He’s still green. He’s still morbidly obese (less so now). He still hails from the Galapagos Islands and never saw a bald head he didn’t want to shine. But a funk now emanates from his green fur – more so than the normal mildew odors baking in the August humidity – an aura of negativity that creeps into your brain like cheap, money hungry tendrils overwhelming the synapses of your mind that control the last vestiges of pure positivity and happiness you can experience.
The once incorruptible has become sullied. By who? Well it depends on who you ask, but the big green guy isn’t the same anymore, in appearance or attitude.
The changes to the Phanatic are fine. The reasoning behind them SUCK.
Anyone that knows me knows that I live and breathe two things in this life….data and basketball. I love to crunch those numbers, find the connections in the etherial void of hard quantum factorials, and play game after game of Drug Wars on my TI-82 graphing calculator.
So when the 76ers recently advertised the need for a Data Scientist to help them correlate a path to the promised land with slide rules and line graphs, it was an absolute no brainer for me to apply.
Let’s check out the requirements for this position and see why I’m the perfect candidate for the job.
Congratulations on the Super Bowl victory, Andy Reid! Thank god the Eagles won one first or you’d be the most hated man in all of Philadelphia.
Shy of Andy actually winning a Super Bowl with the Eagles, this is by far the best circumstance for him to win one (from our perspective anyways). The Eagles got theirs first, enough time passed between Reid’s inglorious exit and his own championship, and we all get to revel in his success without wanting to slit our throats if he won one before we got to experience a parade.
This Sunday the WWE is hosting its best pay-per-view of the year. The organization’s ROYAL RUMBLE is BY FAR the best PPV the wrestling brand puts on every year, with pops and surprises that no other event can top.
So as always we decided to COMPLETELY rip it off with our own Royal Rumble.
For those unfamiliar with the concept, a “Royal Rumble” consists of 30 wrestlers entering the ring every two minutes in an all-out, every man or woman for themselves brawl. The entrants are eliminated when thrown over the top rope, and the final man (or woman) standing wins the event and gets to headline Wrestlemania.
What better way to honor the WWE’s best show by putting on our own knock-off event with far less athletic and far, FAR LESS famous contestants that are flimsily connected to Philadelphia in the thinnest ways possible? SOUNDS FUN TO ME!
Of course, as its done the past four years in a row, The Coggin Toboggan hosts its own annual All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble on the Friday before WWE’s event, completely overshadowing the real deal with its complete lack of morals, its utter depravity, and absolute disregard for human life and well being. As always we’ve invited 30 of the most ruthless and knuckle dragging Philadelphians to bash each others brains in for minimal glory, absolutely no prize money, and a dark spot on their careers they’ll never be able to erase.
Five years ago I decided to start a blog, a hacky Onion ripoff dedicated to nothing but Philadelphia sports and being an absolute piece of garbage on Twitter. It’s been five long years of this HORSESHIT at the Coggin Toboggan and frankly it feels like a prison sentence that just won’t end.
But lucky for you I’ve become accustomed to the inside and there’s no way I’d survive on the outside. I’m stuck in this hell of my own creation and will take it to the grave with me.
Sorry folks, put your aluminum poles away. They’ll be fine in the crawl space, believe me, they have a very high strength to weight ratio after all.
I’m sorry to announce that Festivus is cancelled for the year. Why? Because you can’t celebrate Festivus a day after the Eagles embarrass the Dallas Cowboys on national television for the NFC East crown.
Really, what can we complain about? What grievances could we possibly air, Philadelphia, one day after sending the Cowboys back to the heart of Texas with yet another huge “L” in a big spot with many more questions than answers in their future.
Frat boy and hot take artist Max Kellerman slithered his way into town this morning for a special Philadelphia episode of ESPN’s migraine inducing “First Take.” As was his destiny, Kellerman was lustily booed by well-lubricated fans who used his appearance at Chickie & Pete’s as an excuse to get shit-faced drunk instead of going to work, as is every Philadelphian’s god given right.
At this point you’re not going to read anything new that hasn’t already been said about Kellerman, his inane opinions on Carson Wentz, or the fact that a third-level tier boxing analyst wormed his way onto the national sports opinion stage on the back of Stephen A. Smith’s notoriety.
No. Let’s be much more childish and play Philadelphia’s favorite game, “What does Max Kellerman look like?!?” after the jump!