Lady Looks Like a Dude

At this year's World Track and Field Championships in Berlin, Germany, all eyes have been fixed on Usain Bolt, the freakishly tall and fast Jamaican who has shattered the world records in the 100- and 200-meter dashes.

That was, until this chiseled, handsome young sprinter from South Africa burst on to the scene to obliterate the competition in the women's 800-meter final.

That's right, the women's 800-meter final. Now, we here at WWKRD are not licensed in any sort of medical field, nor have we ever claimed to have practical experience in gender testing, but we have come to the conclusion that Semenya is likely not a woman - at least not totally. 

Could it be possible that the track and field world has seen it's first tranny superstar? It certainly appears possible. 

What's even more amusing is the manner in which track governing body IAAF is handling the situation. A gender test was ordered several weeks ago - a process which inexplicably takes quite some time. 

Reports state that the gender test "takes weeks to complete, requires a physical medical evaluation, and includes reports from a gynecologist, endocrinologist, psychologist, an internal medicine specialist, and an expert on gender."

An EXPERT ON GENDER?? 

We can only imagine the years of study and training one must endure to come to the conclusion that a person owns either a penis or a vagina. We're pretty sure this guy could tell you that in about 10 seconds, and for much less money than the standard IAAF process.

Adding to the hilarity is that gender testing was once required for all female athletes at the Olympics, but was abandoned in 1999 - probably because it doesn't take a team of doctors and scientists to distinguish a shaft and some nuts from a hoo-ha. 

One of Semenya's former teachers had some humorous commentary on the matter:

"She was always rough and played with the boys," said Eric Modiba, head of the Nthema Secondary School. "She never wore a dress. It was only in Grade 11 that I realized she's a girl."

Wow. 

So, even in these modern times of teacher-student affairs and pregnancies, a male instructor didn't know if this person was a dude or a chick. That's certainly not good for one's morale.

We here at WWKRD certainly wish Semenya the best, regardless of the outcome of her test. We hope that she would not manufacture a 'mangina' for the purpose of entering an all-female race and earning international renown. We certainly hope that she wouldn't undergo some sort of tribal castration or Manny Ramirez-like feminine hormone gorging to gain a competitive edge. 

All we can hope is that the truth is revealed, and that it comes in the form similar to that depicted in the film "The Crying Game" - where Semenya, proudly accepting her medal on the winner's stand, lowers his/her drawers, fishes deep betwixt her legs, and produces that which we all know is there (allegedly).

Godspeed, Caster Semenya!

WWKRD Inaugural Man of the Week Award

It's time for the first WWKRD Man of the Week Award, given to those who embody all the integrity and bad-assedness expected of a true man in these harsh times.

The first award goes to none other than Mr. Clint Eastwood, whose no-nonsense awesomeness has stood the test of time for more than a half-century. 

Best known for his Man With No Name Trilogy, Dirty Harry, and his successful exploits as a director, Mr. Eastwood has refrained from rolling over to the trends of sissy boys and demands of Hollywood assholes. Rather, he has produced countless films laden with serious ass-whoopings, blatant exploitation of race and sex roles, giant guns, sweet cars, explosions, babes, and a beer-guzzling chimpanzee. 

And even as he approaches his 80th birthday, Mr. Eastwood continues to kick ass, as evidenced in last year's 'Gran Torino', where he shamelessly beat this shit out of some mouthy, punk Hmongs from the Detroit suburbs and pounded several cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon - because real men don't drink Stella or Blue Moon.

We here at WWKRD salute you, Clint Eastwood, for your contributions to society and your relentless pursuit of kicking sissy boy ass and scoring babes. Huzzah!

Don't Call it a Comeback

Take solace, readers. Your spirited blogger is not deceased, nor has he been taken out by gang warfare or the aggressive homeless.

Rather, I took an inordinate amount of time off to pursue my vision quest. Much like my proud Native American ancestors did while they roamed the great frontier, I, and all .0025% of my Cherokee blood, needed to escape the digital jungle and escape to the nominal amount of open acreage here in the West San Fernando Valley. Fueled by a unquenchable thirst for knowledge and truth, as well as three cases of Red Bull and some peyote purchased from a nearby mobile home village, I escaped to the wilderness to release the inner child and discover the true purpose of my life and reflect on the current state of man. 

And friends, after this exhausting, enlightening, and sometimes frightening journey, I have come to one simple conclusion...

It's time for testosterone to make a glorious return to America.

In less than a decade, our country has fallen victim to a series of trends and habits, perpetrated by women and homosexuals to suck the power from Joe Manly and level the playing field, opening your average man up to the same ridicule that he once only dished out on others in gym class. 

Be it plucked and shaped eyebrows, fake tans, shaved chests, skinny jeans, faux-hawks, techno music, or fraternities, the American male has bottomed out here in 2009. 

Adding to the slow fade of American manhood is the sudden, astronomical rise in popularity of what we'll call Douchebag Shirts. Whereas man was once content with a simple polo from the Gap, or a button-up from American Eagle, the bar has been lowered and the price raised. Evil sartorial hawkers such as Ed Hardy, Affliction, and RCVA to name a few, have not only emptied out wallets across the map, but have turned many decent, well-intentioned men into giant dickheads. Research indicates that the clothing itself doesn't contain any formulated douche-enhancing chemicals, but rather, the simple status of owning said clothing has an inexplicable ability to elevate a man's levels of arrogance, idiocy, and douchebaggery, while simultaneously stripping him of all masculine credibility to the discerning eye, or "The Seers" as we shall call them.

The Seers are those who have managed to deflect the attempts on their masculinity; those who recognize that $20 Levis from Target will not only last longer than $400 Sevens, but also look way less gay. Seers know that V-neck shirts are simply an evolution of women's low-cut blouses, and to be seen in such a shirt is to be sucked free of all manhood. Seers know that there is never, ever, an appropriate occasion to leave half your shirt unbuttoned or to side-tuck your shirt in. 

The problems extend into the world of entertainment, where popular music groups and movie stars have seen their masculinity flushed straight down the toilet, a phenomena scientists have labeled "pussification." Keep reading for further examination of this phenomena. 

In closing, your diligent, baseball cap and Wrangler-wearing blogger will continue to bear the torch of manhood, fighting the good fight for all the Seers out there. 

Until next time, my friends, do as Kurt would do...

Cold Case?

Nearly a decade has passed. The perpetrators remain on the prowl. And most disturbingly, the public has seemingly lost interest. 

But yet, the question remains...

Who let the dogs out?

This horrific, inhumane act of defiance was first brought to our attention by the upbeat, pop-reggae musical act 'Baja Men'. A whirlwind of fame and popularity followed for these gentlemen, yet no one seemed too concerned with the welfare of the freed canines. 

Cynics will argue that Baja Men served not only as the town criers, but as the criminals themselves, releasing the hounds in a complex scheme to propel themselves into pop music superstardom. 

But the Baja Men were never formally arraigned on charges, as the public and most law enforcement agencies were cast under the spell of the group's musical atrocity, and like every other American, left asking 'Who let the dogs out? Who? Who? Who? Who?'

Needless to say, PETA activists were quick to attack both the Baja Men and law enforcement for their gross negligence in the matter, but not even the PETA-induced tidal wave of guilt could spurn accountability from either side. 

And that, perhaps, is what plagues this case today, in the waning days of 2008:

Who, of all these people, is accountable? 

Until someone steps forward with answers, with truth, the public can only sit back and ponder the fates of those poor, innocent animals, who were so abruptly and inexplicably freed from their chain-link penitentiaries in what must have been a glorious moment of unbridled canine joy, but what soon spiraled into a dark and uncertain dose of reality - that no one is going to put that food in your dish anymore. No one is going to scoop your poop, brush your hair, or take you for walks anymore. 

No - this was suddenly the ultimate 'walk' - the walk of Life. 

As for WWKRD, we came to our own conclusion.

They're dead.

Pigskin

What a zany, action-packed weekend of football! A few standout games:

- USC/Ohio St. - Ohio State rolls into Tinseltown sans Beanie Wells and leaves sans dignity.

- Auburn/Miss. St. - Final score 3-2. Even the narcoleptics were changing the channel on this one.

- BYU/UCLA - It appears the Mormons were not happy about a throng of liberals threatening their holy land. Final score 59-0. This means that USC should beat the Bruins by roughly 175 points.

WWKRD recognizes the SEC as the nation's strongest conference, and is excited about this weekend's slate of games, including Florida/Tennessee, LSU/Auburn, and Alabama/Arkansas. Our mild stunner of the week is Vandy knocking off Ole Miss.

In a perfect world, every day would be an autumn Saturday, but alas, we're stuck with Tuesday.

Brent Musburger...

...needs to perish in a fiery plane crash. He's one of the few people on this earth that can actually make watching college football a miserable experience.

Bring back Keith Jackson!

Only In America

Having been immersed in Hurricane Ike coverage for several hours now, WWKRD has come to the conclusion that professional athletes should be removed from their pedestals and replaced by on-the-scene weather reporters.

Case in point- The Weather Channel. For years, this network has initiated newb reporters by throwing them into the fire, alone at the mercy of Mother Nature. We've all seen it - helpless saps being pelted by golfball-sized hail, tossed about by tornadoes, drilled by hurricane-force winds...

Will someone please tell us why that isn't worthy of a six-figure salary, but running up and down a field tackling another man is?!

Maybe it's just WWKRD, but consider these hypothetical stat lines for a pro football player and a seasoned weather reporter:

Football Player: 500 career tackles, 3 Pro Bowls, 2 Division Championships, 1 Super Bowl appearance.

Weather Reporter: 18 Hurricanes, 12 tornadoes, 3 tsunamis, 2 earthquakes, 87 direct hail hits taken, zero microphone-related electrocutions

Seems to me like Mr. Weather Reporter puts his brass directly in the face of danger to a considerably more dangerous degree than Mr. Jock, yet where's all the fame and glory?

There isn't any. Why not? Easy...

Money. Mr. Weather Reporter isn't bringing in the green backs like Mr. Jock. Perhaps if there was some sort of corporate-sponsored Weather Reporting League, things would be different. Each network pitting their finest against one another, seeing who could come the closest to death without croaking - it's sort of like bullfighting in a way. Fans across the nation would have fantasy Weather Reporter leagues, tearing their hair out each week for their shot at imaginary accomplishment. Think of the marketing and merchandising potential - being able to buy your favorite reporter's rain slicker, or his/her own line of industrial-strength umbrellas. Hell, how about a Weather Reporter video game?? Hop in the news van and chase the tornado, arrive before the competing network does and get off the first live shot. The revenue projections are mind-boggling.

But alas, there's not much revenue or marketing potential for weather reporters. You'd think that America would latch on to these brave, selfless souls, dedicating their lives to informing and protecting the public. But no, we'd rather cheer on a bunch of brainless oafs and prima donnas, many of whom never finished college, several of whom having lengthy criminal records - a handful who've even been accused of murder.

It's time to wake up, America. It's time to recognize the next generation of heroes. WWKRD salutes you, Mr./Mrs. Weather Reporter.