Hot object: Rachel Glandorf, Colt McCoy's girlfriend
Object of lesser hotness: shrimp vindaloo
Quote: "It's not the perfect crib for a guy who has a girlfriend hotter than shrimp vindaloo, Rachel Glandorf."

Hot object: Paris Hilton
Object of lesser hotness: flapjack skillet
Quote: "You, Mr. Perfect Stubble, USC Star, First-Round-Pick Quarterback, just checked into the Paris Hilton. Miss Millionheiress Man-eater Paris Hilton, that is. You're dating her. Guess she graded out well on film, huh? You're going there even though you know this girl is hotter than a flapjack skillet but twice as shallow."

Hot object: anonymous basketball shooter
Object of lesser hotness: $3 pistol
Quote: "One shooter was 'hotter than a $3 pistol!'"

Hot object: imaginary college basketball player
Object of lesser hotness: $3 pistol
Quote: "Why say, 'I really was shooting well today' when you could say, 'I was hotter than a three-dollar pistol.'"

Hot object: Rick Reilly
Object of lesser hotness: $3 pistol
Quote: "Heyyyyyy," [Jack] Nicholson says [to Reilly] in his renowned street-corner drawl. "Babe, you're hotter than a three-dollar pistol."

Hot object: Rick Reilly, via fictional narrator
Object of lesser hotness: $6 pistol
Quote: "I was hotter than a $6 pistol."

Hot object: Tiger Woods
Object of lesser hotness: $6 pistol
Quote: "No, the coolest thing about the Tiger Woods streak was that when he was hotter than a six-dollar pistol, in a publicity boiler, he kept a promise he'd made to a junior high school buddy three months before and let him caddie in San Diego."

Hot object: Joe Montana
Object of lesser hotness: Tampa asphalt
Quote: "[Steve DeBerg] came out flat, and Montana came out hotter than Tampa asphalt."

Hot object: Vlade Divac's remote control
Object of lesser hotness: skillet
Quote: "Everybody else on the Kings has long been out cold, but Divac's remote control is hotter than a skillet, hungry for any news from his native Serbia."

Hot object: full-length wool coat
Object of lesser hotness: Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant
Quote: "I'm sitting in the pressbox of a fake Chicago stadium that's really in Greenville, SC, which is why 480 extras are sweating their spleens out wearing full-length wool coats when it's 85 degrees out. And I can relate, because I'm in the same hotter-than-Chernobyl get-up myself."

Hot object: Ian Baker-Finch's putter
Object of lesser hotness: charcoal starter
Quote: "The man they call the Sparrow (Finch, get it?) left himself a 13-foot putt for birdie on the 2nd hole on Sunday. He made it. Ten feet on the 3rd hole. Made it. Seven feet on the 4th. Made it. Six feet on the 6th. Made it. Fifteen feet on the 7th. Made it. His putter was hotter than a charcoal starter."

Hot object: Barcelona
Object of lesser hotness: summer car seats
Quote: "Then I left to watch archery, which is like sitting in the Superdome watching two guys in the middle of the field play cribbage. You can't see the arrows. Even the archers look through a telescope to see how they've done. Plus, it was hotter than summer car seats. Skip this one."

Hot object: Fred Couples
Object of lesser hotness: Naugahyde seats in a Bonneville convertible parked too long at the Texas State Fair
Quote: "O.K., O.K., so Couples had been hotter than Naugahyde seats in a Bonneville convertible parked too long at the Texas State Fair."

Hot object: girl at pancake place
Object of equal hotness: lava
Quote: "Now if TiVo could just bring this technology to real life. Roommate giving you long-winded recap of his Liza Minnelli dream? Fast-forward. Pop quiz in trig? Pause. Lava-hot girl just licked her lips at you at the pancake place? Save and replay at 2 a.m."

Between his new column and his last effort, Whitlock has dropped a series of mind-meltingly elaborate metaphors for what you and I know simply as "humping." To wit:

Gardening:

Personally, I prefer June-December romances, but a blossoming May flower certainly could be fertilized into a special, 28-year-old bouquet by a patient and attentive gardener.

As for the life-experience, station-in-life disparity between a retired millionaire quarterback and a Dave & Buster's waitress, well, let he who has never Captained cast the first hoe.

Locomotion/opiates:

The athlete and the wife know it's a lie on their wedding day. He knows he's on a moving train and he can't jump off. She knows she jumped on that moving train and it never really slowed the whole time they were dating. It might've momentarily stopped, unloaded old passengers and re-boarded new ones, but she knows exactly where the train is headed and has a pretty good estimate on just how many miles are left on the trip.

The desperate hope is the marriage will survive until he retires and then the train will stop for good.

That's the biggest pipe dream going. By the time the train stops, he absolutely loves the ride. He can't sleep without the steady hum of the tracks, the rocking of the compartment, the look and the smell of the new passengers.

Addiction:

He's a full-blown addict in desperate need of his next high when they retire his jersey.

That's why he's hitting on teenagers working the drive-thru window at fast food joints. That's why he's proposing to 22-year-old strippers. He has a habit to feed.

Automobile purchase:

They say it's cheaper to keep her. The truth is, most athletes should never purchase anything. Just test drive. That way, the new car smell they love never goes away.

I honestly have no idea what any of this means, but it all apparently has something to do with the inexorable chase of what Whitlock delicately calls "Strange Tang" (which may or may not be related to getting one's "Becky on"):

Strange Tang is the No. 1 topic of conversation inside a locker room. It's not steroids, the playbook or the next opponent. It's gossip about strip clubs, girls met in soon-to-be-visited cities on Facebook and Myspace and getting drunk.

Don't get him wrong. Whitlock's not judging. This is a man who's done plenty of Captaining, you better believe, and he's not about to start casting hoes at addicts who ride trains and sniff cars. Or something.

*******

Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin. Barry Petchesky will be on shortly. The revolution is just a t-shirt away.

First, here's the metaphor, from the text of her resignation speech:

Let me go back to a comfortable analogy for me - sports... basketball. I use it because you're naïve if you don't see the national full-court press picking away right now: A good point guard drives through a full court press, protecting the ball, keeping her eye on the basket... and she knows exactly when to pass the ball so that the team can WIN. And I'm doing that - keeping our eye on the ball that represents sound priorities - smaller government, energy independence, national security, freedom! And I know when it's time to pass the ball - for victory.

All of which would look something like this:

MS Painting by Ben Cohen

More than 50 people submitted their favorite FJM posts. Some were short, one sentence FJMisms. Some offered links and some listed their favorite posts accompanied by FJM-style commentary underneath. (Unfortunately, these submissions were not that clever so they'll be left out. No need to embarrass anyone.)

But reader Sherrie V. probably said it best though:" How do you choose among so many examples of brilliance? (OMFG!)"

Indeed. I gave it a shot anyway. After the jump, some of your favorite FJM posts of all time.

Victoria J. nominates "Meditations on Jeter":

Most people know him as the late character actor Michael Jeter's little brother, but to me he'll always be the only baseball player whose tears cure malaria in whales. There's been a lot of talk about Jeter in the last few days. Men who deal with numbers have declared him overrated, almost to the point that many are now saying he's underrated. This discussion bores me. How can you overrate or underrate a glorious sunset? A sunset just is. That's Jeter.

Jay G. nominates "12 Minutes of Hell With Colin Cowherd":

Let's play a nerd-game, Colin. Which is to say, let's "think" with our "brains." What if Horace Grant retired, and then didn't make it into the HOF, and then revealed, in a tell-all book and several appearances on like "I'm a Celebrity, Get me Out of Here!" and the like, that he, Horace, was a huge meth dealer in the NBA for 17 years and that the NBA has a massive meth problem. I just don't think that he would be inducted into the Basketball HOF. CC has two arguments — Canseco is famous so he should be in, and anyone who dominates or is "relevant" should be in. Ironically, he then says "infamous is infamous," which only serves to remind us that what Canseco is, in fact, in retrospect, is "infamous." Which is why his "fame" is not exactly what the HOF is looking for in terms of permanent membership.

Clyde R. nominates "Everyone Ready?":

Something new in the Joe-vs.-"Moneyball" war just occurred to me: Joe has not considered the idea that the book contains analysis by people other than its author. In other words, if Billy Beane were the author of the book and not its primary subject — and those of you diehard Joe-vs.-"Moneyball" war fans will no doubt remember several interviews with Joe where he did indeed think that was the case — would he read it then? Beane played on the field. He satisfies Joe's insane demand that only former players can "teach" us anything. Jeremy Brown, Jason Giambi, Scott Hatteberg — nearly all of the book's subjects played the game. So this ridiculous line of thought on Joe's part is actually more meaningless than I previously believed, because Joe doesn't even know enough about the book to understand that it is not just Michael Lewis pontificating about baseball. It is actual players discussing the game Joe loves and refuses to learn about. I thus would like to invite someone, next Tuesday, to make this point in a question to Joe, and then we'll start some real fireworks, by gum.

Sherrie V. nominates the "Joe Chat Marathon" from July 27th:

Here are things that could tarnish Barry Bonds's reputation, at this point:

1. Committing double murder of Tom Brokaw and Dame Judi Dench
2. Defecting to Afghanistan, joining Taliban, leading Afghan baseball team to Gold medal over American team in Beijing
3. Running high-end dog fighting ring where the dog fights take place on Princess Diana's grave
4. Inventing time travel but instead of traveling back in time to kill Hitler using it to go back to 1989 in order to start taking steroids earlier than he originally did

Things that will not make a motherfletching dent in Barry Bonds's reputation:

1. Being labeled a "hired gun" by playing for the Yankees

"Head Bee Guy" nominated "Pags":

In the pantheon of smugly ignorant acronym use, this takes the cake. LLBean is a terrible "nerdy acronym" joke for many reasons: like, that it's not an acronym. And that it appears in an article attacking Billy Beane, which gives one the impression the author is too dumb to think of two different things at the same time. FYI is boring. SOB is a term not heard much by people under fifty. And the whole thing — the collection of five acronyms; two real, three unfunny and fake — is referred to as a "system of analysis." Pags, seriously bro, if you had any idea how sophisticated their actual systems of analysis were...dude. Bro. Your effing head would explode.

Jesse A. nominated "It's Cool":

I just want to announce here on this blog, that if any baseball analyst of any kind tells me that "you really have to watch Jason Bartlett play every day to understand how much he means to this team," and that same analyst is found drowned at the bottom of my hot tub the next morning, and I am found standing upon that corpse, in the hot tub, wearing my trunks and a hoodie and just relaxing and smoking a joint, and maybe ordering a pizza or something, and instructing the delivery guy to come in through the gate because I'm in the back standing on a body in my hot tub — if all of that happens, I would really appreciate if someone could meet me outside, by my hot tub, and float me a few dollars for the pizza, because I will be in no mood to get off of that corpse, or get out of the hot tub for that matter, and plus I will probably have forgotten to bring some money out to the hot tub with me.

Reader Nicholas E. nominated "Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuce":

If you could go back in time and take Nap Lajoie into a room after Rube Waddell K'd him on three pitches and show him a glowing box with a video replay of the at bat, he would call you a demon, slit your throat, tear out his eyes, and generally freak the fuck out. It's a different game, these days.

David V.(and, oh, 12 others) nominated "Honestly One Of The Weirdest Things I've Ever Read":

Sorry — so, the complaint here is that baseball fans talk about baseball too much? Maybe that's because baseball exists and is interesting. Unlike — to give one example off the top of my head that I just like pulled out of nowhere as a thing that neither exists nor is interesting — superbike racing.

I can think of two reasons superbike fans don't go to sports bars, drink beers, and talk loudly about superbike racing:

1. There are only two superbike racing fans in the entire world, and finding a bar exactly halfway between Pittsburgh and Manitoba is tough.

2. If you went to a sports bar and talked loudly about superbike racing, the other people in the bar, who are probably talking about actual, real sports that actually exist and about which people care, would tell you to shut the fuck up.