Cold Weather Veteran

We Seasoned Veterans hold in high regard anything that separates real men from the womb-craving pussies that the rest of the world calls "boys". One of these under-appreciated conditions is known to the world as the "Cold", or what a true Vet calls "Fightin' Weather".

A much deserved nod of respect is due to anything that can make a woman's nipples stand up like little top-hats.

Seeing as how this time of year it's just starting to get cold enough to make a young dame's love buttons hard with nothing but a stiff wind, we vets decided it was time to salute a man who has taken it upon himself to represent what cold should mean.

And by cold, we mean Alaska.

Therefore, we'd like to take our Elmer Fudd hats off to whomever the boulder-toting, dog-mushing, Eskimo-banging badass is who designed the Alaskan statehood quarter.

That's right...We're saluting a dude that designed a quarter, but for good reason.

Look at this thing:

This small piece of copper and nickel clearly shouts out to anyone with any inkling of an idea to start shit (read: Russia), in no uncertain terms:

"IF YOU FUCK WITH US YOU WILL BE MAULED, RAPED, AND EATEN BY A GOD DAMNED KODIAK BEAR. WE WILL NOT HAVE ANY MERCY ON YOU. WE REPEAT: YOU WILL BE BEATEN WITH HIS SKILLET-SIZED PAWS, ANALLY SODOMIZED WITH THE 1400 POUND ANIMAL'S FOOT-LONG MEMBER, THEN SLOWLY EATEN AS HE PICKS AROUND THE CHERNOBYL-LIKE DISASTER THAT USED TO BE YOUR ASSHOLE. YOU DON'T WANT TO BE KODIAK RAPED. DON'T FUCK WITH US."

Possible prelude to a Kodiak Butt-Fucking.

This type of cagey intimidation technique should be admired and regarded as the template with which all other states should design their quarters. Unfortunately for some though, the brilliance of the Alaska quarter came too late, as was the case with pussiest quarter in all the land:

Alabama.

The only thing this coin screams is:
"Help... someone is constantly fucking with me by leaving the plunger in the toilet, making me read a stucco wall, and rearranging all the living-room furniture. My dog's name is 'Nymphdrumpherlmf', and I have to masturbate with one hand so I can moan with the other."

Man up Alabama...Take a cue from "The Last Frontier".

So it is with great pleasure that those of us with enough testicular fortitude to call ourselves Seasoned Veterans would like to acknowledge the faceless, nameless, Iditarod-bitching, igloo-building, whale blubber-burning, Inuit babe fucker that had the gumption to design such a masterpiece.

Go celebrate with a stiff whiskey and a roll in the snow...

You deserve it.

The World's Greatest Director

Rowdy Herrington

Who in blue hell is Rowdy Herrington you ask?

A golf hustler? A professional wrestler? An accountant? A porn star? A pederast? A talented jai-alai player?

No, dumbass, he is the greatest artist of our time.

To really dig deep into a visionary's life, one must start at the beginning, in hopes of seeing what gave him the ingenious vision.

Contrary to popular belief and quite surprisingly, Rowdy Herrington did not sprout from the fruit of a man's man's loins. He has no father. The story of his conception is something of a miracle. Let's quit beating around the bush and get to how it happened.

Ms. Herrington was hammered one night at a dive bar, fucked a pool cue and fourteen seconds later out a popped a flannel-clad, fully engorged badass.

The facts about his upbringing, much like his birth, are based on hearsay, legend completely made-up horseshit, so we'll get to his crowning achievement.

Sick of working on sets of softcore pornography and softcore's inspiration, "Growing Pains," Rowdy said, "You know what, fuck the bullshit, I've already raped the skinny ass Tracey Gold and Kirk Cameron, I am going to create a film that will represent the pinnacle of American cinema as we know it and make me a gazillion dollars in residual money. I will create Road House."

He decided that in one movie he would have in no particular order: the borderline homicidal Terry Funk, a band with a blind guy that plays behind chicken wire, gratuitous tit shots, a monster truck jumping, George Strait dance scenes, a shitload of mustaches, the most despicable human since Hitler - Brad Wesley, male earrings, a climactic scene that ends with a stuffed polar bear killing a man, a climactic scene that ends in a throat being ripped out, the main character living in a barn, Sam fuckin' Elliot, and, because Rowdy has mother issues, lots of fights involving pool cues.

To close in a way that would make Rowdy proud, "I used to fuck guys like you in prison."

A Vet with Brass Fucking Balls...

Greg "Brass Wrecking Balls" Lenoir

Never heard of him? Neither had we until yesterday when Fox News ran this article: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,430441,00.html

Apparently, Greg was hanging out on the beach - chasing ass, drinking whiskey, doing what us wily veterans do - when his 14 pound comrade in arms, Jake, decided to go trolling for sea life. The happy pup had just started to doggy-paddle.

That was about the time Jake ran into the shark.

Upon seeing his pussy-bait in trouble, Greg ripped off his shirt, took a long swig of pure grain alcohol, titty-fucked a local Florida Keys exotic dancer, then proceed to dive directly into the water, fists extended battering ram-style, and punched the living shit out of an (estimated) 1500 pound Bull Shark in time to save the Vet's best friend.

Says Lenoir: "I hit the back of the shark's neck. It was like hitting concrete."

Luckily for Jake, hitting concrete just happened to be one of Greg's favorite pastimes. Other hobbies include Russian Roulette, head-butting J. G. Wentworth, alligator wrestling, and titty-fucking local Florida Keys exotic dancers.

(Some of Lenoir's pre-sharkbout handiwork)



This kind of seasoned heroism deserves recognition. Therefore, we crafty veterans take our hats off to you Greg Lenoir. May all lesser men strive to follow your example, and may all sharks take note: Seasoned Vets do not put up with nut-less aquatic life fucking with our pets.

And to Greg:

Happy titty-fucking.

Coach Taylor is my fucking hero...

More to come...

Hall of Famer #2

Today's hall of famer needs no introduction, but hell, it'd be a crime not to...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yieAXxohk3o&feature=related

I feel confident in saying that, short of Jesus, Bill Goldberg is the most ass-kicking Jew who ever lived. Reared in the household of a classical violinist and a Harvard grad, this cagey veteran began practicing his patented Spear on California redwoods in his late grade-school years. While honing his wrestling craft, he spent his free time building an immunity to herpes and stamping out any traces of post-pubescent synogogical anal virginity. A true sporting man, Goldberg once bet the lives of a small Vietnamese fishing village on his first wrestling match. Just to drive the point home, he went on to win his next 172 bouts.

After conquering the wrestling world, Goldberg set his sights on Hollywood. After deciding that there were too many "pussified Christmas movies", The Man starred in this classic gem:





Currently, Goldberg can be found addressing the United States Congress on issues of manliness, or cultivating record-holding, award-winning avocados from his South American ranch he named "Venezuela".


Truly a man amongst men, and a wrestler amongst wrestlers, we Seasoned Veterans salute this grizzled old hand for all the wonderful gifts he has brought to the world. Through the ebb and flow of life, the doldrums of day-to-day living are taken for granted, but We know that the end may be no more than one Jackhammer away...

Say it with me:

GOLD-BERG...GOLD-BERG...GOLD-BERG...

Hall of Famer

The world has been around for somewhere around a couple hundred years. In that time frame men have roamed the earth to kick ass and bed women. Some did that better than others. We are here to acknowledge these trailblazers by inducting them in a fake Hall of Fame. This Hall of Fame, although a figment of our peyote-fueled imagination, includes a food court, drinking fountains with your favorite swill, and a carousel of dancing dames. Here is the first inductee:

Heracles

(born year 0, died because he got pissed shoes were invented)

This crafty veteran of life was one of the original men to roam the earth who had the distinct pleasure of making fellow men soil themselves, maidens tremble in the loins, and four headed minotaurs not rape each other. While we can't get into all of his exploits* due to time constraints and the fact that the list might be so gargantuan that it would destroy the Internet, causing the inevitable invention of the Internet2, we will conveniently list a few of his feats in bullet points (which he coincidentally invented):

• He so impressed his pops Zeus that the Big Z said, "Fuck it, he's a god," and he became one
• After killing a king's man and virgin-eating lion, he just wore the lion's skin as pajamas.
• Actually he didn't wear pajamas because he was promptly offered all 50 of the king's daughters to bang. He did so in one night. He had an appointment the next morning.
• He didn't have to commute.
• At various points in his life, he killed a 9 headed serpent with something he invented named Cancer, tricked that dumbass Atlas into carrying the heavens, cleaned 30,000 cattle in one day by damming a river, and killed the 3 headed watchdog of the underworld.
• Unimpressed with himself, he grumpily ate some meat.
• He invented Cricket to fuck with Middle easterners and wrote complicated cave work of art that was later the inspiration for the screenplay Schindler's List.
• Pissed at his nagging wife, he allowed a centaur to rape her.

You get a sense of the depth and breadth of this wily veteran. A scholar, a gentleman, an American badass, and a cocksman he was a precursor and inspiration to such savvy vets as...

More inductions to follow...

*While I remember, there is a caveat to his induction. Heracles the inductee is not to be confused with the little boner in his side the Romans tried to create named Hercules. Contrary to the beliefs of some historians, Hercules was just something the Romans made up to past the time while they fucked up ruling the world and touched little boys. The only Hercules to have lived was a Hollywood creation played by Kevin Sorbo in between his tryout failures in American Gladiators.

Pah...

Wily. Cagey. Savvy. Crafty. Grizzled. Crusty. Well-worn...Take your pick.

Seasoned isn't just a defunct Backyard Burger french fry flavor any more.

We're bred for speed, and comfort.

The real-life representation of the wonder that was Bill Brasky. All we lack is the booze-addled gaggle of tall-tale spewing disciples. Fuck, we'd drive an ice cream truck covered in human skulls if gas, and human skulls, weren't sold at such a premium. 'Cause that's what men do...

Strap in tight. You'll pay for the whole seat, but you'll only use the edge of it...