It’s a section where Brotha Ash, as he’s called, goes out and about (!) and takes pictures of the social happenings in Black Pittsburgh.

This week, there was a picture that gave me pause.  Now, I know that I’m not at one with Hip Hop culture and sign-throwing or whatever you call it.  You know.  Dudes are about to get their picture taken and all of the sudden they’re doing sign language, throwing W’s and X’s all pew, pew, pew, pew maybe in loyalty to a gang, a school or a fraternity or something.

I get that.  But I’m pretty sure this kid on the left…

… is just flipping us off.

Way to keep it classy, NPC.

2.  This might be the fastest I have ever fallen in love with a new Burgh site.  Stuff Yinzers Like. When your “About” page is as funny as theirs, you know it’s going to be a kickass site:

First, our sincere apologizes to the geniuses at Stuff White People Like. Like Jesus (R.I.P. Spring, 33 A.D., Un-R.I.P. three days later), George Carlin (R.I.P. 6/22/2008), Madonna (Virginity R.I.P. Sometime in 1984) and Caroline Rhea (Career R.I.P 2007), you blazed a trail on which us mere mortals can only hope to follow, stealing your comedic model along the way. If immitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then consider us the Judge Joe Brown, Judge Judy, Judge Mathis and Judge Alex to your Judge Wapner.

Oh, that Jesus RIP thing made me laugh.

(h/t Woy)

3.  Sean Avery really is a douche on ice (start near paragraph 5).

(h/t Rachel)

4.  I wonder what happens if you poop in a pigeon coop.  Does it confuse them too, or do they just get all, “PAISANO!”

(h/t JamieO)

5.  About those girls from Upper St. Clair that were raped in school:

The next day, Jane Doe reported the rape to Ms. Haguel, who went to school administrators. They called the 16-year-old girl’s parents and Upper St. Clair police. At that time, the girl said, police interviewed her about the alleged assaults.

Ms. Haguel told the boy to write notes of apology to his victims during his in-school suspension, according to Jane Doe’s federal lawsuit. But the 16-year-old said in the interview if that happened, she never received an apology from him.

Write a note of apology?   WTF?  Saying what?  “Hey, sorry I raped/molested you and possibly stole your innocence.  Do you forgive me?  Circle yes or no.”

God.  When you read that article … that kid should have been stopped a long long time ago.

Sitting in my living room watching the Buccos of Suckitude game last night with my BIL who had just come from the hospital where Pens Fan Sister is currently laid up with Texas Death (and you all thought I was exaggerating how awful Texas Death is. She was hospitalized because they were afraid her throat was going to close up. But it’s okay. She’s on morphine. Yay, her!)

BIL: So … Marian Hossa.

PG: You know when Jaromir Jagr left way back when, I didn’t hate him, not even with his “I’m die-wahhhh-ing alive here” crap. I never spoke badly of him. Never hated him. I hate Marian Hossa.

BIL: I don’t wish him ill. I don’t want him to get injured. I want him to have the season of his life with Detroit. I want them to go to the Stanley Cup Finals and I want him to choke. You know why? Karma.

PG: I’ll drink to him getting some karma shoved up his ass. Pass me my Zima.

So yeah, Marian Hossa chose Detroit over the Pens, as he said he would do. He just didn’t name teams before. He said he’d take less money to play for a winner. Problem is we all assumed that he meant the Penguins.

He did not.

I hate him. I could handle it if he left for money, for a long term contract, for anything OTHER than just leaving because he doesn’t think he can win with us. It’s an insult.

I hate him.

[inhale]

I hope his hair never lays down right.

I hope his collar always rubs against his neck wrong.

I hope his jeans are always scratchy, his deodorant always sticky, and his girlfriend always bitchy.

I hope he takes a laxative and then can’t get his pantyhose off. (tm Golden Girls)

I hope his ass never stops itching, his faucet never stops leaking, and his nose never stops running.

I hope he gets a corn hull stuck in his throat for days and can’t get it out no matter how much he goes “KGGGKKKKKKK.”

I hope his car gets keyed, his house gets TP’d and his wallet gets stolen.

I hope he grows man-boobs and ear hair.

I hope he can’t ever get it up.

I hope his Windows crashes with abandon.

I hope he is regularly noogied, wedgied and Indian-burned.

I hope he never ever dreams that he can fly.

I hope his girlfriend leaves him for Tom Brady.

I hope he skates poorly, trips often and sneezes much.

I hope he hits his funny bone with force.

I hope his dog pees in his skates and I hope his cat barfs hairballs into his cereal.

I hope the sticky notes never stick for him, the lights never change for him and the ProActiv never works for him.

And finally, I hope Sidney Crosby skates right past him with the Cup hoisted high above his head, and I hope Sid winks.

[exhale]

When I think of “caring lawyers” …

When I think of truth, honor, integrity, and all of those other things/words/ideas that make a person want to stand up and salute something …

I always think of bikini-clad boxing ring card girls.

God bless the “caring lawyers” at Rosen Louik & Perry P.C.

(photo courtesy of Saucy who was all, “Well, sex DOES sell.”)

Here’s some facts that we know:

• Don Barden is delaying plans for construction of an outdoor amphitheater and boat dock at his North Shore casino and is altering the look of a riverfront promenade, all in a bid to save money. The proposed changes drew a rebuke from the Riverlife Task Force, which maintained that Mr. Barden was cutting corners on amenities that sold the state Gaming Control Board on his project and won him the city’s sole slots license.
• Work on the North Shore slots parlor came to a halt yesterday after Don Barden failed to come up with $10 million needed to keep construction going, even as he announced he had secured a $120 million investment in the project from a company headed by a Chicago billionaire and fellow casino owner.
• The heavy borrowing by Mr. Barden had been a concern of Wall Street credit rating agencies and forced the Detroit businessman to put his Fitzgerald’s casino in Las Vegas up for sale to raise $35 million to invest in his North Shore slots parlor.
• He noted one of his concerns is that with the $120 million investment replacing Apollo’s $150 million loan, Mr. Barden still appears to be $30 million short of the $780 million he said he needed to complete the casino’s financing.
• The losses are piling up for Don Barden’s casinos in Indiana, Mississippi and Colorado.
• In an annual report filed Friday, Majestic Star Casino LLC reported $26.1 million in losses last year and claimed $556.7 million in debt, leaving it with very little cash to upgrade its properties to better compete.

I’d like to know:

1.  I’d like to know if it’s too late to give the license to Franco or Mario or you know, anyone with actual money or at least the ability to get their hands on actual money.

2.  I’d like to know why they picked Don Barden in the first place.  I mean, really why.  Not the fake reasons.  The REAL reasons.   Like specifically, I would like to know who he has dirty pictures of.

1. People, friends, Burghers, my loves, I have lots of emails to respond to (I’m looking at you, Goob, Tracy, Kathleen, DW, and maybe 400 more), and I’m going to get to them. Watch your email boxes.

2. OMG. Srsly. Matt Capps. Inventing new ways to blow saves. Can we give up on this guy for a bit? At least until he stops betting against the Buccos of Suckitude. What is that, four blown saves in a row? Luckily, it didn’t matter yesterday.

3. Okay, I have to ask. Yesterday I was watching the Buccos game and I think in the sixth inning, Jose Bautista goes up to bat, right after my next possible self-united husband Dougie put up a nice sacrifice fly, and Dougie is shown telling Jose what to expect pitch-wise from the particular pitcher on the mound.

He was intense and all, “Jose?! Jose! Come ‘ere. Listen. Fastball. Low in the center. Firm. Curve. Pirates of Montezuma. Then another fastball. Wait.” Then he goes over to the bench, gets this little black book and continues, “Okay. Here we go. Fastball. Inside low. Curve. Montezuma’s Revenge. Medusa’s Spit. Wait for your pitch. Go get ‘em, boy.”

Here’s my question. Don’t they have coaches for this kind of thing? They weren’t kidding when they said Doug was bringing leadership to this team.

Also? They still suck. But this year, I’m having more fun watching the suck.

4. The fix is in re: those kids that made the duct tape prom clothes.

The competition operated on a “one vote per person per day” principle, allowing voters so inclined to cast up to seven votes per week. Ms. Dranko said the couple currently in first place gained more than 60,000 votes in a single day.

I smell shenanigans.

5. Now that we’ve tied up Geno/Gino (which is it?) for about six years, I guess I don’t need to worry about pulling him off of my blog banner anytime soon. Whew. That’s all I was worried about.

6. Rumor mill whispers, according to Mondesi’s House, are that PittGirl’s dream might come true. Did the Penguins offer a contract to Jaromir Jagr? Gosh. I hope so.

You guys, picture it. Sid, Geno, Hossa, Jagr. I’m getting tingly.

7. Hines Ward a “dirty” football player?! According to the NFL Coaches Poll he is among them:

Dallas Cowboys safety Roy Williams, notorious for horse-collar tackling, finished second in the coaches’ poll with two votes. Four players drew one vote apiece: New York Giants linebacker Antonio Pierce, Pittsburgh Steelers receiver Hines Ward, Tennessee Titans center Kevin Mawae and Chicago Bears center Olin Kreutz.

Really? Okay, football fanatics, please explain to me how Hines is a dirty player because I’m obviously biased and see no wrong in Hines Ward. Other than maybe in his business management skills.

(h/t James)

8. Pittsburgh ranks 81 out of 100 in a listing of The Sweatiest Cities in America, based “on computer simulations of the amount of sweat an average person would have produced walking around in cities during the summer months last year.”

You can be a “half-full” person and say, “Hey! We’re not a very stinky people!”

Or you can be a “half-empty” person and say, “Yeah. That’s cause our summer weather sucks donkey omelets.”

(h/t DW)

9. The article that every man in America will be printing out and handing to his wife/girlfriend all, “There you go. Scientific, factual, cannot-be-disputed evidence that it’s good for you! I’m SAVING YOUR LIFE! You’re welcome.”

Be sure to take a look at that web address, though, ’cause I sure didn’t.

(h/t Capt. Dummy)

A family in Mercer County says they found a spider in a bag of grapes.

Vikki Spencer and her daughter Amanda Masotto, from Sharpsville, believe it was a black widow spider. The arachnid appeared to have the distinctive red hour glass shape on it.

They bought the grapes from a Giant Eagle in Hermitage.

Amanda was washing the grapes when she thought she saw a tomato stem in the bag.

“And I went in to reach in to grab the tomato stem because I didn’t think it should be there obviously and then it moved,” she said. “So that’s when I threw the bag down and I said, ‘Mom, there’s a spider in the bag.’ ”

Amanda was not bitten.

Thoughts:

1.  Grapes are from nature.  Spiders live in nature.  A spider could conceivably be hanging out in some grapes.  Why is this news?  It’s not like they found a black widow spider hanging out in a freshly opened package of bikini underwear or anything.  Now THAT’S news.

2.  Who called KDKA about this?  “Yeah, KDKA, I just wanted to let you know that … are you sitting down, KDKA?  Okay.  I found a spider in my grapes.  When can you come by with the camera crew?  Will Ken Rice be there?”

3.  The only way I’m calling KDKA about a spider found running amok through my grapes is if that spider is a tarantula.  A dancing tarantula.  That appears to have a picture of a weeping Mary etched in his fur.

I wrote about this before, this wish fulfilled by The Duke of Fug and the Earl of Gross and the Steelers and ESPN, and now, the video is done and available and I keep writing the word and because if I stop writing I’m going to cry a little, damn it.

First, the kid, his story. It’s just not fair, right?

And then his dad cries and then he meets the press and then Benny charges in all WTF? Let’s get to work, damn it!

And then there’s Jeremy Bloom ever so briefly and all the players are sure to lay a hand on him, to touch him, and his brother won’t stop holding his hand, and then Benny calls him into the huddle and then he gets the hand-off and then he’s wheeling away and the players, they can’t catch him no matter how hard they dive, and then he gets a touchdown and they’re all jumping up and down and cheering and doing the silly dances and then there’s like this wetness on my cheeks or something because again…

it’s just not fair.

Right?

And.

(h/t James)

1.  Doing my duty as the next carrier monkey, I obediently spread Texas Death (which may or may not be strep throat.  I refuse to have a throat culture done because I tend to violently shove people that intentionally gag me) right on to Pens Fan Sister whose husband called me yesterday all, “Yeah.  She wants to know if your ears burned, too.”

Oh, yeah.  Burning ears.  She totally has Texas Death.  Poor thing.  I recommended tequila mixed with crushed Advil.

2.  As I Twittered/Tweeted/Twat? yesterday … What team is Matt Capps playing for these days?

Because it sure as hell isn’t the Buccos.  Once again, nice save, Matt.

3.  The new Dunkin’ Donuts opened in Market Square and I haven’t been there yet.  I plan to heed the call to worship tomorrow morning though.

(h/t Liz)

4.  The KDKA morning team has a behind-the-scenes video up with Sonni acting as cameragirl and it’s adorable and cute and I wish she would dump her hockey player boyfriend and hook up with the fun traffic guy so I can write a movie about it.

Anyway, great video, but there’s one thing missing.  Two words.  Dance. Fever.

(h/t Bill)

5.  Damn.  Some lady actually wrote Cat for advice on buying a vibrator to which Cat sends her to several online stores, tells her to have fun buying it, to read the reviews and to not spend too much money.

And then there’s her call: 

Cat’s Call: “Cordless” and “extra batteries,” that’s all I’m going to say.

Holy hell, CAT!  Too much frickin’ information!

6.  The Steelers dumped (heh) Najeh Davenport AKA The Dump Truck AKA The Defecator, the man that famously once took a dump in his girlfriend’s closet because he was pissed at her.  Yesterday, this email pooped, er popped into my inbox:

The Defecator

From: Right Wing Nutjob (pompous.windbag@xxxxxxxxxxx)

Sent:  Mon 6/30/08 1:05 PM

To:  pittblogger@hotmail.com

Maybe he’s a furry and there was a litter box in the closet?

First, HAH!

Second, Dad, is that you?

I’ll believe this forecast when the sun actually shows up for more than two hours without running away screaming from the giant blackish purple clouds of doom and hail and HAHA!  Let’s go mess with PittGirl’s new Dish TV/HD set-up and show that tripod-mounted sissy satellite dish who’s boss.

I’m tired of it.

I’m tired of looking at the forecast to see that today, just today, it will storm … followed by four days of sun.  Every single day.  And the sun never comes to stay.  The forecast just keeps changing.  Oh, did we say it would be sunny on Sunday?  Yeah, that’s not happening.  But it will be sunny on Monday.  Sunday is going to be the usual hail and shit.

Oh, did we say it would be sunny on Monday?  Yeah, funny thing about Monday …

I’m tired of enjoying myself at a party, sitting outside having a nice conversation with my imaginary self-united husbands, just to look to the west and see the now commonplace ominous curtain of purple moving in rapidly — so fast that we’re suddenly pelted with mini-hail, and David Conrad grabs his book and takes off running all, “With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day.”

Daniel will look very puzzled and say, “I don’t get why you had to marry him, too.  He makes no sense. Like ever.” and then he gently picks me up and runs for cover while punting pigeons left and right and Matt jogs alongside holding the umbrella muttering, “You think he’s bad?  She’s thinking about marrying Doug Mientkiewicz, too.”

Oh.  Yes.