ESPN Producer Caught Publicly Touching/Resembling His Weiner

So my first reaction when I saw this story about ESPN Producer Neil Goldberg was to think back on similar peeping Toms and public masturbators that have been caught doing their thing in the past few months. Like this guy who wasn’t doing anything but was clearly suspicious, or this guy who was actually rubbing his junk on some poor girl on the N-train.  Whenever I see stories like this I can’t help but think about how much high-quality porn is so readily available on the Interent.  And it blows my mind that these guys, many of whom would go to the lengths that they do, with all the associated risk of getting caught, being embarrassed, arrested, losing your family and job, and basically having your life ruined in every imaginable way.  So how is it possible that so many men who are otherwise leading normal, healthy lives choose to stare this risk in the face and then attempt to cover it with their J-O-nnaise? There’s no way they are unaware or unwilling to tap into the plethora of debauchery that is but a Google away.  Is there?

The only conceivable answer is one that just may scare me right off the web for years to come: Is it possible that these poor bastards have “used up” their appetite for Internet porn?  I mean how many times can you really watch a girl in an ASU cheerleading uniform get demoralized by two men? Quite a few it seems, but there has to be a limit.  I’ll report back when I hit it.

I certainly hope this isn’t the case, though, because the Internet and its barrage of flesh-at-your-fingertips are still a fairly new part of human life.  Imagine all the guys out there that have been watching that shit since age 11!  There’s no telling what level of craziness they’ve worked up to now.  Sooner or later, the bubble’s going to pop and there will be a GLOBAL PANDEMIC of desperate lunatics running around out there perching on the windowsills of innocent showerers and snaking cameras through the peepholes at their favorite announcers’ hotel rooms; a veritable zombie-invasion of guys that just can’t get off by watching porn anymore and are forced to wander the Earth looking for open windows to climb into so they can eat your underwear.

Hide ya kids, hide ya wife, etc.


Hartford? The Whale? They Only Beat Vancouver Once, Maybe Twice in a Lifetime.

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The Rangers have decided to give the loyal hockey fans the credit they’re due and reward the Hartford-faithful with a little head nod by changing the name of the Hartford Wolfpack.

It’s still not back, but hockey fans in Hartford have the next-best thing. Their AHL team, the Wolf Pack, is being re-named the Connecticut Whale and will be managed by Baldwin’s Hartford Hockey LLC.

Seems like a pretty good way to arbitrarily drum up interest in a pack of mediocre semi-pros, so good job I guess?  Or take a reasonable temperature check on the fandom that still surrounds the Hartford Whalers 13 long years after they moved to Carolina.  See if people care by AAAAALMOST naming the team after the one they’ve been missing to see if they’ll talk about it.  And these fans do, in fact, still have harpoons on the brain.  Well, just like my romantic life, I’m here to tell you wannabe martyrs that if you had paid attention to her while she was around, maybe she wouldn’t have left you high and dry, crying face paint and headbutting strangers.

WANNABE GENIUS has moved to the HYPERVOCAL network.

Follow WG on Twitter @wannabe_genius.