The Booty music video breaks new ground by doing nothing other than showing Jennifer Lopez and Iggy Azalea twerking their oiled down asses while some auto-tuned sound maker repeats the word booty. It’s actually kind of genius. Pretending pop stars can sing has always been a major boner kill. It’s like pretending your CES hooker cares about your new streaming music player. Enjoying these pop stars more simply as ass-fat injected sex objects designed almost entirely for smoking cigarettes seductively and fucking, that’s so much simpler. Booty eliminates any obligation to shake your head to the music, pretend you know any words, or ignore the fact that Jennifer Lopez is tone deaf. It’s just a little ditty about using your big shitter to please your man. I see this is as progress. When Lopez and Azalea complete the Booty trilogy with Spank and Finger Rape, this entire opus will come fully into perspective.
Miley Cyrus celebrated Mexican Independence Day by having her ass repeatedly slapped with a Mexican flag, while in Mexico. As Miley was bending over and twerking with her drop dead hilarious oversized fake ass, one of her token locally hired day laborer male backup dancers whipped her ass with the symbol of Mexico’s national pride, such as it is. Now Mexican lawmakers are threatening to fine her $1,200 dollars or have her detained for 36 hours because they don’t understand currency exchange.
Unlike your average Mexican citizen, American pop stars will gladly produce ten years of your salary in order to avoid disappearing under your custody. No word on the guy doing the whipping, but the overwhelming odds are he lacks cash or even basic toiletries so extracting money is a lost cause. He’ll probably be put in irons and forced to work the Ensenada parasailing booths. I don’t see how Cyrus can go lower in her repeated failed attempts at provoking reaction. Maybe shitting on Ground Zero or face humping the Lincoln Memorial would garner a few headlines. It’s not really punk if your Beverly Hills media firms plans it out on paper first. But it is pretty fucking lucrative.
Photo Credit: Instagram
Meredith Vieira is the latest public figure to use the Janay Rice punch to the kisser as a jumping off point for her own tale of sticking with an abusive man. Meredith got grabbed roughly and called names and scalded in the shower as a younger woman experiencing bad love. She chose to stay because she was scared and guilty. Also, somewhat presciently, she knew the experience might come in handy as a sweeps week teaser on her afternoon talk show decades later.
This whole victim as hero is the pendulum swing response to victim as ‘dumb bitch’ crude meme that went around about Janay Rice for signing up for a lifetime of happiness with the dude who dragged her hair first out of an elevator. I don’t see it either way. I understand why some women stick out abusive relationships. Who knows which of us wouldn’t do the same in a different situation. Fuck, I’ve stuck it out with horrible women before for dumber reasons. But heroic? No, just stupid. We’re all stupid. There’s no shame.
I’m pretty sure I heard about this before and just put it out of my mind. But now I can’t get Take It to the Hub out of my head. The new Coolio mega-hit with over 3,000 listens couldn’t possibly be more cravenly sponsored by Porn Hub. Apparently, somebody in marketing decided men need musical encouragement to look for porn online.
I saw her pussy and her titties [something inaudible that rhymes with last week]
It kept a smile on my face since last week.
That’s actually more profound than Taylor Swift’s new song. Though I wonder if your 2:45 online video time wouldn’t be better just watching Vanessa Del Rio triple penetrated on PornHub rather than hearing Coolio sing a song about it. After the girl’s father and maybe your childhood priest, Coolio seems like the last guy you want in the room during sex.
I’m not a licensed detective, but that doesn’t stop me from solving hard to solve cases on my own time. Like an Equalizer meets Encyclopedia Brown meets somebody who’s pale and has trouble with several flights of stairs at once. I’m pretty sure Britney Spears boyfriend got set up in his ‘cheating’ on Britney Spears breakup offense. How is it that a relatively nondescript paralegal gets to making out with a seasoned porn star in a suburban L.A. bar as somebody is shooting a video of the two that will ultimately be sold to Britney Spears’ dad to keep it off the market? You see how my steel trap of a mind works?
Pretty much any time porn star anything is involved in a story, you know some shitty plot is afoot. Porn stars like Cali Lee only do things for money or drugs or occasionally to help other sick porn stars dying from The AIDS. Even then they go to those fundraisers just to get more drugs. As my grandpa Dan used to say, if you see vultures, something’s dead.
Britney Spears’ boyfriend David Lucado was caught on tape dancing and making out with a woman who was somebody else’s chubby girlfriend. The Britney Spears conservancy, also known as Britney’s dad’s rent money, is spinning the story that they reached out to the ‘agency’ holding the tape and bought it from them for safe keeping. This arrangement used to be called extortion, now it’s all done with lawyers and contracts and paid leaks to TMZ. Before daddy secreted the video in a remote cavern in Costa Rica, he made Britney watch it while he stood in the background with a sinister smile and twirled his mustache. One less claimant on his daughter’s money to worry about. Britney immediately contacted Lucado and told them their year long relationship was over. Poor fuck, he was probably set up.
As always, Britney turned to her three million fans on Instagram to let them know she was having a bad day. The onslaught of heart shaped emoticons and inspirational Pablum lifted Britney’s spirit. Britney’s been thrown off this horse before. She’ll rebound after a month of Nilla wafers and trying to remember where she left her kids.
A few years ago Rob Ford was volunteering as assistant coach for a high school football team and according to newly released documents he abused the shit out of them. Another coach testified that Ford would show up hammered and scream and yell at the kids like that drunk uncle you mock until he hits you with a shovel. For all his lovable loser antics, if Ford really “made the players roll in goose scat” I have to wash my hands of him. Surely when you are wasted and high to the gills on a daily basis you’re going to do some misguided shit, but rolling kids in feces crosses the line. I was more than fine with him grabbing secretarial ass, falling down like a funny fat man, and bragging about eating pussy. His extraordinarily common behavior should have served as an inspiration to politicians across the land. Like most things in life it may have been too good to be true. Ford wasn’t just a walking Chris Farley sketch, he was a mean drunk who probably scarred a bunch of kids who are already being punished by playing football in Canada. I’m still going to laugh when Ford tumbles down his next flight of stairs, I’m just going to be rooting for a vertebrae snap this time.
The term unfortunate accident always gets me to wondering. Is it unfortunate to give a nervous 9-year old girl an Uzi and let her go Gaza Strip crackdown at a gun range or is it kind of more really fucking stupid? The owner of the gun range in question says it’s perfectly legal, since you only need to be eight in Arizona to fire automatic weapons. Plus, the kids are always under the supervision of their parents holding the iPhone camera and a trained range instructor. Like the one who’s dead now because the nine-year-old lost control of the gun on recoil and a bullet pinged him in the head. Death is kind of a rough penalty for an unfortunate accident. But unfortunate accidents at gun ranges do often result in more than a blister or small citation. Mostly I blame the people criticizing Sea World for animal cruelty. Now that it’s so politically incorrect, New Jersey families are heading to Arizona for their summer vacations and making the kids shoot sub-machine guns instead of pretending Shamu loves to clap like a person.
ESPN reporter Josina Anderson did a lengthy report on Michael Sam’s showering situation from the St Louis Rams training camp. Anderson was discussing how Sam was ‘fitting in’ and then launched into a Watergate style recap of whether or not Sam had been showering with other players, presumably in order to stare cravenly at their man meat. She provided a few team sources who basically could neither confirm nor deny that Sam was using the showers. This was unfortunate because everyone watching and voicing how inappropriate we found this really wanted to know. Even the ardent homophobes were hoping to get a blow by blow of who was sudsing who beneath the spigots. ESPN offered an apology making it seem like this dick sighting quest will be stopped in its tracks:
“ESPN regrets the manner in which we presented our report. Clearly yesterday we collectively failed to meet the standards we have set in reporting on LGBT-related topics in sports.”
Obviously, changes had to be made after their hour long piece back in the day on how Greg Louganis is able to hide his boners seeing so many ripped Chinese dudes in Speedos during diving meets. Being the first gay NFL player is probably not easy, so lets assume Michael Sam isn’t a total moron. Even though he made his big visual cake kissing statement on draft day, he will likely refrain from overtly staring at his teammates naked bodies in the shower, and instead take mental images to masturbate to later. Like a professional.
Week three of the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge has devolved into celebrity video selfies and people using the ALS Challenge for entirely different political purposes. Orlando Jones poured bullets on his head in some rather awkwardly phrased rant about police violence in Ferguson. Carla Gugino and Malin Akerman made out and giggled. I think Lou Gehrig would have appreciated that. Now Matt Damon is pouring toilet water over his head to showcase the plight of unclean drinking water in super crappy places around the globe.
In his video Damon says he’d feel bad wasting perfectly good tap water. So he filled his toilet up with perfectly good tap water then poured it into a bucket of ice made from perfectly good tap water and poured it over his head. He noted that toilet water in the U.S is cleaner than drinking water in many parts of the world. He failed to mention that blood tainted with The AIDS virus mixed with used Skid Row needles is cleaner than drinking water in many parts of the world. But I see his point. I’m inviting some of those Central American immigrant kids housed nearby over to my house to drink out of my toilet. We need to baby step them back to bacteria free water or else they might be traumatized.
Damon begrudgingly offers up that fighting ALS is also a good thing. By which he means, hardly anybody knows somebody with the relatively rare ALS disease, but everybody knows somebody with dysentery in Chad. Damon concludes his Ice Bucket Challenge by nominating George Clooney, Bono, and Tom Brady, just in case you weren’t sure if this video made you hate him or not.
Have you heard about this ALS Ice Bucket Challenge that’s going around? Gwyneth Paltrow scratched her noggin and invented a way to raise money for charity while looking like a cool mom in her sensible bikini. Better yet, she nominated her ex-husband Chris Martin to take the challenge, along with her dear friends A-list actress Cameron Diaz and famed celebrity designer Stella McCartney. It’s great how she and Chris remain friends and how happy she is that Chris is dating the hotter younger bigger titted version of herself. Also, how she fills the charity breach like, well, like the North Star of friends. If Gwyneth Paltrow got any more amazing, we’d have to come up with even more radiant nicknames. I bet we could.
Make the ice bucket challenges fucking stop. Please. There’s a point at which Internet memes must be put down. It’s before TV news outlets and public relations reps for celebrities start jumping the bandwagon. I can’t believe a programmed cyborg hasn’t come back from the future yet to put down the guy who started this. The ice bucket challenge is now released into the general public consciousness like an aerosolized Axe Body Spray that can’t be put back in the bottle. It was neat, then it was funny, then it got old, now it’s Lady Gaga. This all happened in two weeks. It’s like America’s ebola. Quarantine, kill, bury, spray, move on.
Oh, but it’s raised $15 million. Fuck you. Write a check and stop putting yourself on camera. I challenge Stephen Hawking, Worf, son of Mogh, and the attractive one of the Cleveland kidnapping victims. Deploy!
I’m not sure what drives people with the power to turn shit into gold to abruptly change their turd supplier. Taylor Swift has decided to leave her wildly successful crappy country singer-songwriter roots for a turn at being Miley Cyrus circa 2009. The result is Shake It Off. Taylor Swift’s new single from her album she describes as the turn to pop music that her inner muse and her label insisted she make.
“I feel like for the last two years there’s been sort of a sonic evolution happening and I’ve been experimenting more and more. And I think you have to follow, just this intuition, this gut feeling. As a songwriter, you just write to write a certain kind of music and you don’t know why.”
The song itself is a simpleton’s over-produced version of her previous songs about how to ignore stupid boys and haters on the Internet. Haters gonna hate hate hate. Players gonna play play play. Yeah, the fuck whatever. Sonic evolution. Twelve year old girls are to music what fat people are to Vegas buffets. There’s not a lot of time spent on qualitative deduction. I would be okay with this entire assemblage of raisin-laden defecation if it weren’t for the last sixty seconds of the music video where ungainly awkward fat kids, “the normals”, all shake off societal hate. What’s the message here, Taylor? Ugly kids are all secretly frustrated victims of an unwritten social caste system that treats them like dirty mongrels? Okay, that part is true. But we don’t need Taylor Swift auto-tuning our childhood trauma in our face. Bring back the guitar and the mean songs about Jake Gyllenhaal or I’m getting rid of my fucking lunchbox.
Kurt Paschke punched a chick in the face during a fight at MetLife Stadium last season. He’s been banned from attending games until October 12. Paschke claims he hit the woman accidentally while he was engaged in the trashy bridge and tunnel tradition of scrapping with some random townie Pats fans. Paschke apparently does not feel too bad about punching the chick and offered up a few bizarre excuses and retarded rationalizations. He also equated his suspension from MetLife to that of actual NFL players:
“You have football players, like Ray Rice, who beats up his wife for no reason other than a drunken argument — he gets a two-game suspension.”
Ray Rice might be more valuable to his team than the toothless fans who spend their kids school supply money on nosebleed seats and scream racial slurs at him. Besides being a lifelong New York Jets fan, Paschke also kind of stabbed a guy to death and served time. After completing a fan conduct course and apologizing Paschke will be allowed to return to games after his suspension. Being a convicted killer and punching women in the face is not grounds for a lifelong ban, like, say, trying to park in the season ticket holder lot. Be forewarned, if you happen to be a member of ISIS in Syria, you’re going to have to do a one-hour slide show on not blocking people’s views with your Death to America signs before you’ll be allowed to attend any Jets games.
While we’re decades past the era any news outlet is going to wait an entire several days to get an accurate story to report, maybe they could say something like ‘First! But, yeah, we are wrong 89% of the time.’ My crappy reporting is more accurate than cable TV news outlets and I don’t even try. Really, I don’t try at all.
Video surveillance released today shows the dead Ferguson teen, Michael Brown, described by friends and family as made of 100% warm and fuzzy and on his way to college, was actually the 6’4, 290 pound dude muscling a tiny convenience store owner in a petty robbery. Darren Wilson, the officer who shot Michael Brown, had no idea that Brown had just robbed a convenience store. Which fills in a nice missing piece for why Brown might have reacted violently to the police officer who was trailing him and telling him to get over to the sidewalk. A convenience store robbery certainly puts your Harvard chances at risk.
None of this has anything to do with asshole cops, racist cops, tanks in the streets, the justice system bias against minorities, civil rights, lady justice, or why the Raiders are allowed to still be an NFL franchise. It’s just another turd on the modern state of journalism. You can’t hold your turds in. You’ll end up like Elvis.
The Chicago Blackhawks responded to an online petition urging them to make their intermission show way less fun. Between periods, The Blackhawks select random fans to play Shoot The Puck, where you try to score a goal to win considerably mediocre prizes. They often pick good looking girls in heels to Shoot the Puck. Its funny to watch a chick in stilettos amble on ice and if you’ve got two minutes to please the mostly male crowd, why not pick the hot girl.
The petition calls for women of ‘All body types’, meaning fat, fatter, and comfortable with my curves, to be selected for the contest. The petition also demands that female members of the short skirts wearing Ice Crew start dressing like Boo Radley and be generally less sexually attractive. The revolutionaries also want the organist to stop playing a song called ‘The Stripper’, because it’s by its very nature offensive to people who hate fun. Finally, the petitioners want more non-fat frozen yogurt options at the concessions so they can pretend they’re dieting.
The Blackhawks have responded to the petition by pledging to put an end to The Stripper and to consider the other requests. This may not seem like a big concession, but it’s farther than the Native Americans got when requesting the hockey team stop using their sacred heritage to promote a sport invented by Canadians. This is because fat women are multiplying like Chipotle locations as the Native population ever dwindles. The income disparity between the BBWs and the Navajo is immense. These ladies will stop at nothing to make us pretend they are exactly like slender women, minus the exercise and self-control. Soon the Hawks will host a Positive Body Image Night where everyone will applaud as Rubenesque women drink liquid fudge out of the Stanley Cup. That’s actually kind of hot. I’d go to that. If they played The Stripper.
Megan Fox went on Conan and told him his spirit animal is a llama. Some show prep producer mocked up a convoluted astrological chart for Fox to stumble through so the audience could laugh while imagining fucking her. Megan Fox likes to talk about shitting and farting and other boner killing conversation because she knows she can’t actually kill your Megan Fox boner. Fox is excellent at playing the dumb. This isn’t because she’s completed a character workshop with the Groundlings, its because Fox is legitimately an idiot. Having a conversation with her is akin to the feeling you get when a three year old gives you a sloppy watercolor painting. It sucks but you smile and pat them on the head. With Fox, you might try for a tit.
Fox’s handlers have essentially given up on hammering home talking points and instead just bank on people being amused by her idiotic spectacle. She has fully abandoned any pretense of forming coherent thoughts and resorts to making multiple Uranus jokes in a four minute period. Of course that hasn’t been funny since third grade, but as long as we all want to fuck Fox super badly, she’ll be getting the yucks.
Mickey Rourke offered a ringing endorsement of Vladamir Putin while in Russia. It seems that dudes who are cartoonish symbols of masculinity born out of self loathing find a way to relate to one another, and being a douche cuts deeper than politics. Rourke definitely wants to deep throat Putin’s man meat, which given Putin’s hyperbolic homophobia is a definite possibility. That’s usually how that works out. The first guy to talk about chopping wood and beating up queers is also the first one getting his ass railed in the back row of lockers. Rourke summed up his hard on for Putin while wearing a shirt with his face surrounded by flowers, because that’s not gay at all:
“I met him a couple of times and he was a real gentleman, a very cool regular guy, looked me right in the eye, I think he is a good guy. If I didn’t, believe I wouldn’t wear the T-shirt.”
It could be that Rourke is vastly uninformed and brain damaged as opposed to an ardent supporter of a nationalist regime bent on reliving their past glory of pretending to dominate America.
“I have a Russian girlfriend, that’s all I care about. Her father is a good person, her mother’s great, her babushka’s wonderful. To me it’s all about family. I don’t give a fuckk about the politics. That’s not my department.”
Everyone likes to bang Russian chicks but that doesn’t mean getting behind the wheel of a Soviet tank. I don’t mind that Rourke doesn’t care about politics, but Putin does. It would be like slapping an Obama sticker on your bumper and claiming you just like the letter O and Barack’s taste in the hot caramel ladies. Rourke will remain in Russia until he heads off to North Korea to let Kim Jong un beat him in a televised arm wrestling match in exchange for funding Rourke’s original movie about an scarred street fighter who fucks a hot Russian girl a lot.
If that Murder She Wrote crone got a hold of this Tony Stewart sprint car incident, she might find it to be kind of homicidal. You cut off some dude on the track, he gets out of his busted car to call you a fucking asshole as you drive around the next time and you accidentally clip him with your winged vehicle and spill him about half a football field up the track. Everybody’s calling it a horrible accident this morning. I guess any time a road rager on foot confronts a speeding race car he deserves at least a broken ulna. If only that happened to Alec Baldwin on his drunken pedestrian rampages in Manhattan. But Kevin Ward Jr. got the full throttle death sentence. Police won’t charge anybody with anything. This is NASCAR. These modest host track towns live and die by these events. But Tony Stewart will live forever with the guilt of accidentally taking out Kevin Ward. Or, you know, quietly chuckling to himself for getting away with murder.
Jay Z’s in a fucking pickle. It’s bad when even the chicks you’re not boning outside your marriage are performing songs about how you wanted to bone them. Some self-described rapper chick named Liv made a music video in her apartment by the freeway where she plays Outkast’s Sorry Ms. Jackson and changes the lyrics to Sorry Mrs. Carter. Then she says a whole bunch of stuff about Jay Z being a cheating pimp, how he wanted to doink her in the privates, but didn’t, and how Beyonce ought to have known better than to marry him. She also mentions Monica Lewinsky just to be topical. It’s sort of like a Lifetime movie reinterpreted by a learning challenged twelve year old who figured out how to turn on GarageBand.
The premise that celebrity marriages are supposed to last is a straw-man set up by the media so they can pretend it’s real news when they fall apart. On their wedding night, I’m certain Jay Z knew Beyonce was a self-satisfied high maintenance chick who didn’t need the headache of a cheating husband and Jay Z knew he was the cheating husband. So you plan. One year to pretend you’re in love. One year to produce a fake baby with a stripper name. One year for the lawyers to get involved. This shit is pro forma. There’s no need for horrible fucking music videos. Just an OK! Magazine special with shocking new details about how it all went wrong.
Vin Diesel recently opened up about the death of Paul Walker. Diesel said it was tough to lose Walker and then went into a self-serving monologue referencing his turbulent, war torn past:
“It’s a heavy thing, Michael. You know? I grew up in the bouncer world, and we lost people while we were bouncing. But the brotherhood in Paul Walker was something completely different.”
The bouncing world is clearly fraught with the dangers of cologne inhalation and clipboard wrist, but armed conflict is pretty rare. Bouncing is less dangerous than filming a Fast Furious film. Just because your buddy Fat Joey died of a cardiac event keeping the underaged frat kids out of the Palladium doesn’t rank him up there with Audie Murphy. If you want to name yourself after a fuel that powers Mac trucks you have to come up with a scarier glory days story than bouncing. Vin did play a lot of basketball in the mixed Jewish leagues in New York. You could take a fucking elbow in those games like nobody’s business. People have no idea how rough Vin had it coming up. So Vin is going to tell you, whether you like it or not.
Photo Credit: Instagram
Aspiring actress and moderately annoying youtube personality, Anna Akana, made a video insulting dudes who only go for Asian chicks. Akana insists that white guys who exclusively date Asian women are submissive school girl fetish seeking perverts with Yellow Fever. According to Akana, she experiences the phenomenon constantly, annoyed when ‘racist assholes’ hit on her solely because she is young, hot, and especially Asian. She makes a big public deal about being racially offended then blows the guy with the most producing credits. Asian chicks are pragmatic like that.
DeNiro likes the dark meat and Leo Dicaprio will only bang models from countries where the basketball lane is a hexagram, so why criticize the coffee house hipsters and Aspy white programmers of the world for flocking towards Asians chicks? The flaw in Akana’s viewpoint is she groups all Asian women together. The same guy with a boner for community college Chinese chicks with dip-dyed hair isn’t the same guy cruising the bio-tech labs for Pinays with coke-bottle glasses. I like short girls. I wouldn’t say I have midget fever, though I’d be willing to contract it if I could bone lots of teeny tiny women with squeaky voices like Care Bears. I guess Anna wishes she were a young Latina or black chick with perfect tits so she could walk through construction sites completely unmolested. Life is super rough for all good looking women. We know. Now do some cartwheels so we can see your white cotton panties.
No matter where you fall on the pussy scale of life, it’s super important at any given moment in your life to not be the biggest pussy in the room. The second biggest pussy skates. The biggest pussy is singled out by the pack and devoured. Look around the room. If you’re not sure if you’re the one, you’re the one. Get the fuck out.
Orlando Bloom nearly landed a swipe to Justin Bieber’s smug maw at a club in Ibiza after the two fay combatants exchanged words. There’s a true gangster history between these sub-150 lb. scooter riders since Justin claimed he got busy with Miranda Kerr backstage at a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Then Orlando took Selena Gomez on a date after he got divorced. It was some real sit-com love triangle stuff that finally exploded in Ibiza when Bieber did that bitch ‘I want to shake your hand’ move. Orlando came back with a few choice words in perfect Elizabethan English then Bieber squeaked something about Miranda Kerr’s vagina and Orlando tried to smite him but missed. The 47 bodyguards who keep Bieber from getting in real fights hustled the tiny Canadian around in increasingly small circles until they were all trapped in the center of a vortex of shame. I’ve seen some good bar fights in my time. This wasn’t one of them. Thanks to WorldStarHipHop I can tell you this wasn’t even a good girl fight.
Shortly after, Justin Bieber retreated with his posse and posted a photo of Miranda Kerr in a bikini to Instagram. You could almost feel John Wayne’s fist stirring in his grave.
Here’s Orlando earlier in the day in Ibiza. He looked so summery. Why did Justin have to ruin his day?
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
When a man is caught on camera beating his girlfriend and dragging her unconscious out of an elevator, that’s not really the time for a deep dive into the complex pathologies that twist a romantic relationship into violence. That’s the time to say, that fucker deserves the chair. Next case please. Stephen A. Smith can’t keep the power of his insight contained so he suggested maybe women shouldn’t provoke angry NLF running backs who can bench press 450. Now, Smith’s suspended too and doing the fake corporate media apology dance with mea culpas on Twitter and TV. It’s like watching somebody neuter themselves with a tin can lid while forcing a smile.
On Friday, speaking right here on ‘First Take’ on the subject of domestic violence, I made what can only amount to the most egregious error of my career. My words came across that it is somehow a woman’s fault. This was not my intent. It is not what I was trying to say.
There’s nothing technically wrong with what Smith said. You curse and jab and talk about pulling a train of Steelers defensive linemen a little less and you probably don’t get a pop in the face from your super cool boyfriend Ray Rice. There’s all sorts of ways you can walk the earth like Caine and try to stay out of trouble. Though, that actually never worked for Caine. Smith’s real fault here was not going all the way and saying ‘crazy bitches deserve crazy beatdowns’ then ripping off his mic, leaving ESPN, and joining a co-ed Fight Club. You can’t go half-in on beating women. That just makes you suspended and a waffler.