The azaleas are blooming. The air warms as it floats through the trees. The grass is starting to become that shade of green that only seems possible in postcards. And of course, the economy is still a toxic wasteland of shit. That can only mean one thing: Spring has sprung in Georgia. And every year at this time, the world’s most important golf tournament takes place at the world’s most prestigious golf course, Augusta National.

I am of course speaking of the much fabled Masters Tournament, held every April in Augusta, Georgia. Augusta National: Home course to the uber-elite of American businessmen and golfers alike. Witha membership that boasts both Warren Buffett and Bill Gates, it’s obvious that only the wealthiest of the wealthy will ever get the chance to lace up their spikes and play a round on the most storied golf course this side of St. Andrews.

However, even with an abundance of class and wealth, the Masters Tournament is still feeling the icy grip of the current recession. And so without giving it second thought, the club decided to trim the cost of hosting such an extravagant event and revert back to the golden years of American industry. When OSHA was the Cajun word for where the water met the sand, Rockefellers were the richest fellers, and nine year olds spent 12 hours a day deep in the coal mines, precisely where they all belonged. Read More

This week the Detroit Tigers placed former Rookie of the Year, Dontrelle Willis, on the Disabled List with what club officials are calling an “anxiety disorder.” In the old days of baseball, before agents and players unions ruined the game, coaches and players used to simply call this “losing your stuff,” and it was grounds for releasing said player. But, in today’s market, when a player is in year two of a three year $30 million dollar contract, teams don’t have the luxury of realeasinga player without owing the player millions of dollars for under performance. So they are reduced to making up pseudo-injuries and placing the player on the DL in order to try and save face without telling their fans that the player sucks. Here are some of the pseudo-injuries the MLB has seen throughout the years.

Craig Counsell is on the DL with Craig Counsell Disease which makes him suffer by going up to the plate and hitting like Craig Counsell. Good luck hitting over .230 with this disease.

Coco Crisp is on the DL for something called “Chocolate Madness,” which had previously only been seen in patients with Type I diabetes and pregnant women; oh and that bird that suffered from it in the commercials. While injured, he spends his time in the clubhouse screaming “I’m koo koo for Coco Puffs,” while wildly brandishing a Louisville slugger and taking swings at imaginary cartoon birds that according to him are freely roaming “everywhere” in the Kansas City clubhouse.

Alex Rodriguez is on the DL rehabbing in Colorado after having surgery to remove a cyst in his hip. He has said that he blames his post-season woes on Kabbalah, hookers and mirrors in which to kiss himself and his bad hip on carrying the Yankees on his back these past few seasons. Doctors were understandably confused by Mr. Rodriguez’s diagnosis because carrying the Yanks on your back is what New York doctors refer to as “Jeteritis,” and everyone agrees that A-Rod shows absolutely no symptoms of Jeteritis. Read More

National Lampoon has an exclusive story breaking out of Cincinnati today. It seems that the big news for The Big Red Machine this spring training doesn’t pertain to phenom Jay Bruce manning center field or Joey Votto’s defense at first base, but lies in the untimely passing of Dusty Baker’s beloved dog Cubbie, a golden retriever who was a mere 3 years old when he succumbed to heart failure.

It seems that the Red’s manager had been training his pup for next year’s Purina Dog Challenge, but accidentally left a tennis ball machine on in his backyard over the weekend and the poor Golden retriever fetched and fetched until his little heart exploded after chasing what animal rescue workers believe to be well over 15,000 tennis balls.

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PETA is asking the owners of racing legend Big Brown to have the famous thoroughbred castrated for the simple sake of trying to stamp out the sport of horse racing. They feel that if famous race horses don’t get to procreate, that somehow horse racing will cease to exist. PETA is once again playing the role of idiotic demand mongering, while it looks like the owners of Big Brown are doing the opposite because giving the horse the snip-snip would end up costing the owners a mere $50 million dollars. Sorry PETA, could you please find something else to do…LOOK OVER THERE! IT’S A NEO-NAZI SKINHEAD PUNTING A KITTEN AND SETTING A KOLA BEAR ON FIRE!!!

Now that we’ve gotten rid of them, personally, I think we should leave the humans out of the equation and ask the horse all this is happening to and see what he thinks of the situation. I mean it’s his, ahem, balls on the chopping block and I think he deserves a say in the ordeal.

Dear PETA,

I imagine that some of you are of the male persuasion, so I’m gonna try and make this as crystal clear as I can to you.

I don’t want to be castrated. Please just give me 5 minutes of your time to let me plead my case. Read More

As all good stories do, my story starts in Las Vegas. I was in town working on a reality show. We were filming at the not-so luxurious Aladdin Hotel and Casino (now Planet Hollywood). Never heard of it? That’s because it’s basically the last casino you would probably go into with the exception of O’Sheas. Since I’m no longer welcome in O’Sheas, that opened the door for the Aladdin to become my personal Waterloo.

So, working on a reality show isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. Like in any other business, the guy that I am working under is a complete and utter moron. He doesn’t hire enough people, he doesn’t know what is going on, and more importantly, it’s difficult to keep track of people when you have 10 people who all hate you and their jobs in a casino for 14 hours a day.

There was only one cool thing about working at the Aladin that week. Mike Tyson was holding daily workouts there. Some of you might remember reading about Mike trying to make one final comeback to pro boxing in 2006. He was trying to charge admission to watch at first, but when people didn’t buy the tickets, he simply sold his services to the highest bidder. Unfortunately for him, the Aladdin ended up being just that. So for a month, Mike took his circus of a life there to train.

Let me just tell you this; I got to watch Mike Tyson training for a fight in person. I saw him hitting the heavy bags and I saw him go crazy while landing haymakers on his trainers focus mitts and I can safely tell you that you DO NOT want to take a punch from Mike Tyson. My friends were all like, “Oh, come one, for a million dollars you wouldn’t take a punch from Mike Tyson?” My response was HELL NO. Unless your name is Riddick Bowe, a body blow from Mike is gonna deflate your internal organs. If he hits you in the face…congratulations you’re the Elephant Man 2. And without gloves, you are dead. He would kill you. Think about Howard Cosell screaming, “Down goes Frazier. Down goes Frazier.” And instead of “Frazier” just insert your own name and add a shitload of ambulance sirens. Read More

Adam Morrison, formerly of the Charlotte Bobcats, was traded this week to the Los Angeles Lakers. Other than being a complete and utter bust, Morrison is best known for bricking 3’s and his late 70’s era porn stache. Now, while his stache may have been the toast of the town in a place like Charlotte (only real competition is Dale Earnhardt impersonators), it’s going to have to work pretty damn hard to be the #1 mustache in Hollywood, CA.

Let’s look at some of Morrison’s mustache competition…

Magnum P.I. - A mustache so damn awesome that he doesn’t even need a cord for that phone

Burt Reynolds – A stache so cool, it has no problem outrunning Smokey and may keep you from being brutally sodomized by hillbillies

Ron Jeremy - A stache so promiscuous that it may well introduce you to said hillbillies

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Michael Phelps likes pot–and most of people think this as a bad thing. But, not me…

As the great marijuana aficionado, Snoop Dog, said in the cinematic classic that was Strasky and Hutch, “Damn. You just moved up a notch in my book. That puts you at notch one.”

Look, I don’t like Michael Phelps. There I said it. Take me to Guantanamo because I guess that makes me un-American. I find him smug, boring and having a personality reminiscent of paint drying on applause sign. If you bought the Michael Phelps Fathead, and you talk to it everyday, it’s probably the equivalent of him actually being there in person. And if you’re talking to giant stickers on the wall, there’s a good chance you’re high. And with yesterday’s revelation, that may be the only thing you both have in common.

So what’s the big deal?

Pot isn’t a performance enhancing drug. If anything it’s the anti-performance enhancing drug. Most people that smoke a lot of pot don’t go out and win a record breaking 8 gold medals in a single Olympics. People that smoke a lot of pot wonder why they seem to completely miss the Olympics every other year. They also wonder why their gold medals always have chocolate in the middle. And most importantly, they are the only people who truly enjoy the subtle nuances of Olympic Curling. Read More