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1st Annual Ramon Hernandez Put Down the Gun List of People Who Need To Smash Their Faces Into The Surface of the Sun.

posted Dec 27, 2008, 9:39 AM by Steven Seagal   [ updated Feb 15, 2009, 12:25 PM ]
We here at Ramon Hernandez Put Down The Gun don't have families to spend the holidays with. Our earliest memory of our father came at around the age of 4. In fact that memory is of Christmas morning when our father, drunk on bathtub gin and high on meth, gave us a handle of Wild Turkey and a carton of cowboy killers. That was the best Christmas ever.  Since that time it has all been downhill therefore we do what anyone would do who experiences such a euphoric event so early in their existence. We spend our time hating people. We tell ourselves it's healthy to have this much hatred and we pose a pretty convincing argument. In light of this, we have decided to extend our coldest New Years wishes to a choice few people. And by wishes, we mean to say that we want these people to be blasted off into the sun. There is no order to this list since we want them to all die together. Maybe Bono deserves it the most but they'll all be on the same rocket ship destined for the sun. So without further ado, we present the 1st Annual Ramon Hernandez Put Down the Gun List of People Who Need To Smash Their Faces Into The Surface of the Sun.


Nice headband you noncomittal bitch. Pick one religion and go with it. Also you can meet with the pope, the United Nations, Sudanese leaders and the Dalia Lama all you want, but We know that you have children buried in your backyard and you mollest manatees. Soon enough the world will know that you are phony.


Everytime we see you we can't help but think "Thanks Jacobs you weren't on the Superbowl winning Giants". What's the matter Tiki? Were practices too hard on you? You wanted to be a respectable television journalist? Get fucked by a Cadillac Escalade. You couldn't just retire and shut your mouth. You had to be "edgy" and call out Coughlin and Elisha.  (editorial addition by second personality:) I just want to add that Coughlin should get to punch Tiki in the face on the way into the rocket for having to listen to that ungrateful fucking douchebag bitch and moan and complain about him and obviously undercut him in the locker room (just look at how much better this team got when Tiki left), when the only thing he's guilty of is making you practice like everyone else and changing you from a fumble happy bitch to a 1,000 yard rusher.  The Giants owe Coughlin for that Super Bowl for forcing Tiki out of town and into early retirement in an Escalade by expecting him to be a football player instead of the pussy he is.  Tiki infuriates me to no end, and the only thing I hear every time he opens that fake, forced smiling, backstabbing mouth of his is "I'm a pussy."  Your identical twin brother should have "accidentally" pushed you off a cliff.


You went to Vanderbilt. That was bad enough. But you also have floppy transplanted-midwesterner hipster hair. You have diabetes. You fall asleep while playing beer pong and miss the Chris Weaver band. You also claim to have the strongest arm in th NFL. You ever hear of  the Destroyer of Worlds? Did you know that Mt. Everest was actually in Dayton Ohio and Justin Tuck threw it across the world because it was in his way? Didn't think so, you Vandy Dandy Insulin-deprived douche fucker. It's funny that we used to hate Philly Rivers more than you and then we hear about this Chris Weaver disrespect and all that shit goes out the window.


Here is our impression of Sidney Crosby. "Waaaahhh waaahhhhh waaaaahhhhhh I'm Sid The Kid, I'm the future of the NHL, I take dives, I suck Evgeni Malkin's dick waaaaahhh". Pretty good, right? We didn't even need to practice that impression. We just think of the biggest pussy in the world and Sidney Crosby immediately comes to mind. The one beneficial thing Sid has done is set the benchmark for pussydom. Way to go Kiddo! Now go the fuck away.

Oh, how we loath ye! Let's see. It's not bad enough that every old journalist identifies with you because you're old and still playing the game you love. But then you won't retire so the old journalist fucks admire even more for continuing to play the game. Then you retire and everyone just fawns over your stats, your love of the game, your interception record, etc. to the point where we want to kill the next person who says the name Brett Favre. Next, because you're such a nice guy, you hold the cheese eating, beer drinking citizens of Green Bay hostage and get traded to the Jets. Now we have to live with you on the back pages of every newspaper for the entire season. Fuck you Brett. You put that black man down and you get inside this rocket ship to the sun.

You're so cute together. It's just adorable how you're kissing each other with cake on your faces. Well we have some news for you. That cake that you have all over your faces and in your mouth is laced with rat poison. Not enough rat poison to kill you but just enough to make you hate every second of your trip to the sun.

I know what you're asking. How could we blast a whole city into the sun? Well, we're going to cheat here. We know the city of Philadelphia is too overloaded with cheeze wiz, low self esteem and head lice to carry onto a rocket ship. That's why we'll improvise. Instead of destroying the whole city, we'll just pull some strings and have the Eagles sign Donovan McNabb to a 500 year, 70 gazillion dollar contract extension so you can be miserable for the next half millennium.

You have soiled our TV sets with you "insightful" analysis of Monday football games. The one time we almost thought you were coming around was when you made that semi-racist joke that turned out to be nothing. Then you apologized for it even though it didn't really make much sense. Way to go, you Canadian Favre fucker. I especially want to invite this mystery "Ron" person onto the rocket ship. Ron, who not only got TK's autograph but posted it on the interweb, is the worst kind of human. He probably lives in Philadelphia and listens to Tiki Barber's radio show "The Barber Shop" every day. Oh, and Ron's favorite band is U2.

Anyone who has ever read Mike Lupica's Daily News "Shootin' from the Lip" article can attest that this man deserves a severe beating. It should be called "Shoot him in the hip" but even that wouldn't do the trick because the gunshot wouldn't be fatal. Even if you haven't read any of Lupica's stuff, put on "Sports Reporters" one day and try to not strangle yourself with piano wire. If you're too lazy, just look at the picture of him. Word for word, this is exactly what we would say if we saw Mike Lupica on the street "Nice glasses, four eyes. Way to go wearing that button down shirt under your navy blue sweater. You look like a child mollestor. Maybe you and Bono should talk about proper child disposal." And then we would punch him in the face in front of his wife.


We rarely ever have the time to listen to baseball games on the radio. Why listen to a game on an antiquated machine when we can watch it on this new fangled moving picture television device? Sometimes we are forced to listen to a game though. And when we have to listen to a Yankees game, we often wonder why there really is much of an abortion issue. When Suzyn Waldman saw Roger Clemens in the owner's box a couple of years ago, we knew that some people needed a vacation to the sun. Waldman practically spontaneously combusted at the sight of t he Yankees' "savior". Every time we turn on 880 and hear her voice we understand what it feels like to have boiling water poured into our ears. She is one reason why sometimes we can wait for baseball season to start. Nah, we still can't wait.

So there it is. There is the list of people that need to smash their faces into the surface of the sun. This holiday season be thankful that you're not on the list. To quote Bono's most famous line from his Band Aid days, "tonight thank god it's them, instead of you!".