This is Casie. Casie was your girlfriend for 18 months. Despite her flawlessly toned body and affinity for making love on top of dryers, Casie put you through absolute Hell on earth. Seriously, dude. She was certifiably insane. She told you she went to Dartmouth, when in fact she attended New England College. And when you checked the Dartmouth directory and couldn’t find her name, she got mad at you for “spying on her”. Then she kicked you in the chest.

She claimed to have been best friends with Nicole Eggert, but you couldn’t verify it. She told you she worked at Christie’s Auction House, but building security had no record of her ever being an employee. One time, you stepped on her foot by accident in the middle of a crosswalk, causing her to argue with you for ten minutes WITHOUT FINISHING CROSSING THE STREET. She had an invisible cat named “Ollie”. Sometimes she talked in a little kiddie voice. You had no clue why.

She called you fat. She broke down in tears once because you got a haircut she didn’t care for. She was also an anti-Semite. One time she met one of your buddies, then after he left the room, she asked in exasperation, “God, are ALL your friends Jewish?” She loved talking about how much richer her ex-boyfriend was compared to you. She demanded you get a job in finance. She booked restaurant reservations at four-star restaurants you couldn’t possibly afford, then made you take her anyway.

One night, she woke you up at 3AM to tell you how much she hated your family. That was the last straw. You got out of bed, put on your clothes, and started to leave the apartment. She grabbed your arm and tried to restrain you from leaving. You shook her off, running down the stairs to catch a cab. And on that cab ride home, you exhaled. You were free. You knew this was it. No amount of make-up sex would draw you back this time. You knew you would never see her again, and you didn’t. It was the best you felt in ages.

Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, you wonder if she was ever named Casie to begin with.

Rhonda recently graduated with a doctoral degree in physics from Emory University and, as a weekend diversion, decided to join the Cardinals’ cheerleading squad because it’s the closest franchise to her home in New Mexico, where she works at Los Alamos National Laboratory. There, she is helping to refine the Orion Laser, which is already powerful enough to mimic a nuclear explosion.

Once completed, she plans to seize control of the laser and use it to destroy all of Europe. “Bitches had it coming,” she’ll say.

Rhonda also frequently questions Jason Whitlock’s blackness.

The Iggles announced their 2008 cheerleading squad which includes the Bell sisters: Paige, Nikki and Danni-Lynn. Holy cats, are they hot. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get anything done the rest of the afternoon with the image of these honeys distracting me.

I need something to cleanse my mental palate. Maybe a triumvirate of less comely sisters, like the Brontës:

Gah! Fuggit, it’s Friday afternoon– might as well ogle away. Get the cheerleaders back in here…

[ HT: The Professional Cheerleader Blog ]

San Diego’s cheerleaders have been bringing the A-game for years. Trying out for the Chargers Girls would seem to be as daunting as auditioning for the number five slot with the 1927 Yankees. Yet, as documented in The Professional Cheerleaders Blog, some of these ladies are acquitting themselves admirably. So much so, in fact, that my trousers suddenly fit funny in and about the crotchal region.

If it’s true that 23 is the new 30 then I suppose turnover could be a problem.

This is Jennifer. She’s got, like, hair and stuff.

Before another week draws to a close, I wanted to extend a hearty ‘up yours’ to the NFL owners who overwhelmingly rejected reseeding the playoffs to allow wild-card teams to host playoff games, at the expense of division winners with better records. There are valid reasons to support or oppose such a change, but the company-line reason owner were spouting this week was essentially, “It would unfair to our fans, who have grown to expect they will host a home game if their team wins a division.” Bologna, I say!

If the owners were so concerned about the fans, they wouldn’t subject them to these meaningless end of season games where division leaders rest the good players that fans bought tickets to see and we get stuck watching Jim Sorgi or some shit. GAAAAAH!!!!!

Now ogle these hot twins.

Lots more of the Larisa and Marisa (!) here.

Shannon was born in Jackson, Mississippi, where her home has been preserved. She was educated at the Mississippi State College for Women, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and Columbia University’s business school. She later became a photographer of some renown while working for the Works Progress Administration.

But her true love was literature, not photography, and she soon devoted her energy to writing fiction. Her novel The Optimist’s Daughter won the Pulitzer Prize in 1973. In later life, she lived near Jackson’s Belhaven College. She died of pneumonia in at the age of 92, and is buried in Greenwood Cemetery.

“Your mother and I want you to have a good time this weekend. Maybe you’ll go to the batting cages with the fellows or catch a picture-show with your best gal. Whatever you do, if someone offers you a “reefer”, run away as fast as you can and call 911 immediately. Reader’s Digest says that a “bad trip” is not very “groovy”. I clipped the article, it’s on the front of the fridge if you want to read it. I also put a copy in your sock drawer. Maybe you want to show it to some of your friends. All we want is for you to not to grow up to be a burnt-out hipster uploading shoe-gazer NFL fight songs on YouTube. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

If you voted for the Lion or Bengal, avert your gaze at once.
These pictures are not for you!

Lots more of this lass can be found here. You’re welcome.

The league never banned long hair when they were playing. How are these guys any different from Rashean Mathis or Mike McKenzie?
Ohhhhh right, they’re not brown.

According to Michael David Smith at the Fanhouse, the Chiefs are spearheading (arrowheading?) the NFL’s proposed ban on players wearing their hair long enough to obscure the name on the back of their jersey. What a relief, I was tired of having to ask people “Wait, is that Al Harris or AJ Hawk?”

Damn you Kansas City for pushing your Middle America customs and mores on heathen urbanites. If Troy Polamalu wants to give Larry Johnson something to grab onto when they make sweet love he attempts to tackle him, then who are we to judge?

Speaking of flowing tresses…

For the geekiest among us, today - March 14, that is, 3/14 - is Pi Day, a celebration of the mathematical formula that determines how to assign something a deceptive, delicious-sounding name that in reality possesses labyrinthine complexity and is really boring.

Say the dorks:

With the use of computers, Pi has been calculated to over 1 trillion digits past the decimal. Pi is an irrational number meaning it will continue infinitely without repeating. The symbol for pi was first used in 1706 by William Jones, but was popular after it was adopted by the Swiss mathematician Leonhard Euler in 1737.

According to Darren Aronofsky movies, it also drives people certifiably insane.

Because schools are where tax dollars go to die, there are a raft of Pi Day activities organized to quash the joy of learning for all the chillins’ ’round the country.

Students will present pi projects such as research on the history of pi, pi poems, pi cartoons, pi plays, original pi songs or pi fashion. Then students will participate in a pi digit reciting project. Students get a card with a digit of pi on one side and a math problem on the other. The answer to the problem will tell the student the position of the digit they have. They should then stand in order to determine the mathematical approximation of pi.

We’d like to rename the day Hair Pie day, for no other reason than we can and that a Friday should not be dedicated to something that harkens back to the days of book learnin’ (ages 5-8). Here to help us celebrate is the lovely…

What’s your name?

Cheerleader: L -

[Cutting her off] Yeah, whatever.

What? You’re shaved down there? Eh, what the hey, join in anyway.

NOTE: Well it IS officially also Steak and BJ Day. That’ll have to do.