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The ORIGINAL Juice's Clubhouse is one of the forums on that you'll have access with your membership. The Clubhouse is all about Pop Culture and sharing gems from around the internet. Below are 10 of the recent topics posted by "The Juice":

Guam Might Capsize!

posted by brandom; Replies: 2

Yes, this guy was elected.  He's in the US House of Representatives.  Not the lower Marion County House of Representatives...that's the UNITED STATES House of Representatives.  

Why you don't let bitches drive your whips.

posted by WarDamnEagle; Replies: 0

Million-Dollar Fender Bender

A blonde woman driving a Bentley crashes into an Aston Martin, Ferrari, Mercedes, and Porsche. Insert punch line here.

Monte Carlo's Place du Casino was the site of exotic automotive Armageddon.

Monte Carlo's Place du Casino was the site of exotic automotive Armageddon.

Nothing in Monte Carlo is understated, from the baubles to the yachts to the bank accounts. Now add traffic pile-ups to that list.

The Hope Diamond of fender benders unfolded yesterday in possibly the most conspicuous stretch of asphalt in the .75-square-mile principality — the round-about in front of the James Bond-worthy casino — when three blondes in a jelly-bean blue Bentley Azure ($363,000) scraped the rear of a white Mercedes-Benz S-Class (a paltry $91,000). And that was merely the appetizer. 

Served up for the main course were a hapless black Ferrari F430 ($186,000), which was hit nose-first by the 2.7-ton Bentley. Then, like two tankers mashing in the fog, a four-door Aston Martin Rapide ($228,000) crunched into the Azure’s passenger door. The cherry on this metal, plastic and carbon-fiber shattering souffle: a stray Porsche 911 ($77,000).

In all, a Titanic mess in mere moments, involving nearly a million dollars of primo automotive machinery. How did this happen? A quick photo-based forensics of the scene based on knowledge of the Place du Casino offers many clues.

What’s evident is that these five vehicles did not all converge on each other in one massive supercar big bang. The Bentley clearly was at fault. Its nose is pointing straight at the casino’s entrance, an entrance where fine cars are routinely valet-parked diagonally. It seems that the Bentley’s driver thought she could sneak past the white Mercedes, then swerved right when she realized they were going to collide, which in turn clipped the Rapide coming up on her right. The Ferrari and the Porsche were collateral damage - parked directly in the Bentley’s now diverted path.

Any chance that the trio responsible for this mess — whose damage tally will easily hit six-figures — would get to scamper off anonymously after a quick chat with Monaco’s famously efficient and ever-present white-gloved police were dashed given both the coordinates of the crash and the time of year. If there ever was a season when this moneyed retreat is more crowded than Times Square on New Year’s Eve, it’s summer. Photos of the crowd, gleefully gawking and photographing the impromptu car show run amok, only go to show that when rich people do dumb things in a big way, the masses are more than happy to snicker.

I'm in love with Jenna Marbles

posted by brandom; Replies: 4

This should be required viewing for all of the women unlucky enough to get a date request from me.  Freakin' hilarious!

News flash: Americans don't know jack about history

posted by brandom; Replies: 2

Yeah yeah yeah...I know....not surprising in the least.  It's still pathetic.

Poll: 1776 date puzzles some Americans

(CNN) - A slight majority of Americans know what year the United States declared independence, according to a new national survey.

The Marist Poll released in honor of America's Independence Day, July 4, showed 58 percent of residents aware their country declared independence in 1776. Twenty-six percent were unsure and 16 percent named another date. Younger Americans, those under 30 years of age, were less likely to have the correct answer with 31 percent, compared to Americans between the ages of 45 and 59 who said 1776 75 percent of the time.

One in four Americans also didn't know from which country the United States seceded, with 76 percent correctly naming Great Britain, 19 percent unsure and 5 percent naming another country.

The survey of 1,003 adults was conducted between June 15 and June 23 via telephone and had a sampling error of plus or minus 3 percentage points.

New Mumford Track on Beam's Music Blog

posted by Gary the No Trash Cougar; Replies: 0


Ho hum, football on the beach

posted by MaddSkilz; Replies: 0

Sean Payton, Tony Romo play some lockout beach football

sean-payton-dallas-coach Getty Images

The phrase “beach football” for many NFL fans conjures images of Robert Edwards blowing out his knee during Pro Bowl week after the 1998 season.  Notwithstanding the career-altering (it can’t be called career-ending because Edwards eventually made it back to the NFL, albeit briefly) injury, NFL players still play beach football from time to time.

Most recently, a game of beach football involving Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo, Cowboys tight end Jason Witten, and Lions linebacker Bobby Carpenter unfolded, along with Hall of Fame quarterback Troy Aikman — and Saints coach Sean Payton.

Per Brian Allee-Walsh of, the game was played in WaterColor, Florida, near Payton’s vacation home.

“I played a little safety, a little wide receiver and Romo was struggling at quarterback so I went in and threw him a touchdown pass,’’ Payton said.  “Aikman led his team on a 2-minute drive that ended up tying the game. After about a half an hour, the adults were ready to quit and the kids were screaming for more.  But it was fun.’’

The “fun” also may have been a violation of the league’s lockout rules.  When the lockout began, a strict no-contact policy supposedly was put in place.  After Commissioner Roger Goodell spent an hour on the phone with Bengals receiver Chad Ochocinco, the league explained that “normal social interaction” is permissible.  But then the vibe re-emerged that no contact should be had, but for situations involving established team charitable activities, and where permission has been obtained (e.g., Cowboys owner Jerry Jones receiving “special permission” to attend Romo’s wedding).  Indeed, the Dolphins said after receiver Brandon Marshall caught something other than a football that the team couldn’t contact him in any way, because of the lockout rules.

Then there’s the reality that the league doesn’t seem to be inclined to do anything to police potential violations or enforce the rules in this regard.  So we’d be surprised if anything comes of it, especially as the lockout possibly (emphasis:  possibly) moves toward a conclusion.

Apart from the lockout, and as Allee-Walsh points out, Saints fans already leery of Payton’s recent move to the Dallas area won’t feel much better about Payton’s not-so-normal social interaction with Romo and Witten.

Badass Blue Angels pics...

posted by MaddSkilz; Replies: 6



My wallpaper and my fav...


Ad for Miami Dating Service

posted by brandom; Replies: 0

I believe this is called "cutting to the chase"....

Tarantino toe suck and consequences

posted by The Juice; Replies: 4

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Beejoli Shah <>
Date: Mon, Jun 13, 2011 at 11:24 PM
Subject: I meet Quentin Tarantino, hilarity ensues
To: Kira O'Connor <>, Ryan Flanagan <>, Ethan Furman <>,,, Dan Fiedler <>, Kent Schultz <>, Emma Browne <>, Aaron Ensweiler <>, Emily Cassella <>, Irene Hsieh <>, Patrick Havern <>, Amrita Bajwa <>, Carley Steiner <>


You are either getting this e-mail because I've promised I would tell you this story and haven't yet, you're besties with someone I used to hook up with, or because my need for attention and adulation has reached such an all time high that I decided to pick 15 of you at random to listen to this story (most likely explanation), but all the same, below is the (in)famous but true story of how I met Quentin Tarantino...Adam and Ethan, I'll be expecting your short film script of this in my inbox in the next couple of weeks...

Wednesday, June 1st, 2011:

Get a BBM at 8 in the morning from my friend Nicki telling me we're going to a party in "the Hills" that night because the Yankees were in town.  But this party now presents a conundrum as a) I didn't know people partied on Wednesdays because I'm uncool and b) I had just run out of clean underwear and hadn't shaved my legs in three days, so I wasn't really in a "party" sort of place.  (what's that you say? You're surprised I'm single?)  However, after being told to grow a pair, I decided to join the girls after work for this fiesta.

Party time rolls around that evening and despite being a Wednesday, and based on how many trashy girls in short dresses there are, it looks like the inside of any club in Las Vegas has vomited inside this music producer's home.  Minus all the hordes of Asians you get in real Las Vegas.  I spend my first hour at this party irritated at having to even be there, and then telling the Yankees picture Joba Chamberlain how he'll never be as great as my beloved Brian Wilson.  I think he may have called me a lesbian as I was walking away, but I guess you can't blame him since I did choose to wear pants.  Anyways, I digress.

Heading back inside, bored out of mind, I look over and notice Jamie Foxx and Quentin Tarantino have joined the melee.  Joy.  Two more people at this party who could not give a shit about who I am.  I go back to texting in the corner while stuffing my face with a hot dog.  About an hour later I'm making a drink and realize the pasty tall fellow pouring orange juice into my glass is the man himself, QT.  Realizing I kind of have to go for at it this point, in all my nerd glory blurt out: "I'm sure everyone tells you this but I fucking loved Reservoir Dogs.  I watched it when I was 11 for my school newspaper, and it's badass."  He starts laughing, thanks me, pleasantries are exchanged about how I was clearly a fucked up 11 year old for watching Reservoir Dogs, and we start what appears it might be a delightful little chat about film.  Until this happens:

Quentin:  Wow so you really loved Reservoir Dogs, huh?  Which of my other films do you like?
(this blatant arrogance is the type of douchebaggery that really gets my gourd about Hollywood, so now my film boner has turned to film hate fuck, and I feel the need to cheekily undermine Quentin.)
Me: Oh wow.  You know, I really didn't like Kill Bill...
Quentin: What? What do you mean? 1 or 2?
Me: Ehh, a little bit of both. I just didn't care for them.
Quentin: Wow...I don't think anyone has said that to my face about my seminal films.
Me: Perhaps it's because you call them your seminal films.  Shouldn't you wait for someone else to say that?
Quentin: You know, you've got a mouth on you.  I like that.

At this point, QT puts an arm around me and I'm acutely aware that Quentin Tarantino has an arm around me.  As are my four friends, who are all looking at me as if I have grown a second head.  To be fair, I am easily the most uncool out of all my friends (I go to Q's in Brentwood four nights a week), so the fact that anyone even mildly famous wants to speak to me is pretty shocking.  He's chatting with my friends and I like it's no big deal, I am pretending like this happens every night of my life, and out of nowhere he leans in for the makeout.  Yes.  True story.  I am pulling a frat move and making out in a crowded kitchen with Quentin Fucking Tarantino.  I cannot stop laughing AS this is happening, mainly because I see my friends Nicki and Jen literally gag behind Quentin's head, and I really am doing this for the story at this point.  We make out some more, take a walk, keep making out, get more drinks, lather, rinse, repeat.  Believe me when I say I'm not bragging, because..well...have you looked at a photo of Quentin Tarantino recently?  (Please refer to:

At some point in our public makeout, Jamie Foxx comes over and without acknowledging me goes, "Yo QT, ready to roll?"  Quentin looks at me and says "Want to come to my house?"  Ummmmmm...fuck yes?  We get in an SUV and off we go.  As I'm in the car though, I realize two things: 1) Making out with Quentin Tarantino is a great story, but there is no way I plan on putting out, and 2) This is a director who makes up fucked up films for a living, there is a 23% chance he could Phil Spektor me, and I'm definitely not ready to die.  But alas, I'm already in the car and we're off.

We get to the house, which is gorgeous, and Jamie Foxx takes off with his lady friend (I try to say bye to him and he doesn't even look at me.  Jamie Foxx could not have given 2 shits who I was.  This is probably karma because I snuck into a screening of Ray in 2004 with my black boyfriend who worked at AMC at the time, instead of buying a ticket).  Which leaves me and QT alone in his bar.  I spot a photo booth and immediately realize that we must take photos, if for nothing else, proof that this story even happened.  (Because I know at least 7 of you right now think I'm still lying, and are pissed you had to read this much. It gets even better, I promise!!)  We get a few good photo strips, which I immediately buried at the bottom of my purse lest he take them from me, and go on talking about film.  (For you film geeks, this was a great conversation that led to QT cutting me a trailer of my five favorite bad movies, but for sake of some semblance of brevity, I will leave that aside for another day)

After a lengthy film discussion, Quentin suggests we head to bed, which is the point where I really start panicking.  I have stalled for a good long time but the makeouts were really losing their appeal because you can only be sweated on so much, and we were getting closer to the moment of truth on whether I'd have to put out or not.  The makeout continues for a while longer, and I'm really getting nervous about where the night may lead, kicking myself over not pretending to be more drunk and "passing out", and wishing he'd turn the damn lights off so that he won't notice that I'm wearing Hanes Her Way underwear the size of Canada that I bought at CVS that morning because my life is really just that sad and pathetic.   We make out some more, there's a little below the belt action that I try to avoid, as QT has the most unattractive penis I have ever seen (short. fat. nub-like.  The chode of all chodes.  Boys, those junior high pamphlets are lying when they say that all shapes and sizes are normal.  Lying.)   Just as I'm about to hyperventilate over the fact that he may try to put that horrific bodily implement anywhere near my Britney, he leans over and goes "Hey..."

I know this "Hey."  This is the "Hey, should I get a condom?" hey that accompanies 20 minutes of ungratifying sex.  As I'm trying to rapidly think of ways I can agent myself out of this deal, I hear what is without a doubt, the strangest question in the history of my life.  Quentin Tarantino asks, "Can I suck on your toes while I jerk off?"  What.  The.  Fuck.

Many of you may have seen this coming, as his foot fetish is WELL documented, but for some of us who spend more time watching Kate Hudson than we do Quentin Tarantino, this was a huge shock.  On top of that, I don't even like weird sex habits!  A saucy hookup for me is on the foot of the bed, instead of on a pillow.  Someone tried to talk me into a threesome once and I cried for an hour.  Having someone ask to fellate my feet while rubbing one out was a world I was not prepared for.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I realized this just might be my get out of jail free card on the whole chode in vag issue.  After some negotiations about how I would not partake in any of the hand job action were nailed down, I begrudgingly acquiesced.  (And by begrudgingly, I realized I didn't have to shtup the dude and said sure why not in about 0.03 seconds)  And thus began the weirdest ten minutes of my life - having my feet made out with by an Oscar winning filmmaker while he pleasured himself.  Truth be told, it wasn't so bad.  I didn't have to do anything (a nice bonus, since I am undoubtedly the laziest person in bed, which some of you can attest to), no bodily secretions were ejected anywhere near me or my feet (thank god, because I imagine it would feel like walking in sand with wet I fucking hate that), and just as I hoped, we went to bed right after.

In the morning, I snooped through Quentin's belongings while he was in the bathroom and now know his e-mail address.  He fooled around with my feet one more time (this time without asking, which I found rude), and then drove me back to Nicki's apartment in Weho and that was that.

Most insane experience of my life, and without a doubt, probably the best story I will ever get to tell.  Those of you who know me well know of my love of hyperbole, so I'm actually rather sad that I won't get to use "best story ever!!!" when talking about how I scored a free topping at Yogurtland anymore, but I suppose for Quentin I can make an exception.  I'll try not to forget all of you little people when my feet and I make our meteoric race (foot pun intended) to the top of the A-List soon.

Till then, I've attached our photo booth photos for those of you who think I still just have a vivid imagination...and yes, he does look like Frankenstein.


New Lytro camera

posted by brandom; Replies: 7

Ok, so everyone give  a wide berth while he tells me how he's been all over this for 6 months, and that it's even old technology that he's bested in his basement lab using his old pair of night-vision goggles & 2 Domino's pizza boxes...but I thought this was really damn cool.
It's a light field camera that lets you choose what is in focus after you've taken the picture.  So snap away, then head back to your desktop a couple of weeks later and determine which areas are in focus and what detail you're saving.  Really, really cool stuff.
The picture gallery ( is VERY cool as well.  Flip through a couple of the pictures to find one with some depth.  After it loads, click on the image in one of the blurry parts, and it will refocus the picture for that part to be in focus.  There's some really fun pictures in there to play around with.
I was told they've gotten $50M in seed money and don't even have a product yet.  Nice job!