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Dinara Safroida

First off, can we please get a standard on what a man is and what a woman is?  I know this is the new millenium, and we’re suppose to be tolerant of others, but howabout we just get some basic guidelines down for each gender?  Seems like lots of sports are suffering from a case of  bad Wayans bros. production (there was a fucking sequel!). From there we can start to recognize things like steroid abuse, or whose eating elephant tranquilizers for breakfast.  C’mon, you don’t get recurring back problems, female balls and no neckitus at 24 from playing tennis, you get it from slamming your ass with Barry B juice. Either way I’d like this freak of nature to, at the very least, be defined, I need to label my polaroids. Apparently Safroida demolished some limey 6-1, 6-2. Let’s see what happens when she plays someone not from Ipswich.

Brad Gilbert believes Roddick will take Gonzo in straight sets.  The only thing I want to know is, does he rub that tiny American flag with Roddick sweat before or after he wraps it around his giant gorilla balls?  And what’s up with that velvet suit and purple ‘kerchief? Fucking Don Juan of primates over here.  Roddick underwhelmed everyone who isn’t American and/or hooked up to life support by beating tennis giant, Feliciano Lopez, the Federer of “where’s that guy been?”  Seriously, what are you going to wow us with next, a keg stand? Lil’ underachiever exceeded expectations, 6-7, 6-4, 6-4, 7-6.  Straights indeed. I predict Gonzo 6-0, 6-0, 6-0. And while we’re (*ugh*) on Roddick, can we keep him out of the booth?  Dude is so slimy. True colors show on the court where he acts like a grade A, free range, organic, extra large, brown douche. Not when he’s kissing grown-ass babies who bow down to him like I did to my left over pizza tonight after my boo told me she wasn’t making me dinner.

Why is Clijsters down 0-3 against Petrova righaboutnow? (Addendum: make that 5-0).  (Addendum: 6-0. Has Clijsters won  a goddamn point!?). Wow, okay no more addendums. Looks like Petrova might bestow the double bagel on Clijsters. This is really no way to throw a match. Gotta make it look real. Check out some Davy footage. Unbelievable, 6-0, 6-1. It took me longer (sadly) to write this post.

So yeah, Monfils fell to that sickly looking Great Dane and I don’t really know what to say. Kinda makes me my face turn yellowish green. If you’ve followed me in the past you know I usually just shut it down when Monfils loses, so let’s just move on before I do just that.  Just needs to keep his goddamn head in the game.  Isner isn’t going to survive Murray is like saying John and Greg Rice were generating much cash flow. Pretty much a no-brainer. And what’s up with Steven Smith traveling around the world with Isner? Going to clubs in London and shit. Steven Smith’s street cred just plummeted. Can’t imagine how those off-season convos are gonna be when his crew gets wind of this.

Jankovic is proving to have Sharavanovic syndrome, going down in straights (2 and 3 even!) to Bondarenko, although that’s like a tiny aftershock after seeing Clijsters go down like that.

Jie Zheng whooped on my girl Bah-toe-lee after dropping the first set which holds zero wow factor the aforementioned paragraph.

I know I just spoke of tennis in general having awkward interviews but can someone please tell me why Screech is so whimsical these days? I know he has to make up for acting like a huge ass, but enough already with the yuck yuck.  Whoah, somebody in tennis has a personality, and look at how crrrraaaazzzzeeeeee he is (and how crazy I spelled crazy).  You’re gonna wind up the fucking Rupert Pupkin of tennis.  Just chill the fuck out, get a free pizza from that cocaine front your parents call a crepe shop that earns 1.4 million dinars per every goat year and reeeeelax.  No need to lose your dignity to a couple of hacks with tiny mics.  You already look goofy enough without sauntering around all over the goddamn place like a Serbian Clown.

I’m ’bout to hit the hay, but RAFA! just came out looking like a big ol’ titty. If he’s teaming up with some sort of Spanish breast cancer movement, god bless him. I know this post is like when you feel a giant dump coming on but only a tiny brown pebble falls out of your bum, but I’m getting back into this after fracturing both my blog legs (blegs?), so gimme some time to get use to these bleg braces.

Allez!

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(|) > Tennis

unlimited text plan

unlimited chat plan

I’m not sure what’s more depressing: the continual chest pain I’m feeling, the continual rain that’s dropping, the continual hair loss of Prince William, the awkward interview I saw with Venus “I won’t kill you” Williams (her laughing coach has taught her well and let me add that pretty much all tennis interviews are horribly awkward), Taylor Dent’s 1 year stint in a full (XXL) body cast, The Pove’s absence from round freakin’ 2, Heninnnnn Horseface’s return to thee stage, Young’s hide being tanned by an Ozzy, the fact that Marcos “Jello Body Shot” Baghdatis only broke one wrapped racket, or what? So far this new year blows, and the unintended blackened fried chicken I ate for breakfast didn’t help matters.

Things that are stopping me from sticking my head in the oven are: soon Isner’s mug will be facing some serious turbulence via a Monfilbro, Blake didn’t get outta the first (fucking close though, aye?), I still have a little Old Crow left, I have cable again (with the angina inducing Tennis Channel, so I’m still undecided on how many chubs I give this new development), there appears to be at least one person who still reads this thing, my stove is electric.

I’ll be back tonight, and around for the forseeable future as a certain someone doesn’t seem to be returning my texts and IM’s. Glad to be back.

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Day 12: Tennisburger Will Kill You

I didn’t say I was gonna kill you!

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I’ve been lying in bed with my finger up my nose and breathing heavy with my other hand dangling a Pall Mall slim over the edge of my single bed fighting the urge to post. Ashes piling up among cat shit and old dirty Fruity Pebble bowls.   I knew it’d be like this. Pathetic.  All I’ve been thinking about all day is Monfils’ loss to RAFA! Sometimes I don’t want to put down 1200 words. Sometimes I just want my mommy and a chocolate Yoo-hoo like the rest of you metrosexuals.  If Monfils could just grow-the-fuck-up and realize you have to win 3 sets against the big guys I wouldn’t have to put up with all this pain (it starts in my rear and ends in my ear).  After losing his fucking mind and taking the 1st I knew something was wrong.  You know what was wrong? He pissed off the wrong motherfucker.  Don’t believe me? Look at the scores of the last 3 sets.  I sometimes think just showing up is good enough at my job too, but then the music goes on and the next thing I know I have to dance on that pole.  Point is, even strippers have to work to be the best, like Jessie Spano in Showgirls. I love the guy, don’t get me wrong, but I think I’ll be waiting a few years for that nut to mature enough to win a meaningful match.

My notes on the match has everything from Tony Bennet and skeet shooting, to Michael Phelps morphing into the biggest fucking retarded, sleazeball ever, to Pam Shriver making me vomit as she tried to hit on him, to “Chelsea Clinton in the house,” but it’s all in vain at this point, 2 days later with no Monfils by our side. Who could possibly give a shit about a 17 year-old at a time like this?

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As we all know Tennisburger does not allow criers, so let this be a warning to the entire Oudin family, namely her under achieving twin sister, whatshername.  Tears from crying are a big no-no here on the ‘burg, but don’t think for a second that sobs of joy are tolerated here either.  That girl straight out did the lip curling sob where it looks like you have no teeth-you know the one- right after Melanie upset Kuznetosova’s uglier twin sister, Petrova.  I don’t understand tears of joy, and I definitely don’t understand me no fucking breakdown, open mouth, no teeth, shuttering, sobs of ecstasy.  Now my girlfriend says I have no heart, but she also thinks I’m good looking, sooooo, I dunno, try and figure that one out.  And sobbing looks ten times dumberer when you have one of those US Open satellite dishes in your ear (seriously, can someone tell me what those things are, besides totally stylin’?).  Oh yeah, but the match…

So Oudin lost the first set big time in little China, going down to Petrova (which I’m pretty sure means lumberjack in Russian) 6-1.  Apparently she’s won (all?) 5 grand slam matches after losing the 1st set, so as Dickberg pointed out (he was very proud of himself after this comment), Oudin had her right where she wanted her (good one Dick!).  Actually right here I’d like to take a quick break and address some of the weirder things Dick Enberg’s old brain spat out during the match:

1.  She’s the type of girl you’d like to have live next door to you. I don’t know what this means, but coming from a grown-ass man upwards of the 60 year age mark that can only mean he’d like to spit in her corn hole and dry it up with my corn cob.  I mean, yeah, sure, I’d rather a 17 year-old tennis phenom live next to me rather than an 80 year-old Chinese man who does calisthenics at 5 in the morning only to follow that up with a clearing of his lungs and throat of green oysters for the next 45 minutes, but I’ve never thought about it that specifically, let alone verbalize it.

2.  I dont’ have this exactly right, but something to the affect of If she were to see a fight she’d be the first to get right in there and put her chin out. Why is Dick Enberg having thoughts of living next to a 17 year-old girl and subsequently thoughts of said girl getting in a fight?  I know I deplored Dick Enberg to stop using the word delicious to describe matches, but if this is the alternative, can we please go back to having delicious matches?  It’s awkward for me to hear this stuff while I’m on the couch, half-naked while eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon.  It just makes me feel guilty about what I’m already doing.

There were more, but inhaling computer cleaner kinda cleans the memory as good as the keyboard.  So Oudin came firing out of the gate in the 2nd.  I don’t know what that last sentence means really or where it came from, but just like when I get caught pissing in public, I prefer to turn the other way and run.  So (as I’m writing this Djoke is blowing Stepanek’s fish face out of the fucking water, *sob* no snake dance tonight for me) Oudin took the 2nd in a tie-break, then blew past the Russian choker in the 3rd, 6-3.  Then aforementioned waterworks ensued.  Someone farted, I laughed, then ate a cheese puff leaving most of it on the curly black blades of pubes that cover my bare chest.  Labor Day indeed.

Anyone see Dulko get blown the fuck out? Double goose egg? My God, I’d actually like to have seen that.  Bondarenko must know something we don’t.  Some video? A letter?  A polaroid perhaps? Why even show up?  Or at least play in your joke glasses with the fake mustache so no one knows for sure if it’s really you.  That’s what I do at my job when I show up drunk, gotta cover all your bases, dontchya know?

Wozniacki upset the fuck out of the Kooze, but managed not to upset most of the straight males who plan to watch more women’s tennis.  I say bring back the corn rows. If you really wanna be on top of your game, and this goes for any professional career, really, get your fuckin’ corn row on. Oudin v. Woz? I like Woz, but I can’t ignore my general rule of going with anything that’s 17 years-old.  But for fucksake, tell your sister to hold it with the water works, this is a happy time. I know your high school tennis trophies don’t mean shit right now, but let’s try and focus on the better sister right now.  Maybe later you’ll win the US Open at 17.

Sippin' on Gin and Juice

Sippin' on Gin and Juice

I’m bummed I haven’t been able to post/see anything Monfil related, but tomorrow night I’m gonna be on it.

After feeling what it’d be like to lose a set to a freak of nature Verdasco got his Axe body spray out, his Axe hair care products and his baby oil and dismissed Isner 4-6, 6-4, 6-4, 6-4.

In other news, I’m tired. Hope you all had a nice Labor Day staring at tennis for 10 hours like a goddamn zombie loser who lives in his parents guest house.

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First off, stop reading this, go to Justin Tv (dot com), get yourself an account, and while any tennis match is going on entertain yourself with the most hillarious commentary since, well, this site.  According to one Nysaf, he recently heard that “Federer takes it in the backdoor,” and believes that “Federer sux.”  I seriously love this shit and is officially my new addiction.  Someone asked if anyone in the room likes Roddick, to which I replied, “show me your tits.” I had to watch the final set of the Roddick v. Isner match online, but I must say it is my go to for new material on this site if not just for pure shits and giggles.  Newsflash: people are funny.  But yeah, tennis…

Oudin (or Oudini which I heard Carillo call her which was actually pretty good, score one for the carpet cleaner) somehow beat Sharapova which I was at first livid about until I realized Lefty Mcloberton probably aint gonna beat Serena, so I was content, then I realized her 85mph fastball aint gonna be cuttin’ the mustard against Serena, so then I was a back to being upset (and a little confused) and finally tried to will myself to liking Oudin more than Popov.  As the 3rd set trudged on I realized Oudin (screwed up nickname in the works) I’m not that big of a fan.  She had how many match points?  And how many times did Popov double fault (Carillo had another good one saying you musn’t have more double faults than the age of your opponent)? 19? I dunno, that 3rd set was hard to stomach, kinda gave me the shits (no giggles).  But alas, I have no one else to root for, except the Woz and my mom’s boyfriend, Todd who is in a triathalon tomorrow.  I can’t stand when tennis players don’t give credit, and I’m not saying Oudin didn’t play well or “win the match,” but Popov looked like the fat cowgirl I saw at the burlesque show last night, who, incidentally, farted in my face (note: I’d pay to have Lefty Mcloberton drop a couple notes from her butt trumpet onto my grill).  I dunno, for all the “fire” and “heart” and “life” Carillo claimed she had she sure did take a few trips down to chokesville.  By the way, if you’re not sure if your gay here’s a quick way of finding out: check your phone. If you have a text from Billy Jean King (and those creepy purple glasses), chances are, you are.  And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, too bad, I’m a little too drunk and gassy (the kung pao chicken worked) to get into it.  Speaking of Choke city…

Anyone see Jesse “1982” Witten? I know Gaia Live did, dude’s in love.  But yeah, I finally got to see his match after repeatedly yelling at my girlfriends television, explaining that the Federer match was boring and had no character.  By the way, if you’ve just recently been freed from your kidnapper after more than 18 years and didn’t know, Federer beat Hewitt in four.  But Witten, what an ape. I hereby offer to shave his arms if he’ll shave my old ladies back.  And what’s the big deal with his forehand? The motion is quick but other than that I’m not too impressed.  Anyway, the guy is probably on his way back to the Jersey shore with his $50,000 minus whatever he spent on Columbian nose candy, alimony and child support.

Isner in normal tie-break fashion took Roddick’s crabs to the gas chamber in 5 and I couldn’t be more thrilled.  More on the chat tip for a sec. While watching this match someone kept asking (at first I thought to be funny, but after the 5th time of asking the same question I thought the guy really wanted to know) if the woman in the stands was “Isner’s girlfriend or mom.”  Priceless.

Well, Blake’s about to get “upset” by Robredo, and my girlfriend is offering up that sweet sweet 69, so I’ll see you all tomorrow.  Sorry for the short sucky post.

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You heard it here first bitches.  If these two meat heads don’t make it to the finals, the only reason will be that the wheels on their muscle cars were slashed. I couldn’t find a picture of Jesse “1982” Witten with a muscle car, so I did the next best thing and added a stretched, pink, PT Cruiser to his photo.

Coolest Hat Ever

Coolest Hat Ever

Anyone Need a Ride with a Side of  Gangley, Hairy Newport Beach Toes?

Just Me n' My Thumbs

If these two top dogs, Ice Man and Maverick if you will, don’t make it to the championship match I really see no other reason to go on living, except for maybe jaggin’ off and the poor dental plan I receive at work.  I can’t even begin to describe the strangeness that would fill the air if these two behemoths lumbered onto the field.  Witten would come out to The Ace of Spades and Dent would come out to 2 Live Crew’s Hey, We Want Some Pussy. I’m getting wet just thinking of the possibilities and I’m not even built like that.  Dads in the stands would have to awkwardly explain to little Wayne and little Debbie that these two ass hats are indeed champions. Man! That’d be something.

Well anyway, back to reality (which usually blows).  Anyone see Christina (sorry babe, the twat spells it wrong) Mchale go down in teen flames against Karate Kid?  Fawwwwk.  First came the pre-match interview.  I don’t know if Mchale was scared that she was about to play on Arthur Ashe at night, or that the woman interviewing her had no lips.  Either way, she was sweatin’ more than a virgin on prom night.  All red. Pasted on smile.  Had to feel bad for her. At one point I thought she was going to shit out her TeenBop magazine (with Taylor Dent on the cover) right there.  I don’t even know if she heard the questions.  I know I didn’t, I was too busy laughing.  So she blurts out two short answers then shuffles off.  Then comes Sharapova with a fucking silver headband and a black dinner dress (which she intends to play in) with silver sizzle all over it and a wry smile on her face, like she knows she’s gonna have to embarass this little girl, that it’s her duty and worst of all she’s gonna like it.  And that she did.

The first two points of Sharapova’s were like a lewd gesture to the teen Mchale.  I get paid to make jokes about that kinda stuff and I was uncomfortable.  I wanted to shield Mchale’s racquet’s eyes from the giant dong that was Sharapova’s first two returns.  Mchale’s little giggle into her towel was pretty priceless though after the forehand winner, I’ll give her that.  But that’s all I’m giving her and Sharapova did the same thing.  Early on in the first set Sharapova, on the run switched hands and forced an error with a left-motherfucking-hand lob.  I don’t even switch hands when I’m pruning the pear tree if you catch the drift coming off my masturbation metaphor.  I dunno if someone as fine as Sharapova can have the nick name Lefty McLoberton but I’m gonna give it a spin.

Returns on both side of the game were good for the first four games, but Mchale couldn’t keep up and before I knew it Lefty McLoberton had won the first set 6-2 (although in the second Mchale held and the score keeper put up 6-3 and my mind took a giant dump, then they changed it to 5-3 which really fucked me up).  Lefty McLoberton whooped on Mchale in the quad in straights 6-2, 6-1.

Lefty McLoberton faces Oudin who plucked Big Bird 5-7, 6-4, 6-3.  I missed the Oudin match, but I’m sure everyone’s all Oudin’ed out at this point anyway, at least until Saturday.

I just realized I goofed with Vani King. Ooops.

You know the green movement has gone too far when Alec Baldwin is telling me to compost at 1 in the morning while I’m trying to watch the US Open.  Note to cancer and go green, I’m not interested right now. Sometimes I’d like to forget the cyst on the top of my head (seriously), and the fact that my biodegradeable banana peels will destroy the earth if I don’t dispose of them properly.  It’s 1am, all I’d like is a quick wack attack, some tennis and a few Z’s.

Can anyone tell me who Tom “Death Stare” Rinaldi is?  Guy thinks every second of his life is a goddamn staring competition.  Google much? I don’t know if chill pill’s exist, but if they do, could you find a couple and send them over to Rinaldi’s eye balls?

Anyone see Blake get uberfuckingexcited over his 3rd set win over Rochus.  Man, times are tough.  First I’m forced to compost my toe nail clippings and now this.  Blake, listen, Rochus is ranked 90th in the world.  I could fart right now and it’d make a bigger blip on ATP’s radar.  And why in the shit we’re we even forced to watch that match.  I know Isner and his tie-break fest were going on, but wasn’t there another match (I was huffin’ glue, excuse me if my memory isn’t 100%) we could’ve watched.  McEnroe himself admitted it was a goddamn Scrabble game.  Oh yeah, ’cause he’s American!  Well shit, they might as well have just broadcasted an apple pie baking, or NASCAR (by the way, anyone notice the ESPN ticker that said a NASCAR driver broke his foot playing frisbee?).  All I’m sayin’ is, this is tennis, it ain’t the Olympics.

Can I tell you right now that Dulko is going to shred Shevadova into some  Kazkhstanian brown weed?  Forget her hometown, this girl struggled to beat Jankovic who was obviously elsewhere the entire match.  And those glasses!  Jesus, I’m heading over to Vegas right after this post.  If I’m wrong, you can all have a laugh at my expense, for the first time I’m sure. If I’m right I’m gonna break the world’s record for receiving the longest lap dance.

Wozniacki and Azarenka are my two dark horses.  Would love to seem in the final.  Not exactly Dent v. Witten, but a close second.

Maria Jose Martinez Sanchez! (that name just needs an exclamation point) takes on Serena. Any guesses who I’m rooting for?

Anyone notice how easy Monfils has it? Nadal with the banged up knee?  I dunno, it’s gettin’ late so I can’t get into it right now….

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