Ghetto Birds Migrate to South Central Los Angeles for the Winter

Avant-Garde Fashion Designer: “Fuck it, I made Jongs”

Mario Gusteau, above, happily displays his newly-released line of jongs.

World-renowned fashion designer, and part-time pornographic director, Mario Gusteau once again asserted himself as the fearless leader of fads. Tuesday evening in London, the trend-setting Gusteau released his new line of clothing—jongs. These new denim delicacies are an evolution of jean shorts, or as more commonly known to fraternities and gay communities, jorts.

Not only do jongs serve an insatiable need for a growing jong-craving demographic, they serve a beneficial cause. States Gusteau, “For all those women out there frustrated with thongs without tiny pockets to hold their loose change, jongs would be a very nice option.”

Currently, former musician Sisqo is now working on a new song entitled, “Girl, lemme see yo jongs.” Gusteau also claims that jongs will be extensively used in his plumber-centered erotic films.

Area Man Slips On Own Semen, Dies

Brent Lorne’s life came to a tragic end Wednesday evening after slipping on the sperm he had released onto his bathtub floor just two minutes previous to his death. According to reports and nearby roommate, Lorne pleasured himself (as he did most nights according to said roommate), then walked into the kitchen to make a turkey sandwich, still half erect, then walked back to his room to take a shower when the incident happened.

Roommate Troy Friedman stated, “Brent’s last words were, ‘I’m fuckin’ starving, bro,’ walked into his bathroom and then I just heard a loud crash. Really loud. Like almost deafening. He must have slipped really hard on that stuff.”

Added Troy, “He always bragged his loads were huge, but good God…”

Investigators claimed he turned on the shower, placed his right foot into the tub, then proceeded to slip on his man-seed, slamming his head against the bathtub faucet, opening a large gash in the back of his cranium.

Authorities have yet to comment on the irony of the situation in that semen, the giver of life, was in this case the taker.

Vivid Entertainment Targets Post-Menopausal Demographic With New DVD

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The Super Bowl Shuffle (Debacle)

Greatest Music Video You'll Ever See.

Jesus Tit-fucking Christ.

Too many good moments in this video. I would like to break down some of the “highlights” of this majestic video like game film. Furthermore before I begin, may I say: God Bless the man who came up with this idea. This person will surely be seated at the Right Hand of God in the afterlife.

0:15 And here we go! First take note of the incredibly atrocious editing at the beginning, with the different planes of video approaching the viewer. Nothing brings more cinematic excitement than shifting, shitty, pixilated picture in an empty space vacuum. The director (probably in this case Walter Payton) was ready to bring the noise.

This set is essentially a rented out strip club named The Landing Strip.

0:32 Does anybody think Jim McMahon looks like a crestfallen coke dealer straight out of the third act of Boogie Nights?

0:50 I’m too distracted to pay attention to Walter Payton’s noise by the sublime dancing of whitey in the far background. Is this dancing or half-hearted pantomimed sex with a long-time wife?

By the way, even legendary running back Walter Payton couldn’t run himself away from the infamous moustaches that were sprouting so frequently during that era. I guess I can’t blame him…for one, they’re sick as shit, and two, he lives in Chicago—City of Stache.

[Note: Walter did it to “feed the needy” people. Close your eyes, here’s the scene: The homeless and disenfranchised Chicago youth of the mid eighties were penniless, disheartened and abandoned. They just wanted a Super Bowl champ to quench their thirst and provide a much needed warmth from those frigid winds that came off Lake Michigan into their cold, dark city. And Payton fed the needy. Walter Payton makes Gandhi look like a child pornographer.]

1:06 #83 Wide Receiver Willie Gault then comes in and drops a phat ass verse that would make Eminem blush with shame. “I practice all day and dance all night.” I love his little homo-erotic salsa jig simultaneous to dropping this gem of a lyric. Fifty bucks says Gault immediately started doing porn after this video. (With Walter Payton directing)

Gault then picks up where Payton left off with the political theme of justice and political strife in the world: “There’s no one here that does it like me, my Super Bowl Shuffle will set you free.”

Ah yes…it will set me free. Free from this music video? Free from noticing those feminine hips of yours? Free from the tyranny of mid-eighties communism? Tell me Gault, you bastard!

1:20 ….I’m sorry, I was hypnotized by those swinging hips of Gault again, God damn that is a good looking man.

1:25 Alright Samurai Mike, you look like the product man-child of Michael Clarke Duncan and Charles Nelson Riley. I still wouldn’t mess with this man though—I have a healthy and robust fear of those pythons he calls biceps.

1:46 Guys, I got a fever, and #8’s got the prescription.

1:51 I wonder why white guys still get stereotyped for what number 53 did? I apologize on behalf of all white guys everywhere.

2:15 What?! Where am I? What the hell is going on with this “Uh-Huh” bridge? I can just see the Payton the Director now:
Payton: “Alright guys, it’s time for the ‘Uh-huh’ montage, places everybody, places! I don’t wanna see any half hearted points either!”
#53: “Can’t I just do my dance in the background?”
Payton: “You’re cut, get the fuck off the stage.”
The Fridge: “Yo Walt, I think my pants are too tight dog.”
Payton: “You know I hear a lot of talking and am not seeing a whole lot of pointing-remember, stay in character, we’re tellin’ those offscreen naysayers that we DID win the Super Bowl, and now we’ve got to flaunt it. Hard.”
Gault: “Is this the part where I take off my pants?”
Payton: “That’s tomorrow’s shoot Willie.”

2:20 Just think of how the movie X-Men would be like if it were made in the mid-eighties and you essentially have McMahon as your rebellious, untamed and hunky Cyclops.

2:50 Whoa watch out there Linebacker Otis Wilson, that won’t be tolerated. The ref bids you GOOD DAY, SIR!

2:55 Favorite part of the video. Here comes running back Calvin Thomas to woo us with his Bill Clinton saxophone skills. How about just a nice sax groove to the melody Thomas? Oh no, Thomas has to go OFF to the music. He’s in the zone. I can just picture Thomas backstage before the cameras were rolling, shooting up a rhino’s ass load of heroine into his body like those old school jazz musicians just before improvising to some songs.

By the way, a friend brought this up to me: What the hell is number 18, backup quarterback Mike Tomczak, doing behind Thomas on sax? The low-rent, white, wannabe Jimi Hendrix is “tearing” it up on the axe, yet there’s no guitar track on this song whatsoever. All I hear is Thomas on a heroine binge and those shitty synth drum beats so often used in the eighties.

[Note: By the way, what the hell was going on in the eighties with the style? The style of…everything? Burgundy dominating color schemes in fashion, moustaches, weird sunglasses and blown out hair? No wonder cocaine was so popular.]

3:20 Please make it stop. #4 would be none other than Steve Fuller, back up QB. I’m pretty sure The Simpsons based their acne-faced, awkward pubescent teenage character on Fuller. Love how the black guy in the background has to help Fuller mime out the act of passing, as if Fuller doesn’t do this “passing” thing for a living.

Fuller looks like a nervous stage act at the Apollo, eyeing the wings out of his periph with a twinge of horror on his face.
And yes, when he said “Super Bowl Shuffle,” his voiced cracked on “Super.” After the video, Fuller’s testicles finally dropped.

4:19 I keep thinking #95 Defensive End Richard Dent is about either A) Start dropping f-bombs, B) Say “Fuck the Shuffle,” jump off the stage and start banging that woman referee or C) slip into a coma. He starts each lyric with inflection and (relative) excitement in his voice…then he just starts to trail off like he took one too many vicodin pills from a nearby Terrell Owens’ dad.

4:39 Alright, just when I think the white guys have outdone themselves, here comes #45 free safety Gary Fencik. “We’re going to do the shuffle then ring your bell.” I think it’s safe to say that by “ring” he meant “gobble” and by “bell” he meant “cock.”

4:46 Oh, thank God. I thought for a second there the editor had lost sight of his roots. In this case, we’ve got still frames of The Fridge in another space-time continuum, making sure to bring it to the fourth wall on certain drum beats of the song. I can just picture Payton excitedly screaming at the editor in the cutting room: “No you fuckin’ didn’t! That’s the tightest graphic shit I ever seen son!” while ripping off his jersey and waving it around his head like a helicopter as if in a Petey Pablo music video.

4:55 Alright Fridge, you can’t rap. Where’s my boy Thomas?

5:09 Oh there he is.

5:46 Maybe my favorite part of the music video. Generally I have no problem with the high five, but the more elevated the high five in terms of altitude, the more exhibition of doucheness. Here, we have two Bears that decide to “reach for the sky” and take care of some business.

5:56 I must say though, I’m a little disappointed in the editor at the end of this video clip. I needed a longer, much more dramatic fade to black. Essentially this is the Lord of the Rings of music videos, and I can't bear to see it end. You need to gradually ease me out of this ecstasy of athletes, jigs, and “hip hop,” thus my insatiable need for a long, drawn out, fade. I thank the Holy Ghost they came back with an encore though.

I can only dream of what Pac Man Jones would do if he was in this video. Do the shuffle? Rock the saxophone? Rape a pointy breasted Madonna in the background while using a free hand to make it rain? The possibilities are almost as endless as the music video itself.

Ah yes, the Super Bowl Shufflin’ Crew. I love that the game of football has evolved to be faster, stronger and harder hitting, as much as I love the fact that hip hop has transgressed from the “Super Bowl Shufflin’ Crew” into the “7th Floor Crew” of the ’05 Miami Hurricanes. (See link: http://www.myspace.com/seventhfloorcrew)

Mack Brown Trampled to Death During Pre Game Running-Onto-The-Field Festivities

Austin, TX: Tragedy struck Darrell K. Royal Memorial Stadium Saturday evening when the Texas Longhorns took to the field verse their season opener Florida Atlantic. In a tradition going back as far as Texas football was conceived, players and coaches would take the field in what’s now a typical football fashion—by sprinting onto the field with the band playing the fight song. Typically, the head coach [now deceased Mack Brown] would lead the football players onto the playing field.

Witnesses claimed the overly excited Texas football team tripped up Mack Brown, causing him to collapse hard to the ground, with the seemingly oblivious football players stomping upon Mack’s increasingly lifeless corpse. Reports are yet to confirm who it was that first accidentally tripped up Brown, although fans claim it was six foot four, two hundred sixty pound toddler-eating man-beast Brian Orakpo. “OU Sucks!” later screamed the ignorant Orakpo.

“I guess I got them a little jacked up,” said new defensive coordinator Will Muschamp. “It’s amazing how far a little meth can go.”

Doctors stated Brown was trampled upon some “60 to 70 times,” adding they were “somewhat dumbfounded the players didn’t realize their head coach’s body lay dying beneath their clomping cleats."

Despite the game being cancelled, the overly enthused Texas Longhorn football players apparently still believed the game was to begin at any moment. Some of the players jumped up and down in a giant huddle, others “popped and locked,” a few started the tried Soulja Boy Superman Dance, with the remaining doing that thing where two guys run at each other and then jump up and have the shoulder pads connect in mid-air.

“Let’s do this!” exclaimed Henry Melton.

Will Muschamp stated he disapproved of the team’s attitude. “I don’t see enough intensity in these guys. If we waltz in like this when the [Missouri] Tigers come, we’ll get slapped around for sure,” claimed Muschamp as he helped load Brown’s mangled corpse onto a stretcher.


Somewhere among the sea of smoke, players, and fear, Mack Brown being trampled upon.

Dane Cook and Sean Paul Shot and Killed Say Unsurprised Police

Douchebag comedian Dane Cook and blow-hard musician Sean Paul were both shot twice in the head Friday evening on the corner of 5th and Martin Luther King Blvd around 11pm, reported a nonchalant Miami Police Department.

“What’s that? Surprised? Who’s surprised? Oh, am I surprised?" asked confused Police Chief Frank Sebok. "Not really, we knew this would probably happen to these two. Man…talk about comedic stand-up self indulgence and sac-blowing melodies…In fact, we may have received a call tipping us off about the murders half an hour before it happened, but we were really getting into this Wii boxing game," said Sebok as he fiddled with a Wii game controller. "Hey, how do you block punches with this thing?”

Cook and Paul, according to very sketchy and unprofessionally filled police paperwork, were abducted sometime Friday evening or, according to the police report, "Hell, maybe sometime around lunch." Two magnum bullets were lodged into both of their heads, leaving a trail of blood splatter claimed in the report to be "wicked."

Policeman Bradnell, an aspiring photographer, spent a good forty minutes taking different pictures of the horrific double homicide. Bradnell poured over his photographs, exclaiming, “Dude, take a look, I made a Dutch angle out of this one, you know, to convey conflict.” Bradnell, standing directly in the middle of an uninvestigated crime scene, contently stared at his photographs of gore. Added Bradnell, “Awesome!”

Police Chief Sebok wanted to assure the public that whoever did this, justice would be sought. “Oh yes, it’ll be sought,” claimed Sebok. “Right after I get back to police headquarters and finish up my football fantasy draft. It’s all good, look, it’ll just be seven to twelve hours of light roster and playbook research.” Some members of the Miami Police Department said maybe there would be a little extra incentive to catch the killers if “Dane Cook wasn’t a blow hard” and if “Sean Paul didn’t suck monumental ass meat at music and life.”

Matthew McConaughey and LL Cool J Look For Third and Final Member For “Shirtless Zorro Trio”

Scandalously hunky “actor” Matthew McConaughey and “rapper” LL Cool J are actively pursuing what they refer to as the “The Perfect Storm of Uncladedness” in a sit-down interview Tuesday afternoon. The steamy individuals, in the truest sense of the word after both just having stepped out of an excessively humid sauna, called themselves “voluptuous visionaries” and “shirtless soothsayers” for a brave new clotheless world.

“We just want to recruit somebody that shares our same views in life, has a spiritual side, likes kickin’ back and sippin’ a beer, and does plenty of jogging and bowflexing in the nude,” said the bare-chested McConaughey. “Keep on livin.”

Said the bronzed, equally disrobed and borderline retarded LL Cool J, “Yea, you know, Matt be doin’ his thing in Malibu, you know, runnin’, tannin’, you know, gettin’ his swoll on all shirtless and a’thing, and I be doin’ the same shit. So I was like, ‘Damn son, I wanna get to know you.’”

Stated McConaughey, “I don’t even have a closet for shirts anymore—I threw those articles of cotton out. I get up, put my pants on, and start my day. I usually use those shirts for wipin’ off my hands when I get to fixin’ my truck, use them for wipin’ off sweat, or sometimes I like to tie them around my head when I’m smokin’ my spleef.”

“You see,” started the superfluously sweaty rapper, “shirts are detrimental. Bad for the environment. Think about all the sheep wool it takes to make a shirt. Must be at least three sheep per shirt! Shit man…we gotta save the sheep.” LL Cool J’s composed personality transformed into bitter anger one couldn’t help but think was conjured and forced. “They be cold in the winter, save our sheep man!” LL screamed at the top of his lungs as he plummeted his colossal platinum goblet into his ostrich-skinned armchair.

Ironically, LL Cool J’s next single to hit airwaves is entitled “S.O.S.—Save Our Sheep.” The album contains him and McConaughey on the front cover, smiling, pointing to the camera, and shirtless. Inside the album cover pamphlet there are literally countless pictures of LL and Matthew holding, caressing and even fondling baby sheep in overly dramatic lighting.

“Keep on livin,” reminded McConaughey.

Many celebrities have responded with great enthusiasm to join this exclusive trio. Claimed LL, “We been lookin’ at many potential prospects, like Kid Rock, The Rock, Brock Landers and Andy Dick.”

“And no goddamn tank tops or wife beaters either,” boldly stated McConaughey. “This ain’t a goddamn queer club, leave your homo-erotic garb at home! This is for the big boys, the boys who go shirtless to show off their perfectly defined pecs, round and rock-hardened deltoids, sweet succulent tri and biceps and who could resist a man with a finely tuned six pack coupled with smooth silky skin that’s recently been shaved with the finest of shaving oils and crèmes, not to mention […]” the seemingly aroused McConaughey went on for some time before the outspoken rapper jumped in.

“You see,” claimed LL Cool J, “sometimes Matt and I be classin’ it up if we head to the Grammys or the Oscars by throwin’ on a neck bow tie, all Chip N Dale Dancer and a’thing, you know what I’m sayin [laughter].” The two proceeded to laugh hysterically for the following three to four minutes, occasionally each others’ hands “accidentally grazing” the other’s torso, while also giving each other numerous man sized “fist pounds.” The two didn’t seem to remember or mention that neither of them had ever been invited to an Oscars ceremony, much less a Grammys.

“Keep on livin,” stated McConaughey.

The two have apparently spent an enormous time together in Malibu, California. In fact, the two enthusiastically claimed they rented out an exclusive condo together on the beach, becoming the closest of roommates.

LL stated, “Yea, you know, sometimes we rub each other down with warm cocoa butter oils, you know, the extra slippery kind that really get into all those crevices on our chiseled and hairless bodies. But don’t get no ideas, we ain’t gay or nuffin.”
The two excited men promptly gave each other a fist pound, followed by a quick and vigorous rub down of foreign oils and butter-scented lotions.

Pac Man Jones Relapses into Rain Syndrome After Hearing New Lil’ Wayne Album

August 11th, 2008, Dallas, TX: Yesterday at approximately one o’clock central time, newly acquired Cowboy football player “Pac Man” Jones was rushed into Green Oaks Hospital in downtown Dallas. Shortly after being hurried inside, his agent released a statement on hospital grounds: “Ladies and gentlemen, tragedy has struck today. It seems Mr. Pac Man Jones listened to the new Lil’ Wayne album The Carter III, which makes repeated references to ‘rain’ and other debaucherous activities of the sort. Pac Man indulged in the listening of the album, and quickly slipped into a coma.”


Approximately thirty minutes later, Pac Man Jones came out of the unconscious state and, according to nurses, doctors and nearby patients, immediately started demanding a “bag full of money” and a “pilot to fly [his] ass to Los Angeles” for the trendy Rio Gentlemens Club. Knowing Pac Man Jones’ brutal reputation concerning money and “rain”, his public relations coordinators hastily hired temporary security agents to ensure Jones didn’t follow through on his request. White doctors secretly admitted "tensions were high" when the temp security agents encountered Pac Man's entourage in the hospital lobby.

Jones’ longtime therapist has again been contacted, with reports surfacing that Jones is now receiving “supplemental treatment” for Rain Syndrome, or as known in the medical community, R.S. Dr. Robbie Redmon put it frankly, “I’m afraid his R.S. is worse than ever…now that Adam is receiving new income from the [Dallas] Cowboys, coupled with the new totally sick Lil' Wayne album, I’m afraid the symptoms are only going to get worse.” Flying in today was the Jones family to offer emotional support for their beloved Pac Man.

More controversy erupted later in the day when jokester and new teammate Terrell Owens began throwing handfuls of his own money in the hospital courtyard as Pac Man was being released. Between fits of hysterical laughter, a popping and locking Terrell Owens shrieked, “There’s a fire on the ground! Gotta make it rain to stop the fia! Stop the fia!”

After hearing of Pac Man’s recent breakdown, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell was overcome by his own breakdown, and slipped into a coma. Goodell was ironically rushed to the same Green Oaks Hospital; after hours of motionless activity, his limp torso suddenly bolted out of the comatose state, all the while Goodell screaming for “The Lord” as well as “Sweet Mary and the Trinity.” The delirious and heavily sedated commissioner demanded to have "all the strip clubs in the Western Hemisphere barricaded” and to “quickly have Lil’ Wayne come in to his office for a stern talking to.”

However, it seems that Pac Man Jones intentionally violated team rules that were specified in his contract. Coach Wade Phillips and owner Jerry Jones of the Dallas Cowboys specifically told Pac Man before signing him that in order to wear a Cowboys uniform, he could not listen to any Lil Wayne whatsoever, specifically making reference to the new ballin' ass Carter III. Jerry Jones and Wade Phillips told him this album was “super-dooper off limits…we don’t want to tarnish the pristine image of The Dallas Cowboys.” After hearing the breaking news, a disgruntled Phillips snapped: “First this retarded blonde Simpson bitch, now this fuckin’ shit...could we have Lil Wayne shot?”

Rapester Rick, one of Pac Man’s “boys” in Jones’ “Pac Unit” entourage, said that Jones was on the edge of his seat the entire time listening to the album. His “forehead grew increasingly precipitous” and his hands clutched together “ever so tightly.” The entire time, Pac Man just stared at his stereo system with the volume full blast, muttering unknown phrases with an occasional audible word coming through like “thunderstorm” and “Andrew Jackson.” Said Rapester Rick “when I heard that fuckin' song ‘Got Money’, I knew we was in trouble. When T-Pain started singin', with that up-tempo club beat, I just knew that fucka Weezy was gonna rap about makin’ it rain. Sho nuf mane, sho nuf…”

Sho nuf, after the specific lyric, “Young Wayne on them hoes, AKA Mr. Make It Rain On Them Hoes,” Mr. Jones scrambled for a pen and paper, madly scribbled rap lyrics into a small notepad drenched from his sweaty palm, then promptly went into an epileptic seizure and collapsed, shattering his glass kitchen table.

Rapester Rick was glad to share the crumbled up lyrics with the media:


Pac Man Jones’ Scribbled Rap Lyrics (Click to Enlarge)


Club owners across the nation are deeply concerned. Said Key Club owner John Flitz of New York City, “I’m scared shitless. Over 1,500 miles away you think I wouldn’t be. But this is fuckin’ Pac Man we’re talking about. I heard he crashed a Bar Mitzvah in Nebraska just to make it rain on the tefillin…three Jews were shot and paralyzed that day.”

Tommy Urbanski, the man shot and left paralyzed after Pac Man Jones’ infamous Las Vegas strip club shooting, had very brief words to say to reporters. Despite Urbanski’s avoidance of the media, many journalists were able to discover that he is in serious discussions with NASA about possibly being shot into outer space. “Fuck my life,” stated Urbanski.

Dr. Allen Trevor, the physician who oversaw Jones’ brief coma, couldn’t help but tell the media he was baffled after the incident. “You see,” Dr. Trevor explained, “Mr. Jones shaved his shoulder length dreadlocks a few weeks after his incarceration. Ever since then he has been keeping the clean shaven bald headed look for ridding of the ‘thug’ reputation. Yet, when Pac Man Jones awakened from the coma yesterday, his dreadlocks had regrown. All of it. In thirty minutes. When I asked him about it, he seemed very nonchalant. In fact, he just kept smiling with a large twinkle in his eye that gleamed nearly as bright as his grill.”

Douches From Across Country Flock To North Face Jackets

Austin, Tx: In what’s now becoming known to officials as “The Great Douche Movement,” fraternities, sororities, tools, douches, and even blow-hards have been seen wearing a record number of North Face fleece jackets. Despite not having a creative style, or a fabric that fits well to the body, or a unique logo, or any originality in general, insecure douches spanning the globe have dropped their Keystones and latched on to the North Face sensation that has become a wildfire plague burning the country down.

Said Chip Ballsdale of Beta Theta Pi, “I swear to fucking God, I look so fucking sick in this jacket. I’m a total player, and everybody should fucking know it. Whenever I throw the illest party on campus, it’s because of my North Face fleece. Whenever my boys Chico and Hambone vom just before passing out, it’s because of my North Face. Whenever a bitch gives me head, it’s because of my Face.”


Above, Chip Ballsdale practices the art of Douchery.

Non-student residents living close to campus areas have sadly been inundated by these pathological life forms. Some residents seem to tolerate it, others move out of town, while a few unfortunate ones have actually committed suicide. Said nearby resident Margaret Thomas, “For the love of Christ, someone help us—these douches just keep multiplying.”

Residents claim these fleeces give the students super-douche capabilities, such as smashing cans on one’s forehead, excessive use of the term “bro”, and oblivious sorority girls obnoxiously yapping into Blackberrys about “catty bitches.”



The police have been contacted on multiple occasions, many refusing to even step foot on or around college campuses for fear of infection. “Cain and Abel’s looked like a douche fleece convention,” recounted Police Chief Rodney Abrams. “I haven’t seen this many douches since the Popped Collar Epidemic of ’04.”

However, a few brave officers have stepped up to the challenge. These fearless souls have ventured into the heart of many college campuses to contain this North Face plague. Said warrior-hero Officer James Thermon, “I stepped into a frat party and could hardly breathe. The aroma of smug and false sense of superiority was almost too much.”

Thermon then saw something so profound and upsetting, it actually diminished all his feelings of fear, and he was rather filled with sheer rage and courage.

“I saw six to eight fraternity members in North Face khaki pants.” Officer Thermon explained, “These goddamn North Face atheists don’t know when to stop—first it’s jackets, then pants, then they’re raping your girlfriend.” Thermon and his partner took action, arresting twelve individuals while burning all of their North Face jackets.

“It’s not much, but it’s a start,” said Thermon. “Hopefully this will inspire others out there to rebel against this Great Douche Movement.”

Brent Musburger Achieves Laughter Boner After Chris Jessie Ball Touching

December 28th, 2007 San Diego, California: The anticipated matchup between the Texas Longhorns and the Arizona State Sun Devils certainly didn’t lack eventful stories this past Thursday night. While in the broadcasting booth with color commentator Kirk Herbstreit, Brent Musburger achieved, what witnesses called, “a massive laughter erection” following Chris Jessie’s attempted scoop of a live football bouncing down the UT sideline.

“I was afraid,” said Herbstreit after the game. “I’ve always felt uncomfortable with him in the booth, but that was just upsetting.” Herbstreit paced back and forth while being questioned by reporters. “Get me my bourbon,” added the flustered Herbstreit.



For thirty nine consecutive minutes following Chris Jessie’s errant maneuver, Musburger giggled uncontrollably, slurring play-calling, stats, and his oft-used overdramatic, nonsensical and clichéd parables. Nearby fans in skyboxes compared the giggling to those of “high Asian schoolgirls coming to America.”

“Each bellow of laughter raised his voice, spirit and pleats,” Herbstreit reminisced. “After ten minutes or so, I had given up speaking into the microphone.” Cameras that cut to the booth revealed that Herbstreit was, in fact, weeping in the corner.

Wild and immature laughter is all reporters were able to seize out of the hysterical Musburger following the game. There were reports that some saw Musburger have an “explosive orgasm” while leaving the booth that night. These reports have yet to be confirmed.



Texas football coach Mack Brown later spoke to Musburger and was apparently able to calm him down. Mack admitted that yes, his stepson’s behavior was funny and wildly inappropriate, but nothing to “blow one’s load over.” Added Mack, “I promised him if he calmed down, I’d give him a hug.”