As thousands travel home to see their families, jam chocolate eggs and marshmallow chickadees down their gullets at a pre-diet-Oprah-like pace and put on their best “Christ-y” faces, we present a special sugar-coated, Jesus-juiced Good Friday edition of Darts & Laurels.
With the weather warming up, thousands of chiseled bro-gods and bikini bombshells will flock to sunbeams in a desperate attempt to cook their epidermis to a golden Snooki brown.
While we encourage self-improvement, especially for those who need to draw attention away from deficient personalities and awkward social graces, we do not endorse the usage of cancer caskets or spray-on mists that make you glow like Chernobyl.
Therefore, we are chucking a we’re-onto-you-Charlie-Crist-no-man-should-ever-look that-orange DART at fake tans. Because nothing makes the pants drop more than skin tumors.
On a lighter note, we are thrilled that with spring comes the resurrection of the greatest story ever told... baseball! As players finish shaking off the rust from their swings and steroid denials, one player kept his eye on the ball, drilling his own mother with a foul line drive during a spring-training game.
For this masterful display of accuracy and irony, we’re jacking a here’s-for-all-those-repressed-memories-from-little-league LAUREL at Denard Span. In a completely unrelated story, hundreds of sons-in-law are pooling their money together to buy out Span’s contract with the Minnesota Twins for reasons only disclosed as “spring cleaning.”
Speaking of baseball bats, we would feel immense pleasure taking a couple of hacks at master charlatan Fred Phelps and his crew of cesspool “Christians.”
We understand the rights of free speech and assembly, but when you spend the bulk of your “ministry work” making a mockery of those who gave their lives to defend those rights, you need to be stoned repeatedly.
That’s why we are launching a heaven-sent, we-hoped-you-get-mercilessly-fondled-by-the-Hand-of-God DART at the Westboro Baptist Church.
We can only hope that during your long and winding trek down to the eleventh gayest city in the country you happen to stumble upon some Marine barracks during live-demolition training.
While we have our ammunition out, we might as well keep firing at more treasure coves of terrible ideas.
With all the hot issues plaguing our city, why did the city’s all-important, dollar-draining Office of Equal Opportunity decide to pull the plug on the beloved ladies night.
Whatever is to become of drunk sketchy guys whose primary source of sexual playing-time comes from the stumbling, incoherent sorority princess whose hair is sprinkled with vodka and vomit.
Because of this, we are throwing a hey-honey-can-I-treat-you-to-a-chloroform-colada DART at the city of Gainesville.
Bottoms up.
So have a happy and safe weekend, and in the words of the immortal Hulk Hogan: train, say your prayers, eat your vitamins and believe in yourself.
Because watcha gonna do when the slew of Turlington trash comes shooting for you?
