cklablog

. . . inshallah, it almost happened to me! Luckily, my arranged bride turned out to be super hot.

Arab ambassador discovers bride is bearded and cross-eyed behind veil

An Arab ambassador has called off his wedding after discovering his wife-to-be who wears a face-covering veil is bearded and cross-eyed.

The envoy had only met the woman a few times, during which she had hidden her face behind a niqab, the Gulf News reported.

After the marriage contract was signed, the ambassador attempted to kiss his bride-to-be. It was only then that he discovered her facial hair and eyes.

Off to the Telegraph to find out how the Sharia Court ruled.  Public lashings for both of  them?  Or just her?  »

Point the first: Wahahahahahahah.

Point the second: The current Christian obsession with getting teenagers not to have sex is the very definition of “Sisyphean.”

Point the third: Abstinance-only education (and the ‘purity’ trope not only fails in every regard, it nets out in more unwanted pregnancies and STDs.

Via openeducation.net:
Therefore, those youngsters who took the virginity pledge were not only just as likely to have intercourse, they ultimately were more likely to take part in sex in an unsafe manner.

^ That would be the boulder rolling back down the hill part.

And to be honest with you, I would probably rather be 14 and pregnant with siphylis than have to sit through this more than once:

What ever happened to getting caught with transvetite prostitutes? Is that completely passe now?

Note to self: if I plan to make my primary life’s scam that of a right-wing “family values” politician, don’t be a lying stupid hypocrite. Depite the laughably predictable insincerity from a moralist, this California Congressman’s litany of sexual conquest makes better listening than the second hand accounts of gay bathroom sex we’ve grown used to here in ‘Merica.

This one initially scores 8.5 for prurient detail alone, but gets bumped up to 9.0 for the fact he was cheating on one mistress with the other, his wife apparently out of the picture altogether, and both mistresses were also lobbyists.

An Argentine soul-mate? CHILD’S PLAY.

My new #1 Internet Fact™: You don’t cheat on Therese Ziemann if you’re already cheating on your wife with Therese Ziemann.

Because Therese Ziemann will glue your penis to your stomach while your other ladies punch you in the face and laugh.

9.5 for cold-hearted comedy, and the totally unrepentant photo of Therese Ziemann, Ace Penis-Gluer is top-shelf.

The only way this gets any better is if security is a step or two slower, and Golden Balls catches a little LA hospital-ity.

What, did he think we’re all stupid?  That the LA fans don’t know a “fuck you” move when they’re on the end of one?  The experiment is over, and he blew it.  Point in fact, he didn’t even really try, which puts the lie to his self-aggrandizing claims of “professionalism.”

Human neural misfire + video camera + ‘concept’ = a little something for your WTF collection.

I found this guy by clicking through some really bizarre comments left on youtube videos — the more you watch, the more surreal they become. I’m ok with the idea of a lone tinfoil hat guy making videos and posting them to his “network,” but the fact somebody else was running the camera sends my fill-in-the-blanks-brain racing.

To summarize, whiskey tango foxtrot, over.

I just read that Clemente was held out of practice today so that he could do some individual work getting familiar with the new K-State Men’s Basketball training gear.

It's still my house, though, right Coach?

This is great news for the ‘Cats — a Kleenix sponsorship means big bucks for the Athletic Dept, which could let them afford to hire some more AAU coaches.

(I know, I know, coughChalmerscoughManningcough).

I made these for a Frank Martin Photoshop thread a while back, but was recently reminded to post them here. Martin is not really photogenic, but he’s definately Photoshopgenic: it’s like every picture he’s in is really an entire series of other pictures just begging to be discovered.

In other words, putting Frank Martin into stupid photoshopped images is like taking candy from the baby fish in a barrel.

This enlightening Rivals.com article points up the staggering salary that Michael Beasley’s former AAU coach is making as an assistant at K-State.

Michael Beasley made Kansas State basketball relevant for the first time in more than a decade last season, and his presence put a few extra dollars in the pocket of the man responsible for luring him to Manhattan, Kan.

That would be Wildcats assistant Dalonte Hill, Beasley’s former AAU coach in the Washington, D.C., area. Hill, entering his sixth season as a college assistant, will make more money for the 2008-09 season than the entire three-man staffs at Ohio State, Washington State and Wisconsin and only $5,000 less than the staff at Texas, a survey done by Rivals.com shows.

$5,000 less than the entire staff at a perennial Big-12 power, who have earned a share of the league title twice in the last four years? Really?

The highest-paid assistant among the 13 schools we studied was North Carolina’s Joe Holladay ($265,000). Fellow Tar Heels assistant Steve Robinson was second ($242,000), and all three Kansas assistants tied for third at $234,000.

Hill is making more than the assistants at programs who won National championships and have been to multiple final fours? Why?

I guess you’d have to say, "nothing succeeds like success," or more accurately, "nothing pays like the fragile hope of success at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel."

But even still, why the fuck would anyone at a non-starter basketball program ever earn that much? Two words: Michael and Beasley.

Bob Huggins lured Hill to Kansas State. Hill was responsible for the recruitment of Beasley, who stuck with his pledge to play for the Wildcats even though Huggins left for West Virginia after just one season.

Hill coached Beasley in the AAU ranks, and Beasley called him "like a big brother." Beasley had committed to Charlotte while Hill was still there. When Huggins lured Hill to K-State, Beasley followed him. By then, Beasley had become the No. 1 prospect in the country.

Beasley, of course, was a one-and-done. A legitimate superstar, he was arguably the best one-and-done in Big-12 history (sorry Durant, but I think it’s true). Beasley helped K-State break the most humiliating losing streak in Men’s College Basketball, and surely helped the program regain if not a swagger, at least a stylish limp. Hell, Beasley even got them an NCAA tournament win (and I’m sure they’ll hang a Round of 32 banner in Bramlage Coliseum).

But now what does K-State do? They hired Head Coach Frank Martin and Delonte Hill in order to get Beasley (mission accomplished, hang that banner too) but now they’re on the hook with unproven coaches and a wonky salary structure.

At $400,000 for five years, was Beasley worth 2 mil? And that’s the hard cost — the "known known". What we won’t know is what K-State might have accomplished with a better coach than Martin. He’s clearly not at K-State because of his ability, he’s there because when Huggins bailed, K-Sate was desparate to keep Beasley. If Martin turns out to be a dud, what is the cost of that? How much long-term gain have you lost because you were chasing One Decent Season?

So far, Martin doesn’t look like half the recruiter Huggins was (maybe he is only half the scumbag Huggins was, Guido hair to the contrary), and things aren’t exactly looking up in Manhattan.

I don’t know how it’s going to end, but it doesn’t take Nostradamus to figure out that K-State sold short, got a brief return and is now looking at their metaphoric house the day after the kegger and wondering who puked in the flowerpot.

The President of Argentinian football club Rosario Central kicked off a poo-storm of Biblical proportion when he was unknowingly recorded while threatening to kill his team and coaching staff.

Baby Caligula managed not to spray too much spit as he assured supporters:

"Central are going to get out of this situation," he said. "We are going to move forward. We are going to kill the players, coaching staff and anyone else.

"If Rosario Central was going to fall I will kill all those sons of bitches, be they players or coaching staff.”

Tense agreement aside, this is a great approach. Utilizing the massacre method, you don’t have to worry about existing salary requirements or termination clauses when you’re recruiting new players and coaches to take the place of all the dead players and coaches.

"Wow, the training facilities look great, sir. But . . . what happened to all your players and staff?"

"How should I know? Fuggedaboutit. Don’t worry about them. It was an accident. I wasn’t even in the country."

So Newcastle United are a football club in, you know, Newcastle. They’re also a caricature of a football club, with the owner getting filmed recently chugging beers at a home game (yeah, that really is the owner).

Their last manager quit before he’d even signed his contract, gets talked back into the job, is told he’ll have a tight budget, immediately starts agitating publicly to buy the most expensive players in the world, then quits again when he’s told no . . . and the fans who idolize this mug blame the owner and start protesting, complete with demands that the owner sell to a Nigerian consortium or they’ll boycoutt the games.

And who could follow such a ludicrous show?

Joe Kinnear hasn’t worked in years, but he used to be pretty good in the 90s, so Newcastle drug him out of mothballs and gave him the job, and his response was to take his first day at work off. The press reported it, and Kinnear flipped out.

From the guardian.co.uk:

SCENE: INTERIOR, PRESS ROOM, DAY

JOE KINNEAR stalks in, looking around at all the assembled football writers.

JOE Which one is Simon Bird [Daily Mirror's north-east football writer]?

SIMON Me.

JOE You’re a cunt. Read the rest of this truly excellent ranterview »

So what have we learned? That they’re all fucking cunts. My favorite part is the Newcastle United press officer trying to keep this all “off the record” with a nudge-nudge-wink-wink approach. “Alright lads, off the record then?” You can just hear the obsequious smile.

They hate Pussneys too.