Friday Night Winner: Danny Briere

Must be a great feeling to piss on the faces of the NHL's operations committee. You gotta love the ear-to-ear, shit-eating smirk on Briere's face once he gets picked. Or how bout the look on Johnny Toews' face for not getting picked?! Dude looks like he can't decide whether to kill himself now or once he gets back to the hotel. Like seriously, grab a box of Kleenex you fucking baby. It does kinda suck that Giroux got picked 13 bros later and isn't on the same team as Danny-boy, but that's a small price to pay for this dose of karma.

How The Hell Is THIS Guy Elmo?!

What the fuck did I just watch? The fact that THAT guy has been doing the Elmo voice for more than 25 years is either the biggest achievement or the biggest mistake of his life. Sorry bro, but there are thousands of people that can shove their hands up a puppet's ass while talking all goofy and shit. Just think if that guy had done something badass for 25 years, like boxing. I guarantee he already would've won the World Heavyweight Championship twice over like Big George Foreman. Shit, this guy IS George Foreman! What a waste.

LaSalle Loses Future Porn Star

Daily News -- Hours after 6-8 forward Christian Standhardinger was announced Tuesday as transferring from Nebraska to LaSalle, he wasn't.

LaSalle cited "a personal situation that demands his full attention," in a statement from coach John Giannini.

That situation likely is that the 21-year-old Standhardinger was caught by an officer engaged in a sex act with a 19-year-old woman a few hours before dawn Sunday in a Lincoln, Neb., park, according to a police spokeswoman.

You gotta hand it to La Salle. In a year where they beat Penn and barely lose to Nova, they decide to pin their mid-season hopes on a Dirk Diggler wannabe. No surprise that it blows up in their face like Standhardinger was about to blast that 19 year old. He's the real winner in this story. If you think he's not on the phone negotiating a 3-film contract with Vivid as we speak, you're fucking delusional. Drop the "inger" from his last name, buy the rights to his story (at least the bball & banging in the park shit), and you've already got at least two scripts written for the ultimate hoops porno trilogy starring Christian StandsHard. I'd pay good money to watch that shit. Just sayin'.

Sporcle Quiz of the Week

It's been crazy busy the past couple days. A year's worth of life seems to be hitting me in one fuggin week and I'm just trying to keep up with the posts. Either way time is of the essence, so let's keep the fun going with the Sporcle Quiz of the Week: Safe Cracker 3! Quick description--You get 4 minutes to "crack the safe" by listing out 4 items in alphabetical order for each category. For example, they may ask "List the 4 Indiana Jones Movie Titles", to which you'd type "Last Crusade, Raiders, Temple, Who the fuck cares about the Shia Labeouf one?!"...okay, you still get my point. Once you get the 4th one right, they give you a code to enter so you can move to the next category. Sound easy enough? Well just you wait...

Worst Miss: This isn't so much of a miss as it's just an absolute abortion. Without ruining the quiz, let's just say I was cruising along and made it to number 42. I thought I knew what it was. Was pretty fucking sure I knew what it was. I must've typed it in 10 times because I figured I was psyching myself out with mental Parkinsons mistypes or some shit. Nope...had to wait until the fucking timer ran out to see what I missed. Let's just say I will never be doing a Safe Cracker quiz again. What a fucking joke.

Biggest Surprise: Fuck this, I'm going to the Final Tally.

Final Tally: 41 out of 49. This was supposed to be fun for me and now I'm just about as pissed off as Bart Scott was for winning a goddamn football game. 3-week average jumps up to .828, but I'm still thinking of leaning on Greg Anderson to whip me up a Week 4 Berry-BALCO Booster Shake. See you in Pittsburgh? CAN'T WAIT!

Sorry, Pats

Well, it's official--after this weekend, I now have no team that I legitimately want to root for in the playoffs.

Don't get me wrong, I was not cheering for the Pats to win but part of me wanted to see Danny Woodhead take one last dump on the entire Jets organization. The Bears can go fuck themselves and I could give two shits about the Steelers or Jets. I guess that leaves the Pack. But last week's loss still stings a little and I've never agreed with the school of thought that you cheer for the team that sent you home since them winning it all vindicates your team for losing. Fuck that noise.

Nope, starting today I'm cheering for one player and one player only: Frank Zombo. The dude clearly has the sickest name out of anyone still in contention and it gives me an extra incentive to booze it up next weekend because we all know that I don't blackout, I Zombie. And my second Rule of Zombie is "Zombies always win", so I know I'm picking a winner here. However, my first rule is "Never trust a Zombie" so if Zombo misses his 6th straight game and/or the Packers shit the bed, don't say I didn't warn you.

I Need It To Be March 11th Right MEOW

During halftime of Pats-Jets Round 3, I stumbled across the trailer for Battle: Los Angeles. Do yourself a favor and check it out because this shit looks fucking unreal. I mean, I was already pumped for Cowboys & Aliens, but this just got me so jacked up that 6 to midnight doesn't come close to describing how I feel right now. Aaron Eckhart trying to save America. Ne-Yo trying to make army glasses look cool. Michelle Rodriguez trying not to be a lesbian (not that there's anything wrong with that). I don't know how the fugg they expect me to wait two months for this, but you can bet your balls I'll be front and center with my Reese's Pieces on opening night...if the world doesn't end by then.

I Know It Was You, Taylor. You Broke My Heart

Washington City Paper -- When Taylor Gourmet opened the first of its three Washington-area stores in November 2008, the advertising pitch was simple: The deli would sell Philadelphia-style sandwiches, named after Philadelphia streets, sandwiched between Philadelphia bread...

During a follow-up interview, (Owner Casey) Patten’s story changed significantly. I had pressed him for a ride on the bread-delivery van, to no avail. After several requests, Patten made a surprising admission: Taylor had stopped using Sarcone’s a few weeks earlier. He said capacity concerns forced him to switch to a Washington-area bakery as his business expanded. He declined to name his new supplier.

Typical. Chalk up yet another beloved DC institution that decides to take a shit on my heart. Let me first give you full disclosure: I fucking worship Taylor G...always have, always thought I would. Their Kelly Drive sandy is my go-to every time, no questions asked. In fact, I saw a little of myself in their story ever since I found out the owner and I share a lot in common. Both grew up 30 minutes from downtown Philly, both went to school in Delaware, both packed up and made the move down to the District.

But where he and I differ (besides the fact that he's a massive douche with a hipster mustache) is that I always considered this town to be my home away from home. I'm just counting down the days until I pimp myself back out to Philly for good. But this asshole has the fucking nerve to think he can pull a fast one on Uncle Terry?! Yeah fuggin right, bro.

You might think he did since they dropped the Sarcone's rolls back in September and it's now January, but the joke's on them...I haven't grubbed there since summer. They've already lost about 70% of their business over the past 5 months. Well good fucking luck trying to keep the rest of it now that this golden nugget has fallen from the gods.

Yeah, they'll still get the occasional dumbass tourist or local who thinks they're being trendy by eating an "authentic" Italian Market hoagie 2 hours removed from the source. But one thing I know is if you fuck over Philly, Philly's gonna do everything in its power to return the favor ten times as hard. So FUCK YOU Taylor G and your shitty wannabe sandwiches. I'm a born-again Subway man from here on out. At least they have the decency to tell me to my face that they're serving me shit on a Parmesan-Oregano footlong.