Conger Cuddling Canned

The fire brigade was born ready.

The world collectively mourns today, and we here at HPO mourn along with it. Unfortunately, for some unbeknownst reason, the small English seaside town of Lyme Regis has been robbed of one of its oldest traditions by a group of uppity animal rights activists.

The activity that has been banned is a "Giant Dead Eel Tossing Contest."

Seriously. This contest is a tradition over there.

Was a tradition.

The contest was banned because it was determined to be "disrespectful to the dead fish."

Again, let us remind you that this all actually happened.

Here is what the mayor of Lyme Regis had to say:

"The writer of that letter is a gutless troublemaker with nothing better to do than stop people enjoying an innocent event that helps to raise money to save lives. I cannot see how using a dead conger eel landed by a local fisherman is unethical."

Apparently, the giant dead eel has been replaced by a rubber buoy, which hardly has the same appeal. We can understand why people are upset.

Hail to the Chimp, Part 2

I see your ridiculous publicity stunt, and raise you this...

In what is probably the best thing since sliced bread, the good folks over at pokershare.com have decided to enter a chimpanzee named Mikey into the 2006 World Series of Poker, back him with real money, and actually let him compete for fortunes and prestige.

After watching some of the videos of Mikey actually playing poker, it is obvious that the technical aspects of his game need to be refined a bit. However, his poker face is second-to-none, and we're guessing that it's going to be pretty damn tough to get inside Mikey's head and psych him out. We got a feeling he's gonna be stonewallin' a lot of people at the tournament.

This is Mikey before his poker days, on the Channel 11 news.

As good as thing whole Mikey thing may seem, and as much as we here at HPO will be rooting for him to win it all, there is no doubt that our favorite ape is still Pan-Kun. And, although we still haven't forgiven those incompetent jerks at youtube.com for taking down those videos of his, we still remember Pan-Kun very fondly. Here is the Pan-Kun video of the week:

In this episode, Pan-Kun's task is to tie up James, enter what appears to be a milk factory, help some Japanese people make milk, and then purchase some cheese that he had tasted earlier. Of course, all of this is just speculation, since none of us here at HPO speak Japansese. Anyways, Pan-Kun almost gets the job done, but in the end his ape-instinct gets the better of him and he starts farting around instead of TCB-ing. He couldn't tell the cheeses apart, and ended up staring at them for a really long time without getting it right.

Plus, they equipped Pan-Kun with a manpurse, which was just plain wrong.

James Brown is Nuts

Keep your cotton-pickin' fingers out of my curly hair.

We brought you Tom Cruise, Steven Seagal, and even Charlie Sheen. Now, for your entertainment pleasure, we document the hootin', hollerin', shotgun-toting, narcotics-inhaling whirlwind that is known as the Godfather of Soul. James Brown, the man who invented the moonwalk and is known to have sweated away up to 7 pounds per performance, is completely insane.

Exhibit A: Back in January of 2004, James was sued by one of his former employees for a rape that allegedly occured over 17 years ago. Lowering the bar for perverts, degenerates, and tramps everywhere, Brown purportedly raped this woman in the back of his van at shotgun-point, over on the side of a South Carolina highway. The part of the story that we love the most is his manager's comment: "This is just absurd and does not warrant any comment."

That's exactly what we were thinking.

By the way, his manager's first name is "SuperFrank."

Exhibit B: Our friends at TSG found this, a full-page divorce announcement that a coked-up James Brown ran in Variety magazine. The flagrant abuse of English grammar and punctuation in Mr. Brown's announcement almost overshadows the look of extremely sweaty constipation on James's face.

Almost.

Exhibit C: Probably the most famous of Mr. Brown's meltdowns. He kicked the door in on an insurance salesmen's meeting, hopped-up on angel dust and toting a 12-gauge. Why did he kick the door in on this business meeting dressed in his bathrobe and slippers? Why, of course, because James was trying to figure out who had used his private toilet earlier.

Following this completly logical progression of events, drug-crazed James then took the police on a 12-mile high speed chase across state lines.

Drugs and shotguns? Yeeeeeeaaaaaaoowwww!

Exhibit D: Again turning to our friends at TSG, here is the official police report of another James Brown nutjob clusterfuck. Our favorite part of the report is when James's assistant claimed that "Mr. Brown hadn't been acting right lately."

Yeah, that's pretty accurate, as long as you define "not acting right" as "pumping extremely ludicrous amounts of drugs into your system with various deadly weapons lying around within your reach" and "lately" as "ever since you got arrested for armed robbery at age 16."

Exhibit E: To properly illustrate just how nuts James Brown is, please note that none of our previous insane celebrity posts have even had an "Exhibit E." James Brown has just broken the sound barrier.

TSG is a James Brown gold mine, and this time, they provide us with a copy of his tour rider, which specifies exactly what James and his crew will need. Which includes, according to the pages, a "186-inch limousine."

Wow.

The four pages of that tour rider are, well, hilarious. And, whenever he travels, James requires an oxygen mask. We are honestly afraid to ask what for. Deadly afraid to ask.

The Fighting Showalters

Buck looks out for his guys.

You Dropped Your Shoe

As usual, Man Soo lets his necktie do most of the talking.

In what could be the single biggest travesty the situational comedy industry has ever faced, the bastards that purport to administer the youtube website have, for some reason, made unavailable the videos of Pan-Kun playing baseball and soccer.

That's a kick in the knickers.

As you loyal readers know, those videos are the bread and butter of this website. Without that, we are neked. To make matters worse, none of the letters sent by HPO management to those blue-nosers at youtube have been replied to. They cluck their tongues and stroke their beards, while honest, God-fearing men who live and die for monkey movies are left sitting on our hands.

But, then again, the President of Iran never answered our emails back in April either.

Bring them back.

You Can Put it on the Board...YESSS!!!

Mercy!

In light of all the recent scuttlebutt surrounding Barry Bonds' potential indictment, we here at Hot Pipes have decided to profile another American baseball hero who has admitted to cheating, the old-fashioned way. Ken "Hawk" Harrelson, current play-by-play announcer for the Chicago White Sox and the man who once rode a mule onto the field of a Kansas City Athletics game; confessed during a broadcast that he used a corked bat during the 1968 season, the year he led the American League in runs batted in for the Boston Red Sox. Harrelson is a huge proponent of the use of deception in baseball, once advocating sign stealing by stating "Do you want to be a gentleman farmer, or do you want to be a street fighter trying to win the game?" Well, it's hard to argue with that kind of air-tight logic, and frankly, we applaud him for his honesty and integrity.

So, c'mon Barry, if the man who invented the batting glove can admit to cheating, why can't you?

While the debate about steroid use in baseball rages on (no pun intended), we would just like to say, and we don't think we're alone here, that we hope those fucks down at the league office clean up this mess, so we can all move on with our lives.

Also, just to give those of you out there who aren't familiar with "The Hawk" some insight into his character, here is one of our favorite exchanges between him and his partner, Darrin Jackson.

Hawk: There's Russell Crowe. Gladiator was a great movie.

DJ: So was Mystery Alaska, I told you about that movie.

Hawk: Yeah. I haven't seen it.

DJ: Well those are my two favorite Russell Crowe movies.

Hawk: My all-time favorite is still.... ET

DJ: He wasn't in that!

Hawk: So? It's still my favorite.

DJ: Can you do an ET impression?

Hawk: No.

DJ: I can.

Hawk: Okay.

DJ: ET Phone Home, ET Phone Home.

Hawk: (silence)

DJ: Did you see my finger light up?

Hawk: I'll show you a finger.

Drunken Master

Have another one, Jackie.

Apparently, Jackie Chan showed up at a huge concert in Hong Kong. As our favorite newspaper reports, he was steaming.

Batting Practice

Santa Claus, Indiana.

Paul Lo Duca, who as a child practiced baseball by hitting pinto beans with a broomstick in his backyard, put his ballplaying talents to use in a totally different way last night. He pitched to David Wright in the annual Home Run Derby, and Wright put up the 3rd-best round of all time.

"I was a pitcher in high school," Lo Duca said. "Now you see why I'm not."

SANTA CLAUS UPDATE: In case you were wondering, there really is a town called Santa Claus, Indiana. Even funnier, however, is the story of how they named it.

Ausmus Busts Slump

Idiocy in progress.

Everybody's favorite imbecile Texan, George W. Bush, was on a PR trip to the best city in the world, Chicago, a few days ago. He got his press conference off to a very classy start indeed with this golden quote, provided by the good folks over at dubyaspeak:

There's a lot of issues that I'm sure we'll be talking about today -- North Korea and Iran, hopefully the Middle East, maybe some local issues here in Chicago. It's my honor to be here. Thank you for coming. And now I'll start answering some questions, starting with one of the senior members of the press corps -- are you over 60? You look like you're about 65. Anyway, go ahead.

Yee-haw.

We still don't know why he's smiling.

In a move that would make Mark Grace proud, Astros catcher Brad Ausmus apparently spent his Fourth of July on a hogging spree, because on July 5th he finally broke out of an 0-for-40 slump at the plate. This is a team record for non-pitchers, people. That's really, really bad.

Ausmus says he plans to celebrate by shitting his bed, getting mugged, crashing his Porshe, and getting his pants caught in an escalator.

Ronnie O'Sullivan

Superstar status.

Apparently, Pan-Kun and his bulldog, James, have a dvd coming out. We have already pre-ordered our copy. Hopefully, they put Pan-Kun behind the wheel of a race-car, forklift, or 18-wheeler.

No repeat for Graeme.

We know who will win the World Championship this year.

Asphalt sandwiches.

Ok, so it's a little late, but this is too good not to post. Resident HPO Tour de France expert, Mr. Drugs, "pipes" in again with commentary on the Stage 1 finish. Enjoy:

Just after the finish, Thor Hushovd and his Yellow Jersey were surprisingly covered in blood as he collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Minutes later, the race commentators discovered what had happened. In his efforts to secure the stage win, Thor found himself dangerously close to the barrier on the side of the course. As he rocketed along at 45 miles per hour, a fan nicked Thor's arm with a giant cardboard hand shaped much like the foam hands seen at American sporting events. (Ironically, the cardboard hands are made and distributed to the fans by the same company that sponsors Thor's team.) Receiving what one race commentator referred to as "the worst papercut in the history of mankind," Thor's arm sprayed blood first on the crowd, then all over himself as he crossed the line. My first reaction was that he must have been shot to bleed so much, but I suppose even the smallest cut will bleed like a stuck pig when your heart-rate exceeds 190 beats per minute. Perils come from all angles in this sport, ladies and gentlemen. Luckily, stitches were all that was needed to remedy the rider, and Thor will continue in spite of his paper cut. There are no sissies in the sport of cycling.

How to Fold a Shirt

Alotta Faggina.

It is a time of mourning.

Brazil ain't in the World Cup no more, which is bad news. Is there anything better than waking up at noon, turning on the old Idiot Box, and seeing a stadium full of free-wheeling, brown-skinned wimmens from Pernambuco?

No... no, there isn't.

Beach cigar, anyone?

They have a dog beach in Chicago. It's a beach for dogs. The dogs can run around, swim, eat their poo, and smell each other's asses in a wet, sandy environment. And their pathetic owners socialize while watching their precious little pets crap in the lake.

Not that there's anything wrong with this whole "dog beach" idea... not at all. Like communism, it looks good on paper; but in reality, it sucks the life out of you and leaves you with nothing but vodka to douse the fire.

There's even a dog beach website. We checked it out. We noticed that about halfway down the page, there's a section called "What to Expect." That section informs you of the dangers of taking your dog to the beach, such as the possibility that your dog well step on a rusty fish-hook or get swept away by big waves.

Uh... yeah. We can think of a couple more risks.

How about e. coli bacteria? I heard that stuff's pretty rough. We're talking about 100 acres of sand, designated by the City to be shat upon by German Shepherds, Jack Russels, and Pomeranians, located just a quarter mile from public beaches enjoyed daily by the general public.

I've watched this video 14 times, and I still can't figure out how it's done.

Le Tour Preview, Beckham Blows Load

Helmet.

For most people, the Tour de France is nothing more than a bunch of grown men in flamboyant leotards riding their bikes through a country of arrogant people. For others, Le Tour is an emotional, psychological, and physical odyessy where teamwork, determination, and courage triumph in the end. HPO's very own in-house cycling expert, Mr. Drugs, offers the following analysis:

Our pick to win it all is Levi Leipheimer. Riding for the Gerolsteiner Team, this American is in his prime, winning the Dauphine Libere just weeks ago. Vinokourov would be my pick for #2. Irregardless, the show must go on. This train stops for no one.

This year's tour will make it's loop around the vast, beautiful, and hexagonal countryside of France in a counter-clockwise fashion. Beginning with the prologue in Strasbourg, the riders will proceed west in a series of largely flat stages through Normandy before heading south to Bordeaux. Then comes the steep and mysterious peaks of the Basque region, the majestic zeniths and valleys of the Alps, and finally the descent into "Gay Paris" and the glorious climax on the Champs Elysses. The highlight should be the mountain stage finishing atop L'Alpe D'Huez, arguably the most forbidding and difficult climb in Tour history. I have the time trial up D'Huez in 2004 on tape if anyone would like to watch it with me.

For the uninformed among you, each tour begins with 21 teams of 9 riders each, bringing the total to 189 men with titanic quads in tight clothing. The race takes 23 days including the Prologue and 2 rest days, and also includes 2 individual time trials and one team time trial. The Prologue (which happens tomorrow) is a short individual time trial, meaning each rider will be alone on the course starting a couple minutes apart. This is meant to separate the riders by a few seconds so that when the first day of racing begins, someone will be in the lead and can wear the yellow jersey. The jersey competitions include the Yellow, Green, Polka-dot, and White jerseys. Yellow is for the leader in the GC (General Classification - best time overall), Green is for the leader in the sprint competition, Polka-dot is the "King of the Mountains", and the White is for the best young rider under 24 or 23 or something. There is also a team competition. Each of these is a coveted prize, so there is plenty of excitement aside from who gets the Yellow Jersey.

So, uh, yeah... it should be interesting.

Tie one on, Beckham.

Are we the only sane people left on the face of the earth? Has the whole world gone crazy? What is everyone's obsession with David Beckham? The guy is a ponce, and nobody seems to notice.

Here's why it's easy to hate Beckham:

1. He's not that great of a soccer player. He never scores, he is a bad passer, he flops, dives, dogs it, gives up on plays, and can't finish. He has a reputation of choking in key situations. All he is good for is taking penalties.

2. His wife is much better looking than your wife.

3. Beckham is a moron.

4. He's a pretty boy.

5. Every so often, he puts on a show like he did today. It was hard to tell exactly what happened, but Beckham was on the sideline crying. Crying like a little school girl. Bawling into his jersey. What a wiener. He broke a nail, or twisted his ankle, or sprained his pussywillow ligament or something.