Learn the Shit-Talking Game, Son

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I love football. I think it is my favorite sport. Actually, you know what? It’s not! My favorite sport is shit-talking. Football is only around for a third of the year, but shit-talking is a year-round sport. There is no better feeling than getting off a nice quip. In my opinion, real men don’t physically fight each other. Violence isn’t good for anything except for movies. Real men and women (I want to be inclusive) fight their battles with razor sharp tongues.

Shit-talking, when done correctly is sport at its purest form. It requires intelligence, and sometimes a quick reaction time. (Don’t you hate it when later in the day you’re like ‘Ohh, I should have said that!’), It requires a fine balance of a potent offense and an opportunistic defense. That is why rap battles or roasts are so popular. They allow someone to show off their creativity, make people laugh or react in other amusing ways, and no one must go the hospital after. The only thing that gets hurt is someone’s feelings. There is literally nothing bad about it when done right.

I believe that we are living in troubled times. I worry that shit-talking is being destroyed by racists, politicians, overly-sensitive people and people who think they are funny but are not/ lack creativity. Shit-talking isn’t saying to someone “Hey, you’re a fat ass!” or “You smell like shit!” That isn’t funny or creative. That is just being mean, an asshole if you will. Yes, a good shit-talker must be somewhat of an asshole. I mean, these cracks must originate from some evil, inappropriate part of someone’s subconscious. A grizzled smack-talking vet knows the game and would never settle for rudimentary jabs. They know that if they are going to talk shit, that they will need to be able to receive it back. This doesn’t scare them! This doesn’t make them want to punch someone or report them to some authoritative figure. They look at it as an opportunity to retort and up their game. This is isn’t the end of the world, this is a challenge!! It’s on bitch!! Let’s do it!

The mystical art of comedic verbal warfare is in danger. It may be the biggest problem facing our world today. Social media has taken over. In the past, sassy exchanges had to take place at school, among friends or on the basketball courts (Where I used to school fools!) With apps, such as, Twitter, Facebook, etc. we now can talk trash to people all over the world!! You can type some shit, translate it in google and send it to someone in China! How amazing is that? It is wonderful- well it should be wonderful. However, this is all being ruined by overly sensitive people. Good luck making a joke about anything, anymore. Now every word that comes out of our mouths must be analyzed through a sensitivity filter. Make a fat joke and you are fat shaming. Make any joke about any race, you’re racist. This isn’t to discount racism in this world, but let’s stop taking ourselves too seriously. Most humor is based on making fun of someone or something. Have we lost the ability to tell the difference between hate and inappropriateness? I realize I am over-simplifying, but I think you get the point. Softies and some of the apps themselves are trying to censor and ruin good, wholesome fun.

When talking about the sensitive nature of people, I would be remiss not to mention sensitive people who attempt to talk shit. A true “talker of the shit” has no problem making fun of themselves, self-deprecation is an essential training tool, it thickens the skin and helps hone the craft. The “social media tough guys” who sling insults (Typically unfunny variations of your fat and smell like shit, etc.) will make fun of someone: their favorite sport teams or celebrities, with a quickness. However, as soon as they are challenged with a barb wittier than theirs, they either throw in a fuck you then block or tuck their tail between their legs and tattle…like little bitches. I can respect someone who mutes or blocks because they don’t enjoy the shit-talking experience. That is acceptable, and I can respect that, but if you engage in the exchange and then pull some dumb ass pussy shit, you probably taste your own juices when you masturbate. If you can’t take the heat, don’t participate. It’s that simple.

Let’s keep shit-talking alive and well. Stop being pussies. Stop running to mama. Put thought into your responses. Stop taking yourself so goddamn seriously. Stop reading too deeply into shallow comments meant to sting, but most importantly- FUCK THE MOTHERFUCKING JETS IN FIREMAN ED’S ASS!

P.S… To all you overly sensitive, reporting-ass Jets fans: You are fat and smell like shit.

Dolphins 69 Jets (-5)

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19-0

hope

That’s right, 19-0.

The Miami Dolphins are going to win every game this season and finally bring home another Lombardi trophy. I can’t wait to see the celebration parade down the streets of Knightdale, North Carolina. Okay, maybe they won’t have a parade in Knightdale. I am a man of reason, after all. If the Dolphins, by some chance, lose to the Shite-ans, then we will go 18-1. If we lose the next game, we will go 17-2 and so on and so on. You get the picture. By this point, you are probably either closing the window and reading something else on the internet or asking yourself- what is he fucking talking about?

My point is this: Football is an escape, a fantasy. I realize that it isn’t for the people who play or coach it, etc. I am talking about all of us overweight, over-stressed, underpaid assholes who obsess over this silly game year-round. So, when I say my team is going to go undefeated, they are going undefeated, motherfucker.

“You have to be realistic!”

“There is no way the Dolphins aren’t gonna lose any games! Lower your expectations!”

Fuck all y’all!

I don’t tell you that your kid is gonna grow up and be an ugly ogre and that its head is shaped like a mango, when you say to me “isn’t this the most beautiful child you have ever seen?”

Why do people feel the need to remind others that their hopes and dreams are stupid and everything in life will disappoint them? I mean, come on! We all wake up every morning and face the same underwhelming day, filled with nothing noteworthy or exciting. Then we go home and do it again the next day.

WASH… RINSE…REPEAT…DIE.

“The Miami Dolphins haven’t done shit for 20 years!”

From my point of view, the Miami Dolphins have had 20 years of winning off-seasons! 20 years of making the right moves… moves that were gonna take us to the next level… moves that would deliver us to the promised land!

All these thoughts have been proven to be false. No shit! That doesn’t matter. We can look back with perfect vision and see all the mistakes, some more obvious than others. However, that doesn’t change a damn thing. I choose to remember the excitement of bringing in Brandon Marshall, Mike Wallace, trading up to draft Dion Jordan, or possibly bringing in Peyton Manning. These were, and are, all genuine “feels”. Regardless on how the signings turned out and how we may feel about those assholes now. It was genuine excitement and hope. We can all focus on the end results and slit our wrists (If that’s the case, just stop watching football entirely… You don’t get the game), or we can focus on the process or the journey, however you want to put it , as opposed to the missteps and heartbreaks that led to less than desirable outcomes. This takes me back to the fantasy aspect. If the Dolphins win or lose, it affects our lives exactly zero percent. Don’t give me this  ‘it does affect me mentally and that matters!!’ stuff. Go write a blog about your feelings, you bitch. We all get mad, but if you are punching holes in your door, that is your fault!

As I sit here on the eve of another perfect season, I just want to say to all you naysayers, eat all the dicks and suck all the balls in the world! If others and I want to leave our heads in the sand and hope for the best, leave us alone. We are just trying to live our best lives. We are just looking for our beacon of light in this shitstorm of a world. You may have Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, or Tom Cruise. I have the Miami Dolphins, and that’s all I need.


Miami Dolphins 2018 predictions:

Record: 19-0

NFL MVP: Ryan Tannehill

NFL OROY: Mike Gesicki

NFL DROY: Minkah Fitzpatrick

NFL DPOY: Robert Quinn

NFL OPOY: Kenyan Drake

Superbowl Champs: Miami Dolphins

NFL Podcast of the Year: 4th & Inches #InchesBetter


Special Announcement from the Inches Crew:

Do you love RDubbles’ work? Don’t be stupid, of course you do. Be sure to tune into 4th & Inches on Monday, as he will be appearing as our very special guest on the first show of the regular season! You’d literally have to be a fucking idiot to miss it.

Robservations – Vol I

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Hello, my name is Rob. You may know me from my terrible photo manipulations, most notably my crescent roll shaped penis (coined by @Suttonlacesout). I can’t help it, it’s too adorable. If that doesn’t ring a bell, perhaps you are familiar with my ongoing saga “Game of Inches”. If you haven’t read it, then you are missing out literature in its highest form. On that note, I will also be contributing colorful articles here on FinsLook.com, home of “4th & Inches – Elite Dolphins Talk”.

As you are aware, this Dolphins podcast/website is different from all others. How many Dolphins podcasts do you know that talk about shitting ninja stars, or have their own stories about fantastical creatures with enormous ‘scrotes’? If you want to read articles about wide nines, wide receivers and tight ends, you are probably a perv, as these all sound like categories on Youporn- most likely the gay section. (I’m not judging, be yourself. I support your lifestyle.)

I guess this is a good place to warn you. I will probably, at some point, offend you in one way or another- suck it up buttercup. What was I saying? Oh yeah! While I will discuss topics related to the Miami Dolphins- don’t plan on any film review, discussions about different offensive and defensive formations, when and how they are used, or anything like that. If you like that stuff, cool, there are plenty of places you can read about that stuff, but it bores me to tears. I don’t want to shit on people who do that. There is a lot of quality work happening.

This is a place to roll your eyes and hang your head in shame, as I assume you will finish the article and then feel guilty about doing so. Maybe you will just skim through it, like I do with everything I read. That’s fine, asshole! Anyway, without further ado, let’s get on with it…

4th and inches was built on a foundation of two subjects: The Miami Dolphins, and toilet gasket usage (to go bare-ass or not). I am 39-years old, and I have never used an ass gasket, ever. Look, I am not going to sit on a seat covered with piss, shit, or curly Q’s. I am not a savage. I will get some paper towels and wipe down the seat. If I have time and the bathroom isn’t busy, I may even use soap and water and then dry it off. This method is very risky though. I can’t tell you how many times, at my old job, that I would be halfway through the cleaning process and some dirty motherfucker would waddle his ass into my freshly wiped stall as I am throwing away the cleaning towels. As I said earlier, I am not a savage. You never flush paper towels, unless you are a piece of trash human.

The idea of using an ass gasket never crossed my mind. I am not a quick shitter, and usually I produce a thin layer of sweat between my ass and the seat. The thought of sitting on a soggy piece of paper is not enticing. In all honesty, I would rather sit on a droplet of pee. However, over the last few months the “bare-ass” debate got me thinking. I am old enough to know that just because I haven’t done something before, doesn’t mean it’s bad or that I won’t like it. A few days ago, this existential debate manifested itself in real life, and I have forever been changed.

It was the Sunday after the Dolphins played the Panthers (See?! Dolphins related story!). We had driven to Charlotte on Friday morning, munching carrot sticks and hummus on the way. We got there and found a little vegan spot where I ate fried Thai chili cauliflower and a vegan fried chicken sandwich. We got back to our hotel, where I bare-assed. We went to the game and ate a mushroom pizza right after. It was around midnight. We then traveled back home the next day. This may seem like unimportant information, but I believe it is relevant to the story.

Flash forward to Sunday morning… (I may have had a little poo sesh on Saturday, but not enough to clear out the random shit I had eaten the day before). My wife and I decided to go shopping at Wal-Mart. Anyone who grocery shops there knows that it is the best time to go. My guts were a little grumbly that morning, but nothing out of the ordinary– or so I thought.

About 20 minutes into the shopping excursion, I thought to myself: “Hmm, I might have to poop when I get home.”

10 minutes after that, I thought: “I may have to shit at Wal-Mart!”

10 minutes after that: “I may shit my pants!”

This is when the internal debate began. Can I make it home? I told my wife I may have to go to the bathroom.

“Honey, I think I have to take a shit.”

“Here?”

“Yes”

“Ok.”

“No, I will hold it till we get home.”

“Ok..”

“No, I have to go now!”

“Ok… Give me your wallet so I can pay for these groceries.”

Just for the record. Sometimes eating vegan can result in unpredictable bowel habits: 0- 100 in a matter of seconds, if you catch my drift.

We were in the produce section, which was in the front of the store. You never shit in the front of the store. You use the bathrooms in the back. Everyone knows that. Ok, maybe not everyone. For the sake of transparency, I have taken way too many shits at Wal-Mart. I ain’t proud, but shit happens. So, this intestinal cramping intensified; my rectum felt like it was pulsating like the bass line from Queen’s classic rock song “Under pressure”. It was on! If I didn’t waddle to the back of the store right then, I’d be in big trouble. Flop sweat was forming, and my butthole felt like a little finger was trying to poke out from the inside. This was way too much stress for a Sunday morning! What if the bathroom was a hot mess? I ain’t have time to make it back to the front of the store and survey that situation, but luckily, the bathroom had been cleaned. God is real!! Praise!!

So I made it to the handicapped stall, and there it was, the metal housing that contains the sheets of paper that separates the bare-assers from the rest of the world. Why, in this time of crisis I thought it would be a good time to try using one for the first time is beyond me.

I pulled out the first sheet and it ripped in half. I pulled out the other half and threw it in the toilet. Goddammit!! I pulled out a second sheet and accidentally droped it in the toilet. What the fuck? I pulled out the third sheet and set it on the seat. I went to sit down, and my butt cheek pushed half of the gasket into the toilet. Screw this! I placed my bare ass on that cool Wal-Mart toilet seat and fired away. Relief at last!!

What I didn’t realize was that all these gaskets created a shit raft. It was like a little poo refugee trying to flee its tiny communist island because of a tyrannical dictator. I am used to being separated from my poos by about 6 inches of water. To see this poo so close was a little unsettling, to be honest. It made me realize how photo-realistic the poo emoji is, well, except for the eyes and smile. So, I waved goodbye and sent him on his way. I like to imagine that he found the peace he was looking for and will spend the rest of his days raising a family and working hard for an honest day’s pay- but I digress.

What did I learn from this little adventure? Bare-assing is so much easier. Those gaskets are a pain in the ass. Why would anyone take the time or put that much effort into doing something that probably doesn’t even protect you from anything? I mean, urine is sterile. Maybe I am just bitter because I don’t know how to use it properly, and it makes me feel like a dummy. I want to believe that it is merely the universe’s way of creating diversity, and it’s up to us accept this challenge. Some use paper under their butts to poop and others don’t. That’s ok! We should embrace it. There is nothing wrong with being different. I can see it now- bare-assers and non-bare-assers holding hands and ushering in a new era of acceptance and peace, one BM at a time.

Oh, and one more thing… #InchesBetter

 


Letter from the Editor: While management does not condone the bare-assing of public toilets, we are still quite pleased to have Rob on the team. If you would like to support his soon-to-be award-winning writing career, please use the share button below and spread his work far and wide.