After seeing a new Volkswagen Jetta commercial where the lyrics to Elton John’s “Rocket Man” were deciphered in an attempt to get you to buy an Aryan auto, my wife gently turned to me and said, “I didn’t know those were the actual lyrics.” To which I responded, “I didn’t know flaming toadish tarts were a good way to attract people to buy cars.”
St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Jaime Garcia has hairlines so defined, it makes me wonder if it were actually spray painted on, or if his barber used a ruler.
Rangers outfielder Josh Hamilton, a recovering drug addict, went 0 for 3 in Game 2 of the 2011 World Series. I’m guessing he thought the pitcher was a narc, and called off the deal before each at bat.
St. Louis Cardinals catcher Yadier Molina is the youngest of the three banjo-hitting, excellent defensive catchers from the Molina Family. Jose, Benji and Yadier are the only three brothers in baseball history to have both played in the Major Leagues and won a World Series. Amazingly, Molina brothers Harpo, Gummo and Zeppo decided not to play the sport.
St. Louis Cardinals outfielder Lance Berkman gave himself the nickname “Big Puma.” Who the hell goes along with a nickname that the nicknamed named themselves?
According to Joe Buck, Tim McCarver knows everything. According to me, Joe Buck is an idiot.
Over the course of his hall of fame career, Nolan Ryan threw a major league record 7 no-hitters. He is now part owner of the Texas Rangers, and is frequently shown in the stands on TV. It appears as though Nolan hasn’t thrown any no-eaters since he retired. I heard Ryan was sued for concessional harassment by a former hot dog jockey named Demonte James. James claimed Ryan would force him to hand over the majority of his weenies without paying for them whenever he worked the box seats behind home plate. “Man, that fat motherfucker never paid me a Goddamn dime for all those honkey dogs he made me give him. He treated me like I was working at Winki Dinki Dog and I was his bitch. I guess Nolan and Ho’s got to eat too.”
There are an awful lot of insurance commercials during World Series games. The only type of thing a baseball game should insure is that you have fun, act ignorant and get blackout drunk.
Well, like Public Enemy, I’ve got to shut er down for now. Apparently my typing is making too much noise, so my wife can’t concentrate on reading her book with the lame plot and undeveloped characters.
It’s been less than twelve hours since the Yankees lost, so I’m still be angrier than a hemorrhoid that’s been freshly plied with Absorbine Jr. because # 28 didn’t materialize this year. But, they’ll never be able to take Boston’s late season gag away from me. To a minor degree, 2004 is kinda avenged. Nah, not really. To sum up the the Yankee mauling, here are a few overarching post-series observations from a militant, nutty, illogical and angry-when-they-do-not-win Yankee fan:
- Joe Girardi has never met a pinch hitter he did not want to use. Except for Jesus. Girardi had a catcher named Jesus on the bench, who was 2 for 2 in the series. That’s right, Jesus is a Yankee. In case you were keeping tabs, he recently left Chicago; but whereas he was bound for New Orleans, he apparently had time to make a quick stop in Detroit to get an RBI single.
- TV networks sometimes attach exaggerated descriptions for upcoming games, like “Battle in the Bronx” or “Melee in the Motor City.” Well, I came up with a couple of suggestions that could have been used: Yankees vs. An Umpire on TBS, and Yankees vs. Refusing to Swing on TBS
- Who in the hell would keep pitching Scott Proctor given his reputation as a sorry ass sumbitch? Every time he ever comes into the game, the Yankees take it up the (insert anal/anus/rectum slang word of your choice) like getting a physical from Dr. Jellyfinger. “Moon River” should be played whenever he comes out from the bullpen.
- Girardi is the dumbest former catcher-turned-manager to ever handle a pitching staff in the history of baseball.
- I haven’t seen that many check swings since a moody Richard Simmons was trying to balance his checkbook.
- Stevie Wonder could’ve seen the strikes the Tigers were throwing throughout the series. Whereas the Yankees batters refused to get the bat off their shoulder, Stevie would have at least wildly swung his cane a few times.
- I admit I’m abnormally hard on Joe Girardi for not changing pitchers, but he should also do so in moderation. At one point, he was burning through them like Clearasil pads at a middle school band camp.
- I’m convinced ARod, or as AOld as I call him, is the most overpaid professional athlete since Jon “Contract” Koncak. He’s AWorthless waste of batter’s box space.
- The Yankees got Fistered.
Well, the only bright side is that it is now full-blown UK season. Yankees Ought Eleven. Glad to have Nova’d Ye.
Ignorant Sight Gag Takes its Troll on Local Man
Water Valley, Kentucky – Johnathan Francois McDermot, who is know by all the locals as “Skeeter McD,” was recently diagnosed with Spinal Stairoidal Ignorantosis as a result of his many years endlessly performing the old Vaudeville “Walking down the stairs trick.” Dr. Jason Bent, a world renowned expert in spinal surgery and mime physiology, stated Skeeter McD’s case was “the worst I’ve seen since I returned from treating French illusionists post-Carrot Top’s ‘Tour de Ignoreance’ in 1992. While very rare, SSI’s symptoms have a lot in common with many other diseases, including being a lazy motherfucker, which makes it even harder to diagnose. People suffering from SSI have trouble standing up straight and working, which often manifests into “getting a check” from Uncle Sam. The most severe cases result in milk crate hoarding, as well as a nicotine and camouflage addiction. “It’s clear Skeeter’s suffering from one of the most acute cases I’ve ever seen outside of sterile, research setting. I didn’t even know they still made prescription strength mopeds,” Dr. Bent stated. The residents of Water Valley are currently trying to raise money by selling tickets to the Purple Hull Pea Supper at St. Patrick’s Parrish, with all proceeds going towards funding for Skeeter McD’s trip to the world-renowned Los Angeles Limbo and Mime College, where he will seek aggressive therapy and treatment.
Silky is on his way to attend zero weddings and a funeral (don’t look at me like that, he ok’d that veiled Hugh Grant movie reference via text message), and I am in the midst of preparing for a trial, so let’s get right to it, shall we? My wife’s dishwasher broke the other day, and we’ve been forced to live the frontier style life around these parts. It’s rough I tell ye. I had to hike up to town to get us some liquefied soap, and a soft pumice cleanin’ square, but we seem to be doin’ alright now. It’s gonna be a piece before the dishwasher will get herself back to oscillatin’, but the postal buggy should a be bringin’ us the part to fix it in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
From this experience, I discovered something NAFTA didn’t contemplate or attempt to fix. You can’t hire Mexicans to do your dishes. I mean, my buddy Octavio (a/k/a Uncle O) can either fix it, mow it, put it together, or wrap most anything in a tortilla. If he can’t do it, there’s definitely some other Mexican he knows who can. However, when it comes to washin’ the China, no amount of pesos will solve your domestic laziness. Maybe it’s all the water. Or maybe it’s memories of crossing that big fence in the desert, but whenever Uncle O has described his naturalization to me – and by naturalization I mean it was totally natural for him and his family to cross the border sans any governmental formalities – it didn’t involve the hardest leg of a triathlon. It did involve paying a guy a large amount of dolores de Americano and crawling through a whole in the chain link barrier that keeps people like me from having shoulder high grass. So needful to say, I don’t think it is the agua.
Maybe some nationalities are immune to the soothing, healing qualities of Palmolive Dish Detergent. It could even cause some sort of dish soapatitis. I think they have whole colonies of people suffering from this on islands far, far away. I’ve never eaten a Palm Olive, but I bet it is filled with awful tasting liquid that makes you foam at the mouth. Palm Olive sounds like a description of the knot you get from masturbating too much: Dr. Timmons to little 10 year-old Stevie’s parents, “Well, that circular mass in his palm is nothing to worry about. It will cure itself if you remove all the National Geographic magazines and J.C. Penny lingerie catalogs in the house. However, if you start to see what appears to be hair growing out of it, call me immediately or keep it flow-bee’d until you can get him into my office.”
And now for something completely irrelevant - not like that’s anything new……
“His trailer’s cool, he’s got one of them blue plastic pools.” That’s an abbreviated line from Todd Snider‘s “Doublewide Blues” off of Viva Satellite. He’s a lot more philosophical, talented and cool than anyone normally displayed on the Bob & Tom Show. Another line from this classic example of a truism from a folk singer – trailers or trailer congregations - is, “V-neck t-shirt with a mustard stain. Rolled up hose outside in the rain, he’s been my neighbor since 89, course he was in prison most of that time.” I can’t remember – which should come as no surprise to anyone at home – if those lines are sequential or in different parts of the song. On a side note, ever since I first heard them, I immediately look for the mustard stain whenever I see a wife beater. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mustard stain on a V-neck or wife beater before or after I was exposed to that lyricism, but it makes complete sense to me. Kind of like tequila and limes. Who would have thought you could get drunk and prevent/rid yourself of scurvy? It’s a win-win situation. I’ve also never known anyone who’s been a trailer park denizen to have neighbors in prison most of the time they’ve lived next to each other, but I suspect it occurs. Now, what I find unbelievable about that line is that someone could be in prison for years, and somehow their lot rent would be kept up. A trailer is going to last as long as a bomb shelter Twinkie, unless a Ralph-less Nader comes through and remodels its interior and the exterior of the whole park. As for calling them “trailer parks”, I’m clueless as to how that came about because I’ve never seen a ferris wheel, corn dog stand, or “guess your weight” game in any of them.
Before you think this is some kind of anti-home on wheels mantra, let it be known that some of my best friends I have ever had in my life all lived in parked trailers a long, long time ago in a city not too far away. And from what my parents have told me, I would not hell (KY pronunciation) from my current locale if it were not for the Bogle Trailer Court in Bowling Green, Kentucky. As for the aforementioned dishwasher situation, hopefully we won’t have to take it back wherefrom we got it and part with any gold bullion; cause we’s done been a savin’ for a new wagon. Well, I gotta blow out the wicks and straighten the hay, hope ya’ll have a mighty fine day…
