Behold — Dan Undegaag
A soon-to-be-less-anonymous Ferguson, Missouri visitor reportedly was accosted by a member of the Ferguson police department who dumped not 1, not 2, not 3, but 6 buckets of ice water on the victim’s head as part of the recent ALS ice bucket challenge.
The campaign has picked up a lot of steam (the cold kind of steam that isn’t really steam at all but rather the crystallization of water having left a person’s breath to arrive upon sub-32 degree Fahrenheit air) recently, on the backs and heads of numerous participants who have advocated for the cause by choosing to dump a bucket of ice water on their own heads rather than donate money to people suffering from an incurable, debilitating illness.
In fairness – many of the more notable participants have stated explicitly in their videos that they have both donated to the foundation AND chosen to shrink their dicks publically. These participants include Miley Cyrus, Earl Grey and Vietnamese Deputy Minister of Public Security, General Tran Viet Tan. However, these people were also fully aware of the unwritten law they were breaking and did so of their own volition.
While the purpose of the viral campaign’s alternative to donation (read: ice and buckets) is presumably to act as a deterrent to those disinclined to donate, it simultaneously serves as a pay-it-forward, explicit call-out that doubles as a social media marketing stunt. If celebrities like the highly-regarded General Tan want to donate to a good cause and intimidate other people into doing the same that is their right as Americans.
Enter Turd Ferguson, Missouri. The Police Department of Ferguson has recently come under a lot of fire (and ice!) for being a bunch of terrible, murderous pricks. This is a group of people who have allowed the same hush-hush, bros-before-hos, “deny-til-you-die” mentality typically reserved for shielding friends from actions such as smoking weed in the TV room of a fraternity house to extend to lying about murder. Protests have continued and Ferguson has responded by more-or-less militarizing their police force and turning the small community into a police-state.
But now they just went too far.
A sort of anonymous member of the community, having been semi-not-confirmed to be former pop-sensation-turned-racist Taylor Swift, is reported as having had 6 buckets of ice water dumped unceremoniously on her pretty white head by an undisclosed member of the Ferguson Police Department Tuesday morning.
This, as an isolated incident, is not a story. Taylor Swift—having already paraded swastikas directly into our children’s souls via her recent single “Shake it Off”—has recently proven that her adorable genes lack any human capacity for sympathy. It therefore logically follows that she would not be moved to donate money towards ALS, opting instead to be bathed in the frigid waters of her own fame-grabbing sociopathic pathology rendered literal.
But the nightmarish implications of the incident are only revealed once one realizes the truly macabre context surrounding the incident itself.
Taylor Swift donated to ALS. She donated to ALS 6 times—once for each bucket of frigid water aimed for her now more rosily-described head.
Apparently the Ferguson police are not content to stop at murder, racism and institutionalized fear. They have begun campaigns to slander and manipulate the media towards their own inscrutable ends- in this case even targeting one of their own—proving racists to be the most faithless of companions.
If the Ferguson police have become aware of themselves as a media-object and are now battling to deflect the attentions of the media through targeted, slanderous acts of misdirection—how long until they assimilate the media itself? How much longer can we even trust the noble people calling them racists from their couches? What is their agenda? Who are we to trust?
I may be a member of the Ferguson police…right now.
[Editor’s note: In response to quotes that appeared in Monday’s Tampa Tribune, Tony Dungy has released a statement. After Pro Football Talk notified Dungy that they had not yet developed the technology to publish the unintelligeble wet fart he submitted, Dungy provided a text alternative—a “read-along” as he called it. The full content of it appears below.]
On Monday afternoon while on vacation with my family in the panhandle of Idaho, I was quite surprised to read excerpts from an interview I gave several weeks ago related to this year’s NFL Draft (mostly because, I was higher than a motherfucker when I said those things and my bitch had just started popping the Dom).
I was asked whether I would have drafted Michal Sam and I answered that I would not have drafted him. I gave my honest answer, which is that he’s black and any player blacker than me gives me the heeby-jeebies. I just don’t know how to talk to those guys. I asked my old, blind pastor Kludd for guidance once and all he handed me was a rope (talk about taking an idiom too far!). It was weird.
I was not asked whether or not Michael Sam deserves an opportunity to play in the NFL. He absolutely does.
I was not asked whether his sexual orientation should play a part in the evaluation process. It should not. All the dick waving and gay shit that happens in an football locker room—Mike’s going to be just one beautiful gay packing peanut in an unnecessarily large gay box delivering a giant gay dildo to my gay lover Notyep Gninnam.
I was not asked whether I would have a problem having Michael Sam on my team (and thank God they didn’t because I would’ve said some shit the FCC would’ve definitely had to investigate). Of course I would! He’s hella black! And he has a pretty, white boyfriend so you know he’s got the whole life game figured out! He’s taking down us whites from the inside!
I have been asked all of those questions several times in the last three months and have always answered them the same way—whatever way my publicist/NBC Sports Executives tell me to say.
What I was asked about was my philosophy of drafting, a philosophy that was developed over the years, which was to minimize distractions for my teams and generally make my job wayyyy easier at any cost. I mean, I drafted boys strictly to blow Peyton during timeouts all. the. time. but those pussies sure as hell weren’t getting Sportcenter specials or Oprah TV deals!
I do not believe Michael’s sexual orientation will be a distraction to his teammates or his organization. Everyone in the NFL is already gay. Really, really gay.
I do, however, believe that the Miley-Cyrus-wrecking-ball-sized media attention that comes with me riding it, swinging my Lombardi trophies and dominatrix whip might, maybe, potentially be a distraction. Possibly. But only if you’re paying attention. So really it’s your fucking fault! Fuck you, man!
Unfortunately we are all seeing this play out now, and I feel badly that my remarks played a role in the distraction. JK! LOL! SMH LMFAO!
I wish Michael Sam nothing but the best in his quest to become a star-fucker in the NFL and I am confident he will get the opportunity to show what he can do on the field. I hear Matt Ryan’s on the market….
My sincere hope is that we will be able to focus on his play and not on his sexual orientation (and by play I mean his wicked gay sex game!).
Members of the Portland Trailblazers found out today that Jiggles strip club, a team favorite, is being torn down today, and according to sources raised in Japan but very familiar with American culture and deeply, deeply embedded in both organizations, Blazers players are not taking it well. Various team members have invited citizens of Portland to join them as they host a candlelight vigil tonight on the steps of the Moda center in remembrance of RipCity’s celebrated sleaze saloon.
“Where I gon’ get bitches at?
With Jiggles closed, no booty clap–
in my face.
Now I gotta bring strippers back to my place?
My momma not gonna like it–AYYY!”
French import Nic Batum, often thought to possess a higher level of class due to his origins hailing from one of the cultural Meccas of the Western World, responded perhaps the most violently of his teammates.
“DORME VOUX! ZIDANE! FORMAGE–UN, DUEX, TWAT! VOULEZ VOUS COUCHER AVEC MOI CE SOIR, CE SOIR, CE SOIR!”
Our Luckswing translators have diligently labored to uncover the true meaning of his conniption fit. It translates to something along the lines of: “WHO AMONG THE CAT DONKEYS IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS CAT MESS? WHERE WILL I NOW GO TO WATCH NAKED GARDEN TOOLS THAT MAKE ME FEEL MANLIER? I WILL KILL A FELINE FEMALE DOG WITH MY OWN UBER-REFINED FRENCH MAIDEN HANDS GODDAMMIT!”
According to our sources, Batum went on for another hour, but due to obligations with our advertisers (yes, we have advertisers!), and, to a lesser extent, FCC regulations, Luckswing is unable to publish those comments.
Upon finding out that Portland has the most strip clubs per capita of the 50 largest cities in America, Batum promptly saluted the American flag, shrieked like an eagle and ordered a round of whiskey and pomme frites for everyone!
According to sources inside the ESPN organization that are familiar with the situation (and are definitely not part of the entourage/pulling things out of their ass), Chris Broussard has invented a twitter persona @LetMeBGreatt to say all the things he wants to say on Sports Center, but isn’t allowed to say per company policy, FCC regulations and the general unspoken laws of polite human interaction.
Sources confirm that immediately following a segment wherein Broussard confirmed a source confirming insider confirming an agent confirming Lebron James willingness to stay with the Miami Heat, Broussard lost his shit.
“Fuck this!” Broussard allegedly told his social media intern. “These white people are too fuckin’ stuffy with their J.J. Beane catalogs and New England sensibilities. I gotta let my motherfuckin’ freak flag fly on this motherfuckin’ social network site, bruh!”
Following in the footsteps of Jonny Manziel, Broussard admitted to our sources that he had gotten fed up with being forced to pretend to be so buttoned up, and in a recent self-rediscovery binge watched Boyz N The Hood, Above The Rim and Juice, simultaneously rekindling his love affair with Dead Prez, Wu Tang and Immortal Technique.
Recently the account claiming the handle @LetMeBGreatt popped up with sharp criticism of the sports-media-circus-complex:
Y’all swear y’all know how NBA players think
— $corpio ☕️ (@LetMeBGreatt) July 3, 2014
Then Broussard got nostalgic:
My Kobe jersey I got when I was like 13 is my pajamas tonight & still fits
— $corpio ☕️ (@LetMeBGreatt) July 3, 2014
Then it got personal:
Somebody tell Joel Embiid to stop being a fanboy for Lebron. He ain’t going to no damn Philly
— $corpio ☕️ (@LetMeBGreatt) July 3, 2014
Here’s a stat for all you Lebron lovers I know y’all like stats so here’s an important one pic.twitter.com/oyoYvChwbI
— $corpio ☕️ (@LetMeBGreatt) July 1, 2014
In a twist worthy of a Steve Soderbergh flick (and perhaps fearing that his secret would be found out), Broussard turned the sharp sword of his avant garde twitter nom be plume on himself:
— $corpio ☕️ (@LetMeBGreatt) July 2, 2014
Inspired by the clever use of machines that did nothing during the 1st game of the most recent NBA finals, Buffalo Wild Wings, in their noble tradition of influencing games for the sake of their clientele, felt encouraged to have a stake in what they expect to be a burgeoning industry.
“The media attention the San Antonio Spurs developed with that first auto-breaking A/C unit was incredible. For a moment, our customers were actually talking about the Spurs, rather than simply bemoaning their boredom with the team while opining as to the number of hands Lebron would need surgically implanted into his chest in order to accommodate his 30-40 rings. Any press is good press.”
The company, noted for their willingness to intervene in sporting events like an Old Testament deity saturated in ranch dressing, noted that while the Spurs pioneered the invention of the not-working industrial A/C unit—they had only scratched the surface of the device’s ultimate potential.
“As a company, our intervention in human history is intended to work for the benefit of the greater good, assuming that greater good is the prolonging of an already lengthy sporting event for the sake of increased beer sales and the added strain and deterioration of marital relationships founded on anything other than a mutual respect of sports and bleu cheese. That is why our A/C units will reactivate upon command, our sleeper cell agents functioning to keep the temperature in the building at whatever state of limbo is deemed most profitable, while frequently pausing the action in order to get the thing up and running again, which, unlike the breaking portion, will actually be a pretty lengthy and tiresome process.”
Buffalo Wild Wings concluded by hinting that they were already through the 3rd stage of testing for titanium incisors modeled after Luis Suarez’ teeth, coated in a layer of rust.
“We’re hoping this next product of ours will push average stoppage time in international soccer matches to roughly the 10-15 minute range. Just enough time to order another basket of boneless honey BBQ wings, or melt a celery stick with nothing but human saliva.”
According to an anonymous source, Ray Allen (Basketball player and one-time-actor who portrayed protagonist “Jesus Shuttlesworth” in Spike Lee’s film: “He Got Game”) has changed his name to Muhammad Shuttlesworth to better represent his own shifting spiritual paradigm and recent indoctrination into the Nation of Islam.
Our source reports that Denzel Washington plays Malcolm X in Spike Lee’s titular biopic regarding the notable civil rights leader. Malcolm X was a devotee of the Nation of Islam until he later became disillusioned with the movement as a whole, after which he did something else and likely hung out with different people.
Denzel also acts alongside Ray Allen as Allen’s character’s father in “He Got Game,” which is also a Spike Lee movie featuring a scene where Ray/Jesus actually gets mad at his girlfriend for getting pregnant, citing some time when he was banging her earlier in the movie and she had said, mid-coitus, that “you can’t get me pregnant,” which he, for whatever fucking reason, took at face value and believed with almost no argument or question whatsoever proving through the magic of cinema that young men trend towards idiocy whilst with boner.
I know what you’re thinking: “Mysteries within mysteries, this is all pretty Illuminati.”
But, similar to the all-seeing-eye in Natural Treasure, the details elude those of us with inferior insight and historical context.
Did Denzel’s portrayal of Malcolm X influence his portrayal of the young Jesus Shuttlesworth’s father trans-cinema to in turn influence the character of Jesus himself to then influence that character’s actor (NBA role player Ray Allen) to embark on a path of enlightenment through reverence of the teachings of the Holy Quran to promote a better social, spiritual, and economic condition for young African Americans worldwide?
Does this point to a larger truth existing behind a near-opaque worldwide fabric—where unseen governments manipulate our perception until we see the truth as but the shadow of the puppeteer’s hands, glimpsed seldom and even more rarely understood through the rampantly corrupt, smirking insinuations of the liberal, media-pandering elite?
Our source could not be contacted for further details, having run out of relevant shit to find fairly quickly in their investigation and lacking the creativity to expand upon what was, at best, a fairly mediocre story.
Remember Jesus Montero? The catcher who couldn’t catch but could presumably hit (read: eat)?
Turns out he wasn’t very good at either. Jesus spent most of last year rolling around the basepaths as his weight continued to fluctuate and his potential continued to wither on the vine. At least he would roll around the basepaths if he ever got on base. But, lost in the general awfulness of his performance in 2013 is that said terrible underachieving performance was also aided by cheating. This means that he had to cheat to be terrible.
But there is more to this story than meets the eye!
Upon further testing and an ongoing investigation into both Montero’s suspension as well as local burger place “Mondo Burger” (Noted rival to “Good Burger” which is apparently oft overlooked by locals despite a very tasty and yet a little bit too ambiguously crafted, ingredient-wise, sauce) our source revealed that Montero’s suspension was actually due to the consumption of whatever the bad guys from the movie Good Burger put into their burgers to make them huge. Air? Chemicals? Chemical air?
Regardless, we can now blame Disney villains for Montero’s suspension. That, and his penchant for eating the largest thing within arm’s reach at any time.
We will now expend our covert source’s resources to pin Ryan Braun’s suspension on the Icelandic Youth Hockey Team from Mighty Ducks 2.
According to sources close to the situation and totally not wasted on Copacabana Beach, Miami Heat Head Coach Erik Spoelstra has loaned out all-NBA forward Lebron James to the U.S. National Men’s Soccer Team.
The surprising act of patriotism comes in response to the uncertain condition of U.S. striker Jozy Altidore.
Spoelstra was spared a few minutes of his daily flagellation from team owner and czar Pat Riley to speak to Luckswing’s sources (who is, again, deeply embedded in the Heat organization and definitely, definitely not drinking his ass off in Brazil somewhere).
“Pat—I mean I. Did I say Pat? I meant I. I call the shots. Me, Erik Riley. Shit. I mean—Pat Spoelstra. I know my name—REEK!!—I call the shots! All of them! Pat? No. Pat who?”
After a few more minutes of an apparent mind-melting existential breakdown, Spoelstra went on to say, “we’ve played Lebron, like, a bazillion minutes in the last four years, not including the Olympics and the playoffs. I’m absolutely sure he’s totally fine. He’s like a superhuman breed of things that are better than humans.”
Upon hearing the news, U.S. Coach Jürgen Klinsmann shit his pants and kissed the closes man to him who was apparently a naked Clint Dempsey.
Minutes ago, James tweeted his response: “Fuck. #classicSpo”
According to an anonymous source, Solange Knowles, professional celebrity and sister of talented family member Beyonce Knowles, played sports in High School thusly qualifying her as a subject for breaking news stories on a sports blog.
Having buried the lead, Solange’s recent outburst with her talented family member’s “boo,” Jay-Z was reportedly due to a misunderstanding in regards to the pronunciation of “Solange.”
“The name Solange is not exactly intuitive to pronounce, nor am I even sure it’s a name at all,” Mr. Z likely said in a recent press conference, “there is literally no precedent I can think of that makes that a name. Was her grandma named Solange? Who named her then? How am I supposed to know how to pronounce a name if the letters comprising it look like a schizophrenixzplaying Bananagrams?”
Trying to make a good impression, Mr. Z pronounced the name to the best of his abilities—assuming that the name rhymed with popular pie-ingredient-thing: “meringue.”
“I don’t know why her parents named her ‘Solange’ but I am familiar with lemon meringue pie. Seemed to be a perfect fit,” Jay-Z reasoned while wiping his ass with a copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’ as Leonardo DiCaprio snorted a massive line of coke off of Mr. Z’s hardcover version in the shower.
“Don’t know why she got so upset being tangentially related to a delicious dessert. Makes me wonder if this girl has ever even been to a fucking Marie Callender’s before. Fascist”
Relations between the two remain strained.