Barstool Sports

Spending the entirety of my weekend off entertaining celebrity guests and company partners, shooting video for work, and building our blog’s brand recognition among our exact demographic? Yeah — I must be lazy. Lazy as shit to be up writing blogs at 4AM so the readers have a thoughtful post about this weekend’s happenings and not something rushed-typed between 9-9:30am. Also not so sure one-liners under a picture count as “covering” games for 10 straight years, but hey, I’m not the millionaire. I obviously have my priorities all wrong.

You know who has them right, though? Motherfucking EatDatPussy445. Priorities straighter than hetero sex on a bed of Indian hair. Eagles, mom, food. In that order.

Real talk — every single person who is a part of Barstool Philly at some point this weekend had the chance to talk to EDP’s mom. Sweet lady, but protective and suspicious of us for randomly flying her son (whose never flown before) all the way across the country to watch a football game and hang with smut peddlers. Can’t blame her really — we’re a weird organization. If my kid told me he was traveling almost 3,000 miles to hang with Barstool Philly I’d immediately look up the site and be even more suspicious than I was before. Long story short, though: the kid loves his mom and his mom definitely wanted to make sure we weren’t going to leave him in some Buffalo Bill lotion-on-its-skin psycho’s basement in West Philly.

Overall the best part for us was finding out the dude is as fun as advertised. Usually you fear that webcam stars can’t shine as bright when they’re not alone in their room, but by the time we were actually in Xfinity watching the game EDP was throwing out all the high-pitched “FUCK”s and N-words we all have grown to love. Sure, he proved to us in the parking lot earlier that day that he throws like an 11 year-old Nepalese kid whose never seen a football in his life. Sure, he had an issue or two with butt mudd, swamp ass, cheesesteak-induced leakage, and exhaustion from literally hundreds of feet of walking — but who among us can honestly say they’ve never had these problems? Eat Dat Pussy is gold regardless.

From the moment he first came lumbering around the corner of the baggage claim to his insistence on me blasting old abstract West Coast rap to his ridiculous logic concerning how he looks on a bike vs. a razor scooter, EatDatPussy445 proved to us that he was the character we’d hoped he’d be. There was no faking with him. No drinking. No drugs. Just an intense love for the Eagles that can literally be traced back to a regular season matchup with the Bengals in November of 1997. Sure maybe he’s a naive kid trapped in a giant man’s body, but that man-child is the fucking shit and a blast to watch games with.

So — the video. We got a lot of great footage, and because of this we don’t want to rush the edit process for the sake of getting it out quickly. This needs to be done right. I’m not 100% sure when exactly it will drop, but I’m definitely willing to wait a little bit to edit this the way it deserves to be edited. Shouldn’t be long, though.

Thanks to all who showed EDP love this weekend: