Finally, A Man With The Courage To Point Out Erin Andrews And Danica Patrick Are No-Talent Sluts
At last, a male columnist had the guts to stand up and say, “Enough is enough” and join his female brethren (sistren?) and condemn Erin Andrews and Danica Patrick for being attractive. The nerve of those broads.
Playing the role of Grand Inquisitor today is Fanhouse columnist David Whitley. In his column, the forebodingly titled, “Erin Andrews and Danica Patrick Have Serious Issues” (provactive!), Whitley takes these young ladies to task for having the audacity to capitalize and profit off their looks while not measuring up to his ideals of what a female sideline reporter and female race car driver should aspire to. Glad Whitley is around to pick up the slack for the drooling masses.
Let’s go Fire Joe Morgan on this sucker, how about it?
Most people want to be taken seriously at work.
They do? So I should stop wearing this clown suit to work?
So wouldn’t you love Erin Andrews to interview Danica Patrick at this weekend’s Indianapolis 500?
How does the above statement have anything to do wanting to be taken seriously at work? Are unemployed people prohibited from wanting to see Erin Andrews interview Danica Patrick? How about retirees? Premise fail.
Oh, to see the thought bubbles above their heads.
Ha! Like a comic strip, but sexier!
Andrews: “Why am I talking to a bikini model?”
Patrick: “Does this bimbo know a fan belt from a garter belt?”
I get it! They are women, so they are invariably catty towards each other. This Whitley guy sure knows women!
The average American male wouldn’t care what the women said as long as they flashed a little cleavage and a lot of leg.
How about a lot of cleavage and a little leg? I’m kind of a boob man.
That’s a problem, though it’s one Patrick and Andrews have willingly brought on themselves.
Danica Patrick and Erin Andrews are fully responsible for the objectification of women in our culture. Got it.
They’ve broken Rule No. 1 for being taken seriously: Don’t writhe on a bed or a car hood as millions of people ogle along. It’s okay if you’re auditioning for a Snoop Dogg video…
Timely, but I would have went with a more current performer, like LL Cool J.
…but you won’t see Helio Castroneves or Robin Roberts doing it.
He obviously didn’t see Robin’s sexy photo spread in Oncology Today. Hot stuff.
The realization hit me like a ton of sequins this week…
What weighs more? A ton of sequins or a ton of horrible ideas for a column? It’s a trick question: ton of sequins – horrible ideas carry no weight.
…as two great sporting events converged. Andrews finished third in “Dancing with the Stars,” while Patrick bellyached about her car heading into Sunday’s Indy 500.
It was like a sexy eclipse!
The crowd booed when they heard the Brickyard’s resident hottie pop off.
I was the resident hottie in college. Apparently, I wasn’t “responsible” enough to be the R.A. Something to do with being all hot and stuff.
You can’t blame Patrick for capitalizing on her looks. If companies wanted to pay me $7 million a year to titillate consumers, I’d be happily writhe on a car that’s been sitting all day in the Florida sun.
But somewhere along the way you have to add some substance to the style. After five years on the Indy circuit, Patrick has one more win than Stevie Wonder.
It’s funny because he’s blind and it’s not surprising that a blind guy who doesn’t race cars wouldn’t have any wins.
She’s 1 for 137, a batting average of .0073.
Batting average in auto racing is a vastly underused statistic. What’s Danica’s VORP?
When you consider she has more appearances in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue, two words come to mind. Fraud and floozie.
Oh snap. Danica’s a phony! A great big phony!
Patrick is not a complete fraud.
Then why did he say she was? Hasn’t he mastered the use of the backspace button on his keyboard?
But if starting positions were based solely on driving ability, she’d be making left turns at the Petaluma Motocross this weekend instead of racing’s most hallowed track.
I had Petaluma once. Nearly shit my pants.
As for floozie, there’s no evidence she’s anything but happily married.
But what if there was? Dig deeper, Whitley. No, not in your nose.
It’s just that when your standard magazine pose consists of tugging seductively at your bikini bottom, a certain image follows.
Me being hauled out of Borders with my pants around my ankles?
Sexy. Shallow. Sleazy.
SexyShallowSleazy was my favorite TLC album.
That’s not fair since there is no direct evidence pinup girls are any dumber or trashier than the rest of us.
There he goes with the evidence thing again. You work for Fanhouse, dude. Steve Phillips and Jay Mariotti don’t ever need no stinking evidence to spout off about stuff. Call her a dumb, trashy whore if that’s what you want to do.
Then again, get back to me when Pamela Anderson is nominated for the Supreme Court.
Can I get your contact information? Further, speaking of pinup girls and their intellectual abilities, it is clear this guy obviously didn’t see Kathy Ireland showing off her interviewing skills on the red carpet at the Oscars earlier this year. Riveting, intelligent, insightful. Which, incidentally, is my least favorite TLC album. Too preachy.
Which brings us to Andrews.
Yay! Lay it down, big man. Lay. It. Down. That’s my Bill Walton impression. Do you like it?
Being a sideline reporter at college football games is not exactly Walter Cronkite territory.
Neither is writing for Fanhouse, but let’s not split hairs here.
But its practitioners take pride in breaking news and asking probing questions.
It’s called journalism…
AHA! That’s what it’s called! I have been racking my brain all day about that! Ladies and gentlemen, you are reading a post by a guy who just completed a Parade Magazine crossword puzzle! Suck it.
…and most journalists want to be known for their knowledge and insight, not their nice butts.
Little known fact: when seated and delivering the nightly news on NBC, Tom Brokaw used to always do those butt-clenching exercises.
A close-up of Andrews’ derriere in a pantsuit was an Internet favorite.
I wonder how much Andrews paid the person to take that photo. Boggles the mind.
That was harmless compared to the peeping Tom video that made Andrews an unwitting tabloid star last summer.
How dare she think she was safe to undress in a locked hotel room! What a friggin’ attention-starved harlot.
Andrews does her job as well as most of her peers, and it’s not her fault she’s attractive.
So, your point in this useless exercise you call a column?
But good looks bring society’s Bimbo Prejudice into play, and Andrews is playing it all wrong.
HEY ERIN! UR DOIN IT RONG!
She can shimmy like a showgirl.
But can she Shamwow like a showman?
But if you want to be taken seriously as a reporter, you emphasize your mind over your body.
If you saw Andrews on “Dancing with the Stars,” the last thing you noticed was her brain.
Sorry, my CT Machine has been on the fritz lately.
I don’t know which was my favorite costume — the dominatrix boots or the skirt made out of purple feathers or the gold lamé corset?
Look at this guy, using the French word for “stupid.”
Whatever the getup, you wouldn’t catch Rachel Maddow dead in one, thank goodness.
Not so fast. How about if you were a lonely morgue assistant and Rachel Maddow ended up in your mortuary and no one else was around? You could dress her up in a bridal gown and slow dance with her and no one else would know! One more time to kill the pa-ay–ay-in and all that.
“I’m confused,” Andrews told Sports Illustrated. “I guess it’s OK for an NFL player and a gold medalist to do the show and be taken seriously, but nobody else is allowed.”
In a world controlled by Whitley, that’s how it would be. You’re catching on, Erin. Also, no Asians.
It is OK for NFL players and ice skaters and Hollywood has-beens to do “Dancing with the Stars.” Castroneves wowed ’em during the 2007 competition. But with two Indy 500 wins, he’d long since proven he wasn’t just a bikini model wrapped in a fire-retardant suit.
Hey, it’s fire-mentally-challenged suit, ya jerk.
What Andrews doesn’t seem to understand is that Chad Ochocinco and Wayne Newton and Marie Osmond are entertainers.
Wayne Newton couldn’t wear Tom Jones’ jock! Because Tommy freeballs it. Boz Scaggs, on the other hand, likes to keep his junk in place and on the Lowdown, if you know what I mean. Because I don’t.
Kim Kardashian could wrap her legs around her dance partner because that’s what Kim Kardashian does.
Urinating on the Stars!
It’s not what serious journalists do. That’s why Kenny Mayne gets a pass for his dancing. As ESPN’s version of Jon Stewart, we’re not supposed to take him seriously.
Somewhere in a Reno whorehouse, Kenny Mayne just shed a single tear.
Or are we wrong in assuming Andrews wanted that in the first place? With her looks and sass and celebrity, her future is bigger than asking Frank Beamer how the Hokies’ defense will adjust at halftime.
I’ll give Frank Beamer something to adjust. Wait, that came out wrong.
Andrews probably figures she can parlay her Samba into a gig with “Entertainment Tonight” or “Inside Edition.” Just as Patrick has parlayed her airbrushed abs and tush into a spot on the Andretti team.
Who uses the word “tush” anymore?
That’s fine. It’s a free, red-blooded country.
On the other hand, if it were a repressive, green-blooded country, aliens have taken over.
And they have every right to dance, writhe and market themselves as they see fit.
He learned that by watching Footloose.
But that gives us every right to get bimbo visions of Pamela Anderson and Kim Kardashian.
Peyote visions > Bimbo visions > sugarplum visions
And if Andrews ever interviews Patrick, they’ll probably see the same thing.
If you say so. You fucking douchebag.
Erin Andrews and Danica Patrick Have Serious Issues [Fanhouse]