all pink and drippy like pink eye. This is what it must be like if you’re a parent of a seemingly retarded child.  You insist on sending them to private school, getting tutors, believing the extra effort is all that’s needed to push this retard into normaldom.  But the homework keeps coming back with “F’s” and drool marks.  Then, one day, you’re special little someone gets an “A” in art class.  Aside from your new found respect and faith in the arts, you realize this little spaz you’ve created might not be as retarded as you secretly feared. What’s more Überraschen  is that Meusburger only had 1 unforced error.  Not amazing enough for you?  The Lourdes of Loserdom had 0 unforced errors. Yes, the loser of the match had 0, count ’em (it shouldn’t take you that long) zero unforced errors.  I kinda think it’s a typeo too, but according to the U.S. Open’s own stats, there was only 1 unforced error the entire match.  Meusburger faces Srebotnik in the next round.  Seems like a good time to end this paragraph.  I don’t think this ‘tard is going to get any more “A’s”. But high-fives anyway!

     Yes, I flaked on the women’s head count.  My apologies.  It was Sunday, hence I was in church all day. In lieu of my blunder, may I present to you…the winners and losers of todays women’s matches first.

        Wayne. Ms. Odesnik if you’re nasty, pulled an all nighter that didn’t include a twin fillin’ (thanks Al!).  Fabio and Wayne, gettin’ it on on the sea-ment.  I heard they showed that match on Oxygen.  While defying gender roles, Wayne beat Fabio Fognini in the opposite of straight sets (tranny sets?) 2-6, 6-0, 4-6, 6-3, 6-4.  Don’t you hate when it takes forever for your tranny girlfriend to get ready.  You’re like, “C’mon boo, we’re just going down to Long John Silvers, then over to the 2nd round at Flushing Meadows, no need to take forever.”  They’re always like, “k, just one more set.”  Then you’re all, “Okay, you’re poppin’ fresh with those gold hoops and shower hair, can we leave the 1st round already?”  Odesnik faces Wawrinka in the 2nd round whose silky smooth skin (I know, that’s messed) and gold medal from (*cough*) doubles tennis will surely have him seeing rosacea red.

     Okay, okay, sorry ladies (I’m pretty sure the ladies don’t come round here if you nahatamean), I’ll get to youuuuuu and that booty.  Davenport beat Aleksandra “Sippin’ on Some Maple Sizurp” Wozniak in straights, eliciting a million “you go girl’s!” from middle aged women with dangling boobs everywhere.  6-4, 6-2 was the total and I gotta give her some mediocre props myself.  Wozniak is no no photo.

     My beloved Peer disappoints again.  Na-Li?  1st round?  Up 6-2 after the 1st set?  Aside from Israel, New York houses the largest number of Jews in the world!  You can’t get much more home court backing than that.  Maybe I’m getting kinda nasty, but I loved Peer.  She was the Israeli version of Bah-toe-lee.  Ahhh, fuck it, I’m moving on.  Peer pissed me off for the last time, 2-6, 6-0, 6-4.  Na-Li? More like Gnar-li. (A-O!)

     Marion “Two Hands is Always Better Than One” Bah-toe-lee did what she does best (aside from looking like the penguin back in the Danny Devito days), namely playing tennis while shaking that big ol’ bag of squirrels.  She won in straights, 6-2, 6-3 over Voskoboeva.  Yeah, me neither.   Bah-toe-lee went 5-5 on break point conversions, then looked over at Isner and laughed a little (in French, which was super cute).  

     Okay, I can’t talk about the girlies anymore, nothing else exciting happened over in egg land.  Lots of I don’t knows and huh’s and no, never heard of her’s.  

     RAFA! got some pretty shitty service from a Weiner Schnitzel in Queens today.  He ordered a straight set with a side of incessant butt picking which they got right, but he specifically said no tie-breaks.  RAFA!, who seems to be entitled to some sort of “he’s playing too much tennis” sympathy eeked out a win against the other Bjorn in barely straight straights, 7-6, 6-3, 7-6.  Welcome to the scary world of being Number 1, where even the no photo guys at a 24 hour Weiner Schnitzel are dying for a taste.  I bet you special sauce to fish sauce Number 2 squeegees his opponent off the court quicker than you can yell, “Maximo!”  I will be yelling Maximo all day long by the way.

     Donald Young’s hat got a little less crooked today as he took Blake the distance in 5 sets.  Seriously, did someone steal Blake’s identity?  Rise to the challenge much?  I bet if you caught him off guard on the street and you were all, “hey James!”, he wouldn’t even respond, then after a beat he’d be like, “oh yeah, that’s me, that’s my name, sure, yeah, James, you got me, heh heh,” all fucking sit-com bad acting style.  Dude just doesn’t have it anymore.  I mean, how could I be surprised by both Young losing and Blake winning?  Shit doesn’t add up.  The last set was equivalent to when you’re having sex (with another person) and you’re kinda drunk and you’re like, there’s no way I’m gonna bust, then out of nowhere you get some feeling back in your bishop and you’re like, oh yeah, this might work after all.  Then BAM! Your lap taffy up and gives out on you quicker than you can say jelly roll.  Well that’s how I felt, anyway.  Really thought the kid had it until he DF to give Blake break point and a chance to serve for the match. Whatevs.  Blake faces Darcis who is technically a no photo, but we’ve all seen his face, dude is no Pablo Cuevas.  So maybe Darcis can prove the burg right once again in a 2nd round Blakexit (all rights reserved).

     Speaking of Cuevas’,  Monfils destroyed one Pablo Cuevas.  I missed it but he won in straights, 6-4, 6-4, 6-1. Monfils faces the Russian Korolev in the 2nd round.  Yawnski.  How do you say 900-1 in Russian?

     Isner lost in straights to Beck. Ha!  I’ll (break) give (break) you (break) one (break) guess (break). 7-6, 6-4, 7-6.  Crazy legs Isner went Oh for 5 in break conversions.  Oafer.  Oafish.  A snow balls chance in hell has better odds than an Isner break for fucks sake.  Go climb the mountain top and search for Ganesh, the God of Breaks.  (*All somber and shit*) When you find him, you will know.  Do you think after the match his coach was kinda crackin’ on him, like, “Let me break it down for ya’ kid.”  Snickerin’ and shit.  Or when he’s banging his old lady she’s like, “break me off!”  Or he brings his car into the shop ’cause it’s leaking oil and the mechanic is all, “I think it’s the brakes.”  I bet his CB radio is going bananas right now with everyone calling in, “breaker breaker one niner!”  

     Other notables, Llllllodra rollllled, Teeth over Mystery Mullet Meat in straights, Soderling out in a heartbreaker (as if anyone here has a heart), Sea-moan: in (no surprise party there), and the Kooze, Dementia, and Jankohead (seriously, if you haven’t seen this vid, peep it and tell me she’s not radder than a million Ivanostaches…the binocular graphic is an added bonus) all rolled 2 the easy way.

     It continues tomorrow…and 12 days after that, can you believe it! Let’s Go!!!!! All (2) of us should take tomorrow off (assuming you have a job) and take it all in poolside, with a steak sandwich and a steak sandwich.  Fletchburger anyone?

     Let’s Go!!!!!

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     Man!  Was that Pen Pilot final the most sleep inducing match every played before eyes?  I was kinda coming off a HUGE (see: caps) bender and my body was like, “more drugs or we’re shuttin’ this place down for a while.” I was fresh out of money (it’s not like I know when to say when or anything), so maybe it was more  of a case of my body crashing like a demolition derby rather than it being bad.  I was taking naps in between being awake it was so bad, but that’s not a good indicator ’cause you usually take naps right before you’re awake.  I also think my body has this negative reaction to looking at a grown man in ankle socks; my subconscious is like dude, “close yer’ fuckin’ eyes, ye shouldn’t be looking at those.” Whether it was a bad match or I’m a drug addict is really neither here nor there ’cause we’re staring down the barrel of a two week, all expenses paid (I actually had to get a DVR for my room ’cause my roommate watches shit like Two and a Half Men while I’m scurrying up the stairs to catch some digital tennis scraps…so if someone could send me $25 for this month my empty checking account would smile greatly upon you) chub that is the U.S. Open (not that U.S. Open where grown men called Tiger smile 24/7).  But before I get to that let me get to a couple things I noticed about the Pen Pilot Worst Name Ever Championship match that should be written down somewhere.  

     Okay, close your eyes.  Shit, that won’t work!  Hopefully you didn’t do that.  For those who didn’t…it’s 1982.  You’re in Taipei.  What’s the first thing that comes to mind?  Brad Gilbert versus Craig “Are You Wittus?” Wittus?  You too! Ho-lee shit.  That’s weird.  Yeah, before the Fish v. Cilic (both “h’s” are silent to the eye) BG shared with us his most depressing moment ever: beating Craig Wittus on carpet in Taipei in 1982 for his first ever title win.  While we’re sharing terribly sad facts about ourselves, I have an addiction to all food and drinks that are artificially orange.  Jeez, what a boob (and not the good kind).  Anyone notice BG’s continental grip on the mic when he (awkwardly) interviews people?  It’s not your nasty schlong BG, it’s a mic, black people (and sadly some white people) rap with.  Somebody enroll that fathead in a mic holding class at city college.  Later on while interviewing Fish’s (no doubt) over-paid coach he switched up his grip and was holding it like a delicate porcelain penis with his pinky sticking out like he was enjoying a spot of penis tea.  All extremes with that guy.  Anyway (that word I use with my gf when I want her to stop talking), he said the conditions on the court were 27% slower than normal.  WHAT IS THAT GUY EVER TALKING ABOUT?  What conditions?  How?  Where is this stat.  Can my list of shit I call bullshit on get any longer?  

     Well, I didn’t have much tennis to talk about due to naps, I just wanted to hate on BG for a smidge.  Somebody won and somebody lost, let’s say…in straights.  And at the end someone was all, “fuck” and someone else was all “fuck yeah!”

You know those creepy porn scenarios (aren’t they all kinda creepy, hence, why we like ’em so) where some guy or gal is slobbing on a knob through a hole in a wall.  Well I’m kinda picturing this post to be the equivalent of that scene, only it’s right before dude crams his pole through the hole and you, the loyal reader (up until now, no doubt), takes a peek into the porn hole for some insight into the specifics of the upcoming (puns!) event.  You know, kinda want a lay of the land so to speak.  How big is that sausage gonna be?  Will this sausage be brown, or white or yellow, or laden with open sores?  Is the head all, crazy flangy?  Are the balls Nair’d?  The important stuff.  So let’s take a peak, shall we!  Let’s Go!!! (it’s just a head count, nothing to get all excited about yet.)

     When people say dumb shit like, “oh I could do that in my sleep” in your head you’re usually like, “shut the fuck up dad, there’s no way you could _______________(add something terribly difficult to do in your waking state here).”  Well my theory is, RAFA! could actually beat this German tomato (schnitzel?) can in his sleep.  He’d have to be able to run and see in his sleep, but I bet it’d be close.  That’d be sick if during the post match interview RAFA! was all, “see, I was actually, during the match, how do you say in your fat country? asleep, si?”  Man, that’d take the cake all the way to the bank and shit.  His name is Bjorn Phau.  If you’re not paying attention you might miss it.  He actually made more money this year in tennis than I’ve made in two years, so I guess the/my joke is on me.  But seriously, dude puts the unter in unterdog.  I expect this to be shorter than a chub on methamphetamines at dinner time on the beach.  I have a picture stashed away somewhere if you’d like that uploaded.

     “And in this corner, having lost 19lbs. of ego, coming fresh of his numerous losses from here to the Sandwich Islands, let’s give it up for Number 2!”  You know Federer and those beautiful brown locks have been moping around his mansion, kicking bundled money out of his way with his crazy giant dog slippers wondering how to get back on top while Mirka “da Mirk” swallows pink coconutty snowball after pink coconutty snowball.  The answer is out there as they say, and the first step (jeez, can we get serious here for a minute?) is take the hard court train all the way to number 1 peninsula.  See who he’s playing the first round?  Maximo!  God, I love this guy already! Please (*crosses fingers and stares up at ceiling*) let this guy go all the way.  Maximo! Love it.  Looks like he’s in a hardcore punk band from L.A. I bet all the girls wanna smoke dope with Maximo. Anyway, Number 2 needs to get past Samuel Powers(at some point, maybe) and that’s easier said than done these days, like getting off angel dust, or trying to stop watching Billy Idol videos.  I expect to see good hair on both sides of the net.

     James Blake has Young in the first round.  Blake! Keep your overrated hands off my Young!  I expect Young to lose which will make me tear up, but I also expect Young to break a racket or two which will dry those tears right up.

     Skate Dad faces Safin.  My prayers have been answered. Bye-bye Skate Dad! I expect a huge chub come morning time.

     Roddick faces this crazed maniac.  Doesn’t Santoro look like he eats dirty dicks for breakfast?  Wouldn’t be surprised if he ate this dirty dick (gonna leave that open to interpretation as I’m horrible at predicting shit).  I do however expect to see a stupid crooked white hat bent to the edge of bentdom.

     Delic faces Ginepri not only in the Who’s the Most Annoying American showdown, but in the 1st round as well.  I expect to see electrical tape flying everywhere.  

     Samuel Powers faces Clement first and there’s a chance my voodoo hex made up of chants and baby rhino tears may actually work. But seriously, tough matchup for a 3 seed.  I expect to see crazy gay (like, crazy-gay) headbands flying everywhere (well on one side of the court).  Perfectly Pro-cut hair will be bobbing and sweating at the tips on the other side.  

     Tsonga’s Tsback!  I heard during his rehab he was chopping down giant redwood trees up in Yosemite with his bare (fore)hand.  I expect to hear lots of “(too) good” comments whilst his forehands smash through the hearts of innocent spectators’ I heart NY t-shirts. 

     Tipsarevic plays a no photo guy.  Last name is Warburg.  Two letters away from being a true cham-peen.  I don’t expect much.

     Querry faces Berdych in the first fucking round!  I’ve talked about this guy’s bad luck before but this is getting ridiculous.  Did the guy fuck a black cat in the ass (where else? well the mouth I guess if you’re really nuts) while head-butting mirrors under a ladder (those are the only 3 things I know connected to bad luck)?  I expect to hear lots of, “it’s a shame he’s losing, he’s playing such great tennis” from the asstators.  

     Ooooooh, look out Pablo Andujar, I think Nicolas Devilder has your number.  I expect this match won’t be played on court 1, unless they call the parking lot court 1.

     Monfils has already (in my mind) beat Pablo Cuevas to a bloody Argentine pulp.  Dude is no photo.  He’s ranked 135, and Nadal’s opponent is ranked 136.  Does this mean Monfils will be Number 1 after beating this guy?  It should.  I expect Monfils to fill the world with joy, and to fill my chub with good, strong, stiff muscle.  I was singing this song to my gf which was admittedly weird but kinda funny and a little gay.

      This dude plays Isner in the first round.  Hopefully he knows what a break is. I expect long limbs and boyish smiles.  I also expect to be bored.

      AAAAAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Mr? Odesnik. Jesus Christ indeed.  Maybe more hoop rings and gel and shirts I wore to my 8th grade dance and longer eyelashes and more sheen, and gums.  I expect to laugh. A lot. I believe this guy proclaimed to be America’s version of RAFA!  I can see his point.  I mean RAFA! has teeth and eyes and hair too.  I see the resemblance.  And they both play tennis. Maybe RAFA! sent in a before photo to Pro Activ too. 

      Is this the day Mullets finally beat Teeth?  Is there a Richmond, VA. in Argentina too?  Murray’s first course is Sergio Roitman which I bet tastes way better than bangers and mash. I expect Murray to get overly excited after unraveling this mystery mullet meat.

     My boy Gulbis is in there too somewhere but I’m too tired to look again.  Thank Monfils for the U.S. (open that is), eh?  Tomorrow I’ll hit up the women for their digits. I heard Cornet has been demolishing homes and whatnot which makes me as a happy as a clam (dudes are super happy). But yeah, that’s a different porn hole for another day.  As with all my posts I must say I’m extremely busy with drugs and drinking and posturing and I don’t know how much I’ll be able to cover.  It’s sad that DTBM isn’t around anymore to keep all you crazy ho’s from asking me why I’m so lazy, but I’ll do my best to keep up.  Keep in mind a wasteoids best is not that pretty to look at, like ankle socks or Wrangler butts.

      Let’s Go!!!!  

     P.S. I missed you too (*gush*)

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     Tennis anyone?  Anyone with the powers of ESP?  Is the programming of tennis olympics (if that last word is suppose to be capitalized, I just officially de-capitalized it out of anger) made only for David Copperfield and The Amazing Kreskin?  On my DVR guide there is just a block of 10 hours titled Summer Olympics and then a really helpful (not helpful at all) paragraph below which states, You are an idiot if you are looking for tennis.  We have nothing for you here.  Only oafishly large American men swimming in a boobzillion dollar swimming pool that would make the pacific ocean hide under it’s desk in shame, “women” pretending to play baseball under the guise of something soft, and Asian people excelling with cocks and shuttles (or shuttlecocks?).  Maybe someone could drop a little dough to tell me what the fuck is going on and at what time said fucking is going on.  

     At this point you’re like, okay, so he hasn’t watched any tennis and he’s gonna talk about tennis?  Yes, but only briefly.  Mainly to let you know I’m still alive (technically speaking, although my girlfriend would probably argue with you if living can be traced back to the sack).  

     Monfils!!!!!!! Can I get a what what?  Can I get a let’s go in Mandarin?!  Monfils sent Nalbandian and that ridiculous grown-up pony tail back to the olympic orgy cabin (yay for 4 year old links! I can only guess/pray they have sex in Beijing too).  Monfils sent Nalbs back to the whack shack in straights, 6-4, 6-4.  Monfils only had 24 unforced errors which kinda bummed me out, I like to see that guy get into, at the very least, triple digits in that category.  

     Federer seems to have had an epic battle versus Berdych which sounds like an oxymoron to me, like small tits, or Russian amnesty.  Sure he lost to Berdych in the last olympics (and cried like a crazy bitch), but Berdych?  Is that guy even ranked?  If he is I’d have to bet you hot Step-moms to real moms that he’s closer to the south pole than the north on that list of ranked players.  Yeah, really killed him, 6-3, 7-6.  Tie-break in the 2nd set.  Oh Federer, can you punch the air and be excited somewhere more private (jet) and less embarrassing?  

     Russians Youhzny and Andreev (one smashes rackets into his face while the other tries to plant rackets into the court) lost to Screech and RAFA! respectively.  Screech and RAFA! will face each other in the semis for blueberry pancakes if the tennis gods have their way (and I have mine).  

     Blake has been trying to prove me wrong as of late as he’s into a round not called the first (I’ve abandoned quotation marks by the way…think they look cheese).  

     Roddick advanced (in Washington, where no one’s a winner) over Del Potro.  Me thinks Dirty Dick went to Washington just so he could see in print the words Roddick and Advances next to each other.

     As for the women, well Serena did a little racket planting of her own versus Cornet.  Being down 5-1 in the first set she used sign language to let people know she was mad by hitting the court in the face with her racket.  More chub inducing shit I wasn’t able to see.  Thank you very much dicks at the olympics!  What’s more depressing, Williams came back to beat Cornet (the sole and soul inspiration for Chuburger.wordpress.com (coming soon, don’t look now)) 3-6, 6-3, 6-4.  Tennisburger’s chub saw its shadow, so I guess we’ve got 6 more weeks of winter (in summer).  

     Jankohead faces Safina (soon I promise).  I would give back all my Christmas presents, chub explosions, and Denny’s club cards just to see the head wipe out this blight on women’s tennis.  She puts the Safina in boring.  Please! Someone listen to my prayers besides poker dealers.  

     Okay, shitty post over.  I need to get my Vietnam sandwich on (that shit rhymes, don’t try to tell me otherwise).  If anyone can decode the tennis programming (and no, I’m not going to watch tennis on my Commodore 64, so don’t even suggest I watch it online) I’d handsomely pay you in oily handjobs (or I’ll dry dog it if you’d like).  

    Let’ s是!!!!!!!

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     I really wanted to title this post, “The Two Ugliest People on the Planet Win Titles Not Proclaiming Them the Ugliest People on the Planet” but I thought that’d be really mean (and kinda inaccurate), but I did think it was somewhat funny, hence this lame admission.  Safina won again.  I don’t know what it is about women’s tennis right now, but for some reason I’d rather drink bleach or give my cat an enema than watch the “women” (hasn’t really been proven in a court of law that they’re not packing heat) play tennis.  She apparently killed Cibulkova 6-2, 6-1.  Sounds dynamite.  I watched the first set and almost yawned myself to death.  Part of it may have had something to do with the fact that I watched the Tooth blow 789 chances to break and ultimately beat Screech in what somehow seemed like a longer match than the recent epic in merry ol’ England.  It probably would’ve been an emotional roller coaster if I knew any other emotion besides anger and depression.  I’m currently depressed by the way.  So, uh, let’s go?

     In the first game Screech busted out his protractor, a graphing calculator and his abacus to calculate the wind’s trajectory, the current gravitational pull of the earth, and some other stuff I don’t know ’cause I’m dumb, to drop two aces past the Tooth’s teeth.  Did I mention Brad Gilbert launched another prediction from his face hole, proclaiming teeth would beat nerds 7-6, 6-2?  Just did, there it is right to the left.  So I was like shit, I Shirley don’t want BG to be right, but I also don’t want Balki Bartokomous (c’mon, he could’ve been from Serbia!) to win another masters tournament.  Well, BG was right, but after those two aces I did my stick shift dance on my bed with much glee (it was a very confusing time to be Tennisburger; who to root for?).  The two held onto their serves as much as I hold onto the metaphor of me holding onto my banana slug.  

     At 2-2 with Screech serving way way way wide (his 2nd serve ended up in Tipsarevic’s purple Fanta drink, dousing his existential beard with high fructose corn syrup) the Tooth was at deuce, his closest chance yet to break him.  After 745 boobzillion break chances, many yawns (I’m really working the yawn references in there, eh?), and lost chances to get up and get my faux duck sandwich on, Screech held serve.  It really was a great performance by Screech, a sentence I promise to never write again.  He held despite the voodoo stat which revealed he had only been broken 3 times in 39 service games.  There should be a stat displayed the next time he plays showing that he made it past that kiss of death.

     With Murray serving 2-3, he held at love.  Let the testosterone flow.  

     At 3-3 the Tooth had a titzillion chances to break Screech’s pocket protector (again), but blew ’em all, teeth and all.  I started to wonder out loud to myself if I wasn’t getting bored with all these chokes.  Turns out I would have many more moments to ponder this question in the 2nd set.  Screech holds! The world rejoices by ignoring tennis.

     Screech asked for his money back from anger management class after smashing his racket into the innocent concrete at 4-4 and my chub kinda woke up and rubbed his eyes lazily and asked what all the commotion was about.  He played-what seemed like-the rest of the match with the busted* racket.  I’m sure he changed, but heroin kinda makes me nod out, so I may have missed it.

     Some shit happened and Murray pulled the 1st set out of his arse.  Balki had 31 unforced errors in the first set.  Even Monfils blushed upon hearing those numbers.

     2nd set! Time for BG and the crew to talk about how tired Screech looks FOREVER.  Isn’t there a rule in commentating (and life) that you only have to say something once?  Can we petition for some sort of rule.  Most of what they say shouldn’t be said in the first place, let alone twice, or 50 times. It’s like the entire broadcast of the 2nd set was being commentated for the benefit of all the world’s grandpas.  Cute idea, but annoying in actuality.  After getting the break to go up 2-1 Screech is broken right back.  Game fucking over.  When this match comes out on bootleg DVD I hope the bootlegger titles this match “Missed Opportunities”, or “Hot Potato”, or something along those lines.   You think of one, I’m on my fifth Dos Equis.  But seriously, these guys played at times like a lifetime supply of poohnan was up for the taking and at other times they played like they had heard that lifetime supply was dipped in herpes sauce.  

     More of this “out of gas” crap regarding Screech.  Out of gas after 1 set?  1 set to the gallon on a 1 gallon tank?  I thought this guy was suppose to be the most fit player on the tour.  C.C. Sabathia could last longer on the court than that guy.  Wouldn’t that be fresh to see?  C.C. chucks heat at the Tooth’s teeth for two hours.  I told you I was drunk.

    It was like the incessant chanting of the three douchigos in the studio/box, proclaiming it was Murray’s match to win (do those guys win the hop on the band wagon award of the century or what? I’d hate to see how rocky their marriages are) propelled him to a win he didn’t deserve.  Screech saved 4 match points and during the change over I could’ve sworn I saw liquid dripping from the tear duct of the Tooth.  I’m watching you Murray!

     The Tooth finally won it, as I stood in front of my TV tapping my foot and praying to Monfils that he would end this horrible up and down match.  If it went to a third set I don’t really know where I’d be right now except that the place would have bars on the windows.  Murray “beat” Screech in straights, 7-6, 7-6 via magic dust and shit up his sleeves.  I seriously don’t know how the fuck/if he won that match and will put that conspiracy right up there with the popularity of Gallagher among adults, and Crocs.  

     I’m leaving for Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwstun on Tuesday and will be back in time to cover the Commulympics (bad, I know).  I heard they have clay courts in Austin (my friend lies to me a lot, so I may be way off) so I hope to get my feet dirty for the fist time.  Thanks for checking up on me, I know it’s been sporadic, but I hope to be on my shit for the Olympiad as Tennisburger just hired a life coach/parole officer to look after him.  See you next week! Let’s Go!!! (to the bar!).

     *I don’t know if it was really busted.  Anytime a racket so much as brushes the pavement  (be it grass, clay or sponge) the commentator always exlcaims, “I can’t believe he’s not going to switch rackets!”.

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 The nerds are back in town indeed.  Hide your (fake) blonde girlfriends, her panties, and, well shit, just hide everything, nerds are relentless and will take over entire schools and towns as we learned in the best movie ever.  Before I get into this and that, and everything in between let me take a moment to take a dump on the programming that is ESPN.  Ever hear of it?  Yeah, they’re suppose to be the premiere sports channel (not Chanel).  So why in the fuck did I turn on my TV to see butt holes on skateboards trying to woo a crowd of dumb, blonde whores by “catching air.” Please don’t get me started on how skateboarders are more bro’d out than a million gay football players packed into a Hooters somewhere in Nebraska.  Anyway, so we have closeted homosexuals with lobotomies on half-pipes bigger than a launching tower at NASA in Florida, all because the NFL Hall of Fame induction is being shown on ESPN (so bros got bumped to ESPN2 where tennis was suppose to be)?  Look, if I wanna see old black dudes laugh like maniacs and talk about God I’ll go down to the race track, but on TV?  These dudes waddle around in their faux cream dream jackets crying(!) behind podiums to a crowd of people on white fold up chairs.  Where am I? What planet is this?  Hello, ESPN, the second best showdown of modern tennis is being played (was played, yeah, yeah, I know about the tape delay) and you’re showing me old, retired, crying babies in ugly suits?  Uhhhh, Daryl Green, whoever you were, can you please stop crying about God and babies and pigskins and grass, please! So from 6pm-7pm I’m running around my house punching things, smoking angel dust, cleaning my room in anger and making prank phone calls to hotels in Singapore.  My friend Rich called and after I yelled into my speaker phone with my feet up on my desk like a bigwig for 2 minutes he informed the match is on, and that we’re no longer friends.  Good Riddance! Let’s GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(al)!!!!!

    

     I know I’ve used the Teenwolf thing for RAFA! already in a post way back when, and this isn’t a great photo of Murray and his new wolf-esque look, but he may want to talk to his dad about his eyes glowing red and growing claws and shit.  I bet you his dad’s one too!  So Murray, for one reason another has been playing some good tennis (and brushing his teeth) and made it to the semis of Cincy (really in Mason?  What’s up widat?) to face Ivo “I’m up here” Karlovic.  Will he get the break? Won’t he get the break? Oh my, my heart pounds in anticipation of this match.  I was shaking so much (probably more from that sweet, sweet angel dust than anticipation of beat street break down) I took some pretty egregious notes.  He had an early break but gave it right back (Karlovic’s return of serve is on par with a baby seal with a racket duct taped to his fin, so that was quite surprising). Basically there was shit getting broken all over the court. Fine china, lamps, ugly sculptures of dead peoples heads.  The Eastern and Northern Financial Tennis Tournament doesn’t offer stats on their website so I don’t know exactly how many breaks there were but Tooth had 4 and the Undertaker had at least 2.  God this site is starting to blow, I just kinda throw my guesses out there.  Top notch reporting here at the ‘burg.  But yeah, something Federer couldn’t do against the Croatian Party Machine, the Tooth did 4 times.  His eyes got all red and he was like…”I want a keg of beer.”   Okay that match sucked eggs (my mom would always tell people to go suck an egg, like always), so let’s just guess correctly that the Tooth smashed out the light in the lighthouse in straights, 6-4, 6-4.  For the final he faces…

     NERDS! NERDS! NERDS! Actually, just one nerd.  Screech is back dudes, with those fucking baggy work out pants with squiggly neon lines on ’em and shit.  Musta’ been hangin’ out in dark alleys and shit, livin’ off the scraps the raccoons left behind.  Straight plottin’ and shit. Laughing with giant echoes in the background.  Rubbin’ his hands together, scheming, lickin’ his lips, puttin’ shit up on his walls with thumb tacks, and all that jazz.  Dude is back.  Brad Gilbert prediction alert! “He’s [RAFA!] coming out with his guns blazing.  RAFA! in straight sets (*waves stupid cardboard sign with Nadal’s name on it written in crayons*…it is well known grown up douche bags are not very good artistes).”  Oooops!  Back to the date rape drawing board you overgrown baboon! 

    Pre Match Follies: I’m informed by Chris “Where’s the Beer Bong” Fowler that all their matches are one-sided, with RAFA! getting the better of him. Then I yawned and touched my balls.  

          Does RAFA! win the weirdest looking mouth award whilst talking or what?  Does he have Invisalign too? I dunno, his mouth looked super weird during that pre-match interview.  Maybe I should stop staring at RAFA!’s lips, huh? Kinda gay.

          They put up a stat that RAFA! hadn’t been broken in 28 service games.  Guess which records was the first of RAFA!’s to be broken.  You guessed it!  Let’s get on with this, my angel dust brownies are burning in the oven.  Let’s Go!

     Screech won the first 8 games.  Yes, that means he broke the almighty RAFA! right away.  Dude looks pretty damn hot out of the gate (I mean, like, for a nerd).  You were kinda right Brad, guns were a-blazin’, but they weren’t Spanish pistoleros, they were giant, clunky Serbian machine guns.  

     RAFA! finally won a point (a point!) and pumped his fist more than the girls in “Pacifist”, or the porn starlets in “If at Fist You Don’t Succeed”.  Ummm, in trouble much RAFA!?  I know it’s like, your first car, or your first kiss, but you are in trouble!  It’s like getting all excited about the first time you get laid, but knowing the girl is gonna walk out on you 2 seconds later (don’t pretend like you weren’t totally fucking crushed out on the first girl who gave you a taste (by taste I mean sticking your bean pole in it, not taste tasting it) of her steamy clam!). Just setting yourself up for major pout time and listening to the Cure with your shades down. 

     Screech was serving at 15-30 up 2-0 when he fired an ace in the hole and people were cheering.  Why?  He practically invented Serbian douchery and Montenegrin fake humility. He actually opened up a shop in Serbia called Fake Humility and Douche and Things.  Basically a weird thrift store.  

     With RAFA! serving 15-30, 0-3 (down in both categories), Chris “the only ESPN news anchor who still does keg stands” Fowler noted that RAFA! has to work hard for every point.  Ya’ think?  The only way it could’ve been harder for RAFA! to track down (or simply look at Screech’s shots as they wooshed by him) was if his side of the court was a running conveyor belt that automatically went the opposite direction of the way he was traveling.  

     2nd break.  4-0.  What a fucking beast.  RAFA! might be tired (as these robots with microphones keep saying in the speaker of my 9 inch b&w TV ad nauseum), but this is starting to make me kinda sick.  

     Camera cuts to Mason OH, sluts drinking beer! Yeah! (*High 5’s my TV*).  Is everyone in Cincy, or Mason or wherever this match is, kinda fat, kinda blonde, and kinda cute? They all seem pretty healthy looking and whatnot.  I’d bang an Ohioan (with my eyes open even).

     5-0. 6 points in one game?  That’s one point for every beer in a six pack! That’s one point for every time I charmed my snake today.  That’s not a lot of points people (or whack a moles for a day).

     Guess who won the first set.  Yeah, it wasn’t that one guy with zero games in the first set.  I knew you guys were smart.  

      (Tell me it doesn’t look like RAFA! is jerkin’ off underwater in this photo while touching his girl’s bum).  Screech was serving for the match (yeah, we’re they’re already, get out of the car!) at 30-15 when they showed a shot of Nadal’s girlfriend, Maria Francesca, laughing and smiling and whatnot.  Hello, your super buff, super rich, super humble, super dreamy boyfriend is about to get his heart ripped out from his chest and eaten by the Serbian Smasher!  Why can’t chicks ever take interest in what you’re doing?!  My biggest pet peeve (*high pitched voice*) everrrr.  My last girlfriend doesn’t even know this blog exists (not like I didn’t tell her to read it every fucking day), or what a tennis ball looks like, let alone what I look like on a tennis court when I hit said tennis ball.  Chicks!?  Meanwhile I’m watching every show with the prefix “Top” in the title with my willy wonka tucked between my legs.  Oh I forgot! They hold the key!  That (hopefully) hairless, (hopefully) non-smelly, wet key.  They don’t have to do shit, really.  To the amusement of RAFA!’s girlfriend, Screech calculated time plus distance divided by space to come up with sum of 6-1, 7-5, putting RAFA!’s number one ranking on hold until the 18th of August.  

     While I wrote this I ignored the Safina v. Azarenka match, but I’m sure it was super boring. If the back of my chair had eyes it would tell you so.  If it wasn’t boring, let’s just pretend it was.  I’ll be back tomorrah to cover both finals.  Tooth v. Screech, Safina v. Cibulkova.  Four freaks enter, two freaks leave! Let’s go!!!!!

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