Friday Homestretch/AFTP

Happy Friday, all… We are almost there.

I spoke for a bit on the air this morning about Blake Griffin’s large child support decision. Comes out to ~$3million a year.  Whether you agree with that number or not maybe we can all get behind the idea that Blake’s next endorsement deal should be with Trojan condoms. I can’t think of a better ad than a commercial with Blake signing his monthly child support check, turning to the camera, then holding up a box of Magnums, while simply saying, “Never again.”

Speaking of endorsements, when I do Barstool Breakfast with Willie there is over 600 pounds of flesh in the studio at any given time… You don’t think that is an opportunity for a breakfast sausage company to hawk its wares through 2 motivated spokesmen?… Johnsonville and/or Jimmy Dean need to wake the fuck up. It’s literally low hanging fruit because Willie’s bad knees coupled with my aversion to healthy food would have us only reaching for fruit (or delicious breakfast sausages) that were hanging near our mouths.

Friday is the day where I typically post an Ass From The Past, and this week it is not going to be someone that is still in her 40’s.  No sir.  This week it’s gonna be an old-ass broad who had a fastball like no other in the days before TV’s had remotes.

It’s Raquel Welch, Playboy Magazine’s Most Desired Woman of the 1970’s.

Her dad was Bolivian and her mom was English, making Raquel the second AFTP of Hispanic descent.  The first was original Wonder Woman (and 1/2 Mexican), Lynda Carter.  You probably won’t, but you could say I am becoming the champion of older Hispanic women.

Raquel was in a fucked up movie called Myra Breckenridge in 1970, where she played a man who receives a sex change and then goes to Hollywood for a sexually charged romp.  The movie included a soft-core lesbian scene between Raquel and Farrah Faucet, and another more hard-core scene where Raquel takes advantage of a guy by pegging him against a table he’s lashed to.

Oof.

She’s 77 years old now…

And she’s still both a certified GILF and the newest member of the AFTP.

And finally… I am not sure if they are planning to do the same today, but last Friday, more than a handful of commenters used the comment section of Homestretch to do something called “Confessions”.  It was popular years ago, and apparently it is just a forum for people to get shit off their chest. Sort of like a confessional, but without the threat of “diddling.”

I mention it for the benefit of people who wanted to comment either on how great or terrible the Homestretch was last Friday, but saw their comments buried under 50 stories about the time some guy fingered his cousin at a wedding in Alabama.

If people want to do Confessions again, I certainly won’t stop you, but I think it was originally Feits’ baby, and if he relaunches it, it’ll be on a helluva lot bigger platform than this fucking blog.

Either way, here’s something I have been looking to get off my chest-  I drank so many tiny martinis and ate so much Italian food at the Belmont Tavern one night (they use old-school small martini glasses and even smaller green olives, like you might find in a 5 gallon jar at The Price Club) that I came home and shit my brains out.  I woke up the next morning to revisit the scene of the crime*, and this time, all I shit was a single, intact, unchewed green olive that was bobbing around the surface of my toilet water like a little green fat kid in an inner tube holding a pimento.

My intestinal tract was empty except for a single untouched olive that shot out like a spitball through a fat McDonald’s straw.

I recreated that scene today in my own bathroom using an olive that didn’t gain buoyancy whilst rifling through my digestive system, and therefore doesn’t float.

The “confession” part is that I often pop green olives like aspirin to this day because I am hopeful to reclaim that lightning-in-a-jar moment of the morning I shat a whole olive.

Good weekend everyone.

Good luck, Gay Pat.

Take a report.

-Large

*Whenever I visit the same bathroom stall in one day, I call it the “scene of the crime.”… Feel free to use.

I fished the olive out of the toilet and put it in a glass of cheap frozen vodka. Waste not, want not… Cheers!