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Archive for March, 2009

Live Indian Wells Shitcast

    If anyone can get me a pair of them Azarenka sneaks  in a mens 11.5 I’ll suck your wang.  Those. Shoes. Are. Nasty! I know I’m not suh’pose to be talking about wang suckin’ this early in the season, but dang if those shoes aren’t the bees knees.  I’d take a pic of my tennis sneaks, but they’re sitting in a locker that smells like bum piss  at the GG Tennis Club and it’s 2am so I can’t really get to ’em.  Trust me, Stephen Hawking himself would type out some snarky remark on my kicks, and that dude can’t even kick! Sorry to be gone for so long, but the rambles just haven’t been in me.  Also, my FSN/CSN is also being inundated with hockey and b-ball games so I’m missing out on some prime-ass-rib, like the Verdasco v. Federer match. I am however seeing some Azarenka.  I miss Kleybanova’s violent backhand, but the Ahhz (Oz) is my propper filler (dang! those shoes!).  I promise to be glued to the rest of Wells de Indian thru the weekend, so sit tight. In the mean, enjoy my Cutty Sark induced mumbles on Azarenka v. Zvonareva.  Oh, and trust me, I know all about Monfils losing to (*barf*) Isner, and the Pove’s semi-return.  I’m posted, just not posting. Let’s go (on a DUI)!

     The Ahhz brushed bread crumbs off her chest in the middle of the 2nd game of the 1st set.  If you don’t love this girl yet, look up love in the dictionary, then kill yourself (note: unless you’re famous don’t kill yourself, it just looks silly).  Better yet, replay the shot of The Ahhz brushing bread crumbs off her chest, fall in love,  then get fat off the cinnamon rolls that love makes you every morning.

     We’re gonna have to FF to 5-3 in the first, Zvonareva serving, up a break for the set, ’cause I just sailed away with the SS Sark.  At deuce The Ahhz spreads the court, leaving Zvonareva’s Chairman Mao hat to face towards that Boise Blue.  Ad Ahhz.  Zvonareva plows the Ahhz’s return past her backhand and it’s back to 40’s for everyone. Ahhz net and it’s Zzzzz’s Ad.  There’s some talk about RAFA! and the next thing I know I’ve dropped my grilled cheese on the carpet and  Zvonareva wins the first set.

     Is anyone else seeing this Goddamn Enterprise commercial.  Apparently Mister Mom and his daughter can’t afford to pay the rent anymore, a moving truck shows up sos they can buy some lumber, Mister Mom and daughter commence building their future home (a dog house), then (hammer) hi-5 their accomplished incest shack while the mom gloats in the background making snarky comments about their new home?  I dunno, maybe times are indeed hard.  2nd Set!

     The Ahhz gives up the first game with a DF and all I can really surmise is: It. Aint. The. Shoes.  

     Her backhand though does suck shoe poo.  Most love 40’s, but The Ahhz is a bit dyslexic at 40-love.  Make that love-2.

     Net. Fault. Net. Net. Net. Net. Tear. Net. Net. Out.  Net. Deuce. Fault. Fault. Ad Zvonareva. Fault. Out. Deuce. Net Chord. Ad Ahhz. Out. Game Ahhz.  According to one of the assinators she is still very much alive and I’d have to agree as she’s walking to her chair.  Two One!

    Znovareva DF’s twice and still wins the Goddamn game.  Is there a reason to stay up? Ah, the shoes! Oh, and two nasty ass Sebastian Bachand winners by the Ahhz.  The Ahhz holds.  Three Two! Where’s my eye lid tape!

     Just as my fire alarm goes off my bullshit alarm goes off.  The female comentater (yah) just pleasured herself to a comment about Zvonareva’s defense.  Let’s point out that the Ahhz is basically rallying with the Ms. Z; hitting it directly back to her in the middle of the court.  While we’re at it, let’s praise Ms. Z’s eye’s for seeing the ball, or her legs for keeping her up.  Z over Ahhz, 4-2.

     My fist pumps the air in front of my freedom fries as the Ahhz holds at love.  4-3. Your move Ms. Mao. Time for a celebration dip into my newly acquired chipotle ketchup. I know it’s a bit late in the game for freedom fry jokes, but the Sark has me a bit uninspired.

     Time is running out for Azarenka according to the femalinator and her coach’s square watch.  Irony rears it’s ugly head as Ms. Z faces break point.  Rainbow shots abound and the Ahhz drops her anchor long. Deuce! Zvonareva and her communist hat comes to net and hits one of them there new fangled winner shots I’ve heard so much about from my brother in the big city (note, winners have been miniscule in this match). Back to deuce as there’s more slop on my TV than on my Sloppy Joe  Run-Off Catcher.  Wide. Yawn. Ad Ms. Z.  Hold. 3-5.  

     6-3, 6-3.  Zvonareva takes a dump on my shoe fetish and that’s that.  

     If my next post isn’t better I’ll officially retire or hang myself with a garden hose in the back of the Olive Garden.  I just started my own site which I’ll probably move my tennisbrrgrr to, so here’s a head start, although it’s mostly garbage at this point… do you see it when i do it?

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