It's Waxing Off, the feature that restored your faith in mankind by helping you to find the true meaning of Christmas. This week, rowdy female Knicks fans and the men who love them.

Elway's Bitch:

I know exactly how these two entitled bitches in the photo met their destiny at the Garden on Monday night. The head bitch, Leah, was raised next to a strip mall on Long Island. She flew the coop at the age of 17 to acquire her associate's degree in blow jobs. She discovered her talent in high school. Amy Fisher was her imaginary friend, and she ran all decisions by Amy when she was growing up ... She has seen all three Long Island Lolita miniseries and prefers the Drew Barrymore vehicle to the other three productions. Her "friend" in the picture (who secretly hates Leah more than herself) visualizes herself a makeup artist after an ecstasy-fueled stint at cosmetology school in the Bronx. Her friends lie and tell her the eye shadow looks "so fucking hot" (I can just hear it!) so there will be one less competitor on the whore playing field.


Due to the extraordinary amount of head bobbing in their past, these bottom-feeders were bestowed tickets to a Monday night game at the Garden. And it's so easy to look at that picture and hear the total ignorance in their voices. And the whiny, irritating tones. And the number of "F" bombs dropped because that's what's funny to them. They were most likely the least funny people in the entire Garden. They are most likely the least funny people who have EVER been in the Garden.

Their sense of humor really peaks when they start throwing around the term "homo." Because that is SO funny. Because one dude is wearing a scarf. Because these bitches KNOW style. Because they have a clothing line! Jessica Simpson has a clothing line. And once again, there is that small style point in which a member of their own entourage is wearing more eye shadow than Twisted Sister. That's so ill.

And, yeah, the whole incident occurred because of the protective instincts of a mother bear. That's absolutely what that was. If by "protective," she meant dramatic. And by bear she meant fucker.


We all know these women. They're so clichéd, it's clichéd. We all know they will be using their acrylic nails on those same mocked blackberries the following morning, texting "OMG" and "LOL." They will laugh at their antics. They will assure each other that they were indeed groped, because they are all so "fucking hot." They will revel in the adoring looks received from Section 87 as they were dragged to their own personal glory. They don't get it. They won't get it. They never will. They never could. And they will never be on Page Six. Which is what they secretly hope for more than anything else in the world. Unless Leah goes Amy Fisher on somebody. Just wait for it.



As with so many fun activities, sports guys are often appalled and offended by actions taken by females that they would find hilarious and charming in their guy friends. If it were three guys acting like bigmouth tools at the Knicks game, this story wouldn't be one.

The reaction to the M.O.B girls is amusing, given that we're talking about New Yorkers at an important New York Knicks game. It is a public sporting event fellas, not the opera. People get faced and yell stupid things at minor league baseball games in Omaha, what do you reasonably expect from rowdy, half-wit Long Island chicks at the Garden?

Ok, so I'm a Philly girl and a sports fan, so I tend to give other obnoxious fans a pass most of the time in the name of Good, Clean Fun. I've also toiled as a bartender in a popular sports bar and seen my share of ridiculous, shameful behavior on the part of men and women under the guise of rooting on the home team. Drunkenly enthusiastic sex seems to be most popular idea of fun in a crowded bar during, say, the Stanley Cup Finals, followed closely by rival team fan brawls and women flashing their boobs. Big friggin' deal. If you don't like the way other people act at sporting events, watch the game at your quiet, tidy home, pussy.

— Like so many other people in their twenties Trouble had yet to learn restraint when it came to drinking, sports, and public places. After being 86'd from bars and forced to surrender her share of season tickets due to run-ins with security and such — thanks to her propensity for picking fights — these days she prefers to watch the game at home where she is free to scream obscenities, hurl the remote at the TV and flash her boobs with abandon, free from whiny-baby jerkoffs.



Ok so I've spent the last week sitting on a jury in Boston Superior Court. This means I am trained in delivering the cold hand of justice. Or as the judge has said everyday since the trial began, I am an "impartial trier of the facts." Whatever. It means I'm a professional. So let me take you bitches to school for a second.


Who's at fault here? Clearly society. This is a case of innocent women being misunderstood and mistreated by the misogynistic men who overpowe..... I'm sorry I just threw up in my mouth a little.

No really who's at fault? I'm gonna go ahead and blame... 1. Eminem for being a pioneer for white people in hip hop and letting them go ahead and ruin it. We did that shit to jazz too. 2. Their mothers for not telling them to shut both their mouths and knees. 3. Their fathers for contributing to whatever daddy issues are clearly at play. 4. Staten Island public schools.

They're not hood, they're not cool, and they're certainly not married to the mob. And if a white girl who's afraid to try on Applebottom jeans tells you that, it's pretty damn obvious. (I suspect that they'd be the best fitting jeans I've ever had, but I don't even know where they sell them. Baby Phat?)


So in conclusion. These people are guilty of unabashed stupidity and are sentenced to turning in their vaginas. They are giving it a bad reputation (as if the movie "Teeth" hasn't done that already.)

Oh and Go Celtics.

Sam is a journalism student in Boston who was drunk when she emailed this. That's talent. She also enjoys Northeastern University hockey, even though she's the only one.



I use to think the phase, 'Women should be seen and not heard', was awful and ignorant. But then I was introduced to the wannabe hot heads of MOB and I'm starting to think whoever said knew what they were talking about. Now, I could make fun of the MOB ringleader's bad prison tattoos - which she probably got after being picked up for shoplifting Razzles and Dental Dams from Duane Reade(I'm sure Anna Wintour has a Channel logo tattooed on her frail form) or her consigliere's inability to apply make-up. But, I'm not. I'm just going to mock for them for being complete asshats.


If you want to mock the opposing team, that's fine - I do it, but I'm not going to call Joba Chamberlain a 'bloated head hunting cock sucker' while I'm at the game. You save that for when you're home on your couch. It's all about being subtle. If you want to burn Kobe, wear a t-shirt from a certain hotel in Colorado he'd like to forget. I'm sure that would affect him more than dropping a bunch of f bombs because he hit a couple 3 pointers.

I know I'm the last one to talk about what is and isn't appropriate, but you can't pull that shit and think it's OK. We're always being tested in life and the little girls of MOB would be epic failures if we still got graded for conduct when mingling with the general public. Plus, if you were associated with legit organized crime - why would you want to advertise it? The last thing you'd want to do is bring attention to yourself - ever hear of a code of silence? Obviously they haven't, if they did we wouldn't be talking about them....

Cameron Frye has never been thrown out of anywhere, but was cut off at Tim Horton's once. Cameron can be seen and not heard on .


Bay Area Claire:

Dear Attention-Seeking Females at Sporting Events,

It's called etiquette. Learn it. There are ways to cheer for your team without being an asshole. No, really.


Many of my days are spent in the confines of a sporting event-mainly baseball. Occasionally, accompanying the familiar aromas of the ballpark is the stench of your overwhelming perfume mixed with alcohol. Now, I share your love of makeup, but know when to say "when." There's a line between trashy and classy-find it.

I love an intelligent heckler, but screaming cliché phrases sprinkled with profanity does not impress anyone around you. No one thinks you're charming or knowledgeable, if anything the drunk dude a couple rows in front of you will attempt to get you to show him your tits. Not because you are appealing, but because you seem like you would do it.

Admittedly, I enjoy ridiculing the stupidity of the women who find this behavior acceptable. I will join in the coaxing of the breast-flashing, just to get a laugh out of it. Usually, it doesn't take much.


I must thank you, however. It is fun seeing you stumble in your heels, even once I was a witness to one of you falling down the steps of AT&T Park. She blamed the beer on the ground, blamed the stairs, and blamed her boyfriend-ignoring the hooker shoes on her feet.

Go ahead, "keep it real." If it was genuine, you wouldn't have to remind everyone. Keep it real, then follow it with tears defending your embarrassing behavior. Keeping it real? Sure.

Bay Area Claire

— Find Bay Area Claire keeping it real and staying fly at and


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