Ridiculously cute.

Like a pro.

And the bravest/stupidest man alive.

Is still the lion.

The road to professional sports is one of the most effective sociopath assembly lines in the world. Separated from their peers by talent as kids, pandered to as teenagers, and idolized as adults, today's college and professional athletes know that forgiveness is only one contrite press conference away. We keep track of their antisocial behavior and marvel at their sociopathleticism in the Sociopathlete Round-Up.

Sociopathlete: Sal Alosi, Strength and Conditioning Coach, New York Jets,
Former Linebacker, Hofstra
We learned today that Alosi has been suspended indefinitely (his suspension was previously scheduled to be up at the end of this season) when the Jets "found out" that he had ordered players to form a wall along the sidelines in order to impede Dolphins special teamer Nolan Carroll if he ventured out of bounds. Alosi stuck his leg out, tripped Carroll, and is now awaiting his sportsmanship award from Jets coach Rex Ryan. The other shoe may not have dropped in this case, since the notion of a strength coach taking it upon himself to order inactive players to interfere with punt coverage in an organized manner seems a bit far-fetched. If it came from above, or even from the top, this could place the entire Jets franchise in the pantheon of sociopathletics.

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Like all people who don't consult the Bible to solve practical problems, I'm at war with Christmas. I wish people "Happy Holidays" , promote the idea of Santa Claus in order to deflect attention away from the role of the Christ-child, and accentuate the pagan elements of the celebration in favor of the Christian ones, which are in extreme danger with our country maintaining a paltry incidence of Christians at a mere 76%. And why wouldn't I? I stand to gain so much from the effort, I really can't afford not to. But we need a shot in the arm. So I'm mining the great war-mongers of the past for material. What do say, Genghis? How would you attack Christmas?

Genghis Khan: Well, first I'd find a few stores that feature religiously neutral decorations, like holly, wreaths, and maybe even some Kwanzaa stuff, because they'd clearly be part of the war effort. I'd absorb them into my army and ride to a store that has the nerve to wish people "Merry Christmas" when they check out. While riding we'd drag yule logs behind our horses to kick up extra dust and give the appearance of greater numbers. When I arrived at the store, let's say it's a Wal-Mart in Texas, I'd explain to the manager that he can either surrender, or everyone in the store can be killed. Then I'd camp out that night, instructing my soldiers to each light 3 Christmas trees apiece instead of just one, again to give the impression of greater numbers. We'd probably light a few Menorahs as well, just to show how at war with Christmas we really are. Naturally, there would be no praying.

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Christmas. Yeah, we're going there. I never said this would be a smooth ride. Christmas is of course the celebration of the day Jesus was born and placed in a manger because there was "no room at the inn". Seriously?  Who was running this inn? Messianic prophecy or not, it's a couple who had a baby 5 minutes ago, you can't make some space? Hell wouldn't even pull that shit, and we're talking about a place that dedicates an entire high-rise to gleefully forcing glass shards under the eyelids of false witnesses.

Christmas is also the beginning of Christmastide, the so-called 12 days of Christmas, made famous in the song of the same name. Allow me to take a breath before going into this one. Let's think about this. The first 4 days, the singer's "true love" - and I put that in quotations because I'm not sure I buy that designation for reasons I'll explain - gives her (Yeah, her. I've lived so long I stopped counting my age when we went from Roman to Arabic numerals, and I can tell you this: chicks don't buy guys multiple swans. Sorry boys, ain't gonna happen.) a partridge (with tree), 2 turtle doves, 3 french hens, and 4 colly birds. The song seems to suggest that these things are stacked every day, so on the first day it's a partridge in a pear tree, and on the second day it's 2 turtle doves and a second partridge in a pear tree, and so on. I'm going to assume that's not the case, and that each subsequent mentioning of a gift is a reference to the original, and not a duplicate gift. If I'm wrong, then what I took to be merely absurd is actually whatever is above absurd. Preposterous?

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The goddamn Vuvuzela. Not only does the Vuvuzela make us hate South Africa, it also makes us hate all of Africa, Nelson Mandela, Zebras, Monkeys, The Lion King, Animal Planet and just anything even associated with that part of the world. Vuvuzela, please GO AWAY KTHXBAI.

Who cares that Larry King is getting a divorce or that he was banging his wife's sister. SOMEBODY ACTUALLY HAD SEX WITH THIS THING. THAT IS WHAT EVERYBODY SHOULD BE TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW.

Just kidding! She's not fat at all! In fact, she's probably anorexic! Her name is Brooklyn Decker, and she's married to that tennis player Andy Roddick - that guy who looks like Stifler, who is that guy in American Pie who wants to bang your mom.

Some quick facts about Brooklyn, who we're thinking about stalking (because why not!).

-She's 22-years-old

-She's giving you major bone right now

-She's on Twitter - which means it's easy to find reasons why she might be really annoying. Like this reason:

But then we stop looking at her Twitter feed and stumble upon photos like this and realize that we can put up with annoying people, so long as they look like the hottest freaking girl in the world.

But then we remember we're not Andy Roddick, and we don't have six-pack abs and our name isn't something awesome like The Situation. We slowly realize we're totally never going to bang Brookly Decker. Then we cry. Then we go to Subway and order some fatass sandwich, not the healthy ones that Jared orders. Then we go home, cry some more while looking at ourself in the mirror and then turn on the computer to try and find naked pictures of Brooklyn Decker on the internet.

Eventually we end up like this:

Go ahead. Get your Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Issue fix right here.

Let me paint a picture of a man-boy, a legend in the making. This man-boy lives in the woods of the great northwest - Jack London territory - Twilight territory - Kurt Cobain land... you know, like around Seattle.

He lives like a James Bond-Goldilocks, sneaking into people's houses, stealing planes (he learned to fly from video games), stealing speedboats, using night vision goggles to hunt and live off the land, and supplementing his diet with pizza that he has delivered to the woods. Not too hot -not too cold - extra cheese and just right.

The painting of this legend gets bolder, more intricate with every detail, with every stroke of the brush, and I'm not done stroking.

Like Yogi Bear he doesn't wear shoes while snagging "pic-a-nic" baskets, but he isn't stopping at sandwiches, and Park Ranger Smith isn't the only one he is outsmarting. The police and FBI are hot on his trail for over 50 alleged burglaries. Did I mention that he likes to take "cheeky" pictures of himself with victims' digital cameras (in my book this means pictures of his penis wearing sunglasses)?

Who is this man-boy, this 18yr old legend in the making?

Have you heard of Colton Harris-Moore?  You just did. Oh, and Jason Bourne... GFY!

Watch the video below, and read these articles to find out more.

Now that you are on Team CHM (Facebook Fanpage alert!) and love him more than Jacob Black, would you pre-order a copy of his video game?

What would you call his video game?

What would you call his movie?

Do you think that Mercedes should be paying him for his endorsement?

Chuck McCarthy is the mastermind behind IdeasByChuck.com, where he gives away great ideas in the hopes that you turn them into reality and remember to send him a small percentage of your profits. He Twitters here and Tumbls here. Chuck will be guest blogging for LiquidGeneration the next couple weeks!

This bust of King Screech the 1st was discovered last week in a dumpster behind a mini-mall in Ohio.

It's happend with Jesus on pieces of cloth and tree bark, and now it's happening with Michael Jackson on hospital baby scans. What you see here is not just a baby, but the majestic face of the King of Pop Himself, Michael Jackson. This is such a miracle, you guys. How blessed are the parents of this child? Not only does their child look like Michael Jackson, but he'll probably sound and grab his crotch just the way He did. They can only hope, we're sure.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Michael Jackson. Amen.

(via Telegraph.co.uk)

Excuse the dust around here, and all the little bugs and mispellings you're bound to find on our little corner on the internet. We're going to try something a little different today.

As part of President Obama's push to make more American teens read, he personally reached out to LiquidGeneration* to provide some word-based entertainment for you. Sure, you'll still see our award winning** animations and games, but you'll also see Words. Lots of them, as ordered by the Commander In Chief of the United States of America. So if you don't like it, don't be mad because we'll just ask Obama to bomb you. For the children. Because he wants them to learn how to read, through us.

Thank you for reading,

LiquidGeneration

P.S. - If you see anything you love or hate, we'd like to know about it. Just leave a comment below, or if you really want to make me upset and cry like a little girl, just shoot me a personal email: slippy@liquidgeneration.com.

*no he didn't

**Awards, as in the cookies our mothers give us each time we make fun of Lindsay Lohan. They hate her because she's one of those "fast girls." Their words.