Sunday, December 19, 2004

The Politics Of Dancing...

Sup, fools?

Having a good weekend, I hope. I am, of sorts anyway. I once again successfully drank the local out of High Life Light on Saturday night. Speaking of insane, we were all gettin' down Saturday night at the local to the docit tones of the housse band who was kickin' it old style. The door opens, and roughly 45 Santas come through the door on a pub crawl. Oh, and an Elvis impersonator from Vegas happened to be there as well. Crazy, crazy shite, folks.

Some updates for New Years;

a. Our confirmed list has cleared the sixty person mark. About 70 more responses to go.
b. My folks might attend (sweet. that is, until about 1130. eek. Sorry in advance, mom.)
c. We have a little somthin' somethin' for midnight that Chapman, the Foxxe, Jesse, Ronan, and Garrett will totally dig.
d. The soundtrack this year will be neat-o. Working on it as I type this.

We're getting closer.

As for the Foxxe's last entry. I agree with his selection. I will also add National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation for a few reasons. One, Beverly D'Angelo is tres hot. Two, Randy Quaid is hysterical. And three, it's one of Chevy Chase's swan songs. As far as accompanying activities, I don my authentic Chicago Blackhawks "Griswold" jersey, identical to the one he wore in the movie. Yes, kiddies, I was so enthralled with Clark W. Griswold when I was 19 that I spent $300 to have the Blackhawks make me that jersey. Well, the good news is that they thought it was such a cool idea, they made an additional jersey, had him sign it, and it is hanging in their corporate office. Hmmm.

Talk with ya soon!

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.

"Can't stay at home, can't stay at school
Old folks say, ya poor little fool
Down the street I'm the girl next door
I'm the fox you've been waiting for..."

Can I get a "what what"?

I mean it. Can somebody, anybody, give me a "what what"?

It's been that kind of day.


Damn good question. I can't even figure it out. Except for the following...

1. Christmas is almost here.
2. I'm not dead.
3. I got my live "Styx & REO Speedwagon: Arch Allies" CD today, and there isn't a damn thing that the Fox or Heather can do about it, even though they are likely writhing in agony as they read this.

(In fact, before I continue, I shall now publish the lyrics to Take It On The Run. Enjoy!)

"Take It On The Run" [Originally by REO Speedwagon]

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

They say you got a boy friend
You're out late every weekend
They're talkin' about you and it's bringin' me down
But I know the neighborhood
And talk is cheap when the story is good
And the tales grow taller on down the line

But I'm telling you, babe
That I don't think it's true, babe
And even if it is keep this in mind
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

You're thinking up your white lies
You're putting on your bedroom eyes
You say you're coming home but you won't say when
But I can feel it coming
If you leave tonight keep running
And you need never look back again

You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

Now, where was I? Oh, yes...

4. New Year's is not too dar away, and I have a wonderful collection of misfits coming down for Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!

Now, more than a few of you have been wondering what this "Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!" is all about, and I can't says I's blames ya! Oh well. I can say I am more than thrilled at the prospect of having everyone (especially my brother and sister; Team Centamore is ready to bring the shit and get it ON!!!

(And how do we like my fancy Trebuchet font?)

It's going to be hella good stuff, man. Remember!

1. If you're on the guest list, righteous!
2. If you're not on the guest list, ask yourself two questions.
a. am I a swank chick?
b. am I single?
If you can answer yes to those two questions, You're on the list!

I wish I could give you more details, but we want you to be surprised. I can tell you this, though.

-To make this party happen, we needed a chainsaw.
-When all is said and done, over ten pounds of metal will have been used.
-I will be extra, super charming that night, especially after nine or so. Be sure to stop by and say hi!

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go try and find the fox in that song...

More later, all.


Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Five Reasons Why Barry Bonds* Can Go Fuck Himself.

5. His Babe Ruth comments.
4. "T could mean anything," Bonds* replied. "G could mean anything. And pee could probably mean anything."
3. Captain fucknuts (er, Mr. Bonds*) has the audacity to state he took steroids under the assumption they were flaxseed oil and arthritis medications.
2. When asked why he hadn't purchased a "mansion" for his personal pusher, oops I mean trainer, he responded thusly; ""One, I'm black, and I'm keeping my money. And there's not too many rich black people in this world. There's more wealthy Asian people and Caucasian and white. And I ain't giving my money up." Boy, oh boy, can he go fuck himself.
1. He has disgraced baseball and insulted the fans that supply his "black" money. Mr. Bonds*, kindly go fuck yourself.

(To all the ladies out there, my apologies for the harsh language. Mr. Bonds* has that effect on me. Not to fear, though, I am still the same old loveable Bunny I always was; I'm just faster and can jump higher now. Thank you.)

Sunday, November 28, 2004

Back in the saddle.

Hey ho, monkeys.

Been a spell, I know. Thanks for bearing with me.

In the interim since my last entry, everything and nothing has been occuring. No major news, I suppose. I was supposed to return to Boston this weekend, and once again work took care of that. At some point, one must ask if the existing circumstances merit continuing...

On the up side, I resumed writing and guitar playing. Sometimes we forget how good things can make you feel. These are two hobbies of mine that do it for me. (Thanks, whiskypants, for reminding me of that.)

New Year's Eve is fast approaching, and our plans are cruising along. Be on the lookout for an invitation shortly...

The battles on the chick front are not going so well. Ack. All sorts of garbage going on, but I will forego writing, as it will incur the wrath of at least one person (a DC socialite in particular). Same old poop, I guess.

Still in euphoria over the Sox win. It's really funny, because I often encounter someone wearing a yankees cap, and they can't look me in the face. Good. Fuck 'em. They're probably child molesters anyway. Next up, the Patriots.

More to follow, I promise. just in a bit of a funk.

Mason, Heather, and K.K., can't wait to see you guys. Three weeks. Get the Belhaven ready.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

World Fuckin' Serious.

On the day of the eve of what could be a historic night before tomorrow, I have a few thoughts and ramblings to share.

1. I still believe in Baseball Jesus. As much now as ever before. He has been my beacon of hope since game 1 of the yanks series when He showed me that it's about the team, and not just Schilling. (Schilling getting creamed game 1 was my fault; I was pulling for him, not the team. I have since corrected that, obviously.)

2. You can grow to love a new hat. No, she's not like my first, but she's 3-0, and she's mine.

3. I feel badly for St. Louis fans, especially Abbypilot and New Character. No, I am being smug at all; my statement has NOTHING to do with tonight. Rather, it's a display of sadness that Cardinals fans haven't to this point gotten what they deserve; you guys won 105 games, and went 6-0 in the postseason before the idiot bus stopped in your stadium. I really am sorry for you fans. I still hope you lose, but I feel for you.

4. Tonight, there is to be a lunar eclipse that is reportedly going to turn the moon red for a spell. We HAVE to win tonight; the world is with us, hell, even the moon is looking out for us.

5. It is 18 years ago today that the ball passed through the legs. Like we've said before, let's get all the friggin' shackles off in one year. And hopefully on the same day.

6. I love my friends, I love my life. But for tonight, there is nowhere on God's green earth I would rather be than at Abbotts, sitting with K, Rosco, The Silver FOx, Heather, Chuck, Magnum P.E.I., Chef Mike, Sonny, Siobhan, Snuggles, Cass, Jim, my Bro, Kirk, and countless Sox fans drinking the best beer $2.25 can buy, and waiting for that final pitch, that last moment, the ending SNAP of the ball hitting the glove (oh, by the way I am convinced the World Series this year will end with a K. Don't ask why or who, but I believe.) I miss you guys, never more so than now. But I hold my head high, and prepare to celebrate with Johnny, Proctor, SoCo, Lipstick Mike, the Bertrands, K-Swick, Abbypilot, the Euros, Josh the mosh, BDB, Ronan, Timmy, Heather, D&Z, and myriad people that are backing the Sox largely because I am. Thanks, guys.

7. Weird fact in case you missed it: The Celtics won their first championship against St. Louis (1957); the Bruins broke a 41-year Stanley Cup drought against St. Louis (1970); and the Patriots won their first Super Bowl against St. Louis (2002).

8. I hope they win it for my parents. My dad gets SO pissed at them for all their foibles. My mom gets pissed because the Sox take away from the Patriots news. Enjoy, Mom & Dad.

9. Fuck the Yankees.

10. I propose nicknaming A-Rod and Jeter "Slappy" and "Short-Rod." More fitting, I think.

11. God, I hope we re-sign Varitek.

12. No matter what happens tonight, the Red Sox have earned every one of my tears, laughs, vomit sprees, and clenched fists. Great season guys, thanks. Now go kick some ass.

13. I'm running out of reasons now to leave work early and get this party started....

You know what?


(My predicition: Sox 7-Cardinals 3)

Saturday, October 23, 2004

Only a few hours more...


There is a delicate balance of power, influence, karma, and luck floating out there. Sometimes you are fortunate enough to have one or more of these elements swing in your favor. Other times, not so much as they move away from you. Ultimately, I believe, you break pretty much even, like in chance. For the brave and stupid, there are times where you try to evoke an element, or even (gulp) several. Brave and stupid indeed.

So, here I go at it. As you may recall, my precious BoSox hat was stolen by a cute Serbian chick. She even convinced me she had lost it. While I sat there, mumbling and almost weeping (the damn hat and I go back 10 years), it was divulged to me the hat is fine, resting comfortably and in good spirits while this ordeal perserveres. My tears of suffering turned to tears of happiness as I envisioned the streets of Annapolis running red with her blood. As I lept into action, I halted; the Sox are 4-0 with the hat in her possession. I can't break that. So, I have remained quiet, in the hopes the hat will stay exactly where it is. But I can't NOT wear anything Sox. That's just wrong. And my jersey has some weird vibes coming off it.

So I did the unthinkable. I went on the element-evoking offensive.

I bought a new hat.

It's cool. It's fitted, dark blue with a blue and white "B" on the front, and blue and white socks on the back. It similar to my old one, but not exact. There can only ever be one favorite hat in one's life.

I know it is a ballsy move, but I'll have you know I consulted with another member of Red Sox Nation. Thanks, Silver Fox, for giving me the go-ahead.

I've also changed my regimen. You may recall it was Dokken pre-game, no hat, and Raspberry Wheat. Well, I figure I have no right expecting more than the greatest comeback in sports history from that combination, so I changed it. And I'm kicking it up a notch by going alta-schula.

D.L.R.-era Van Halen pre-game, new hat with dark, angry colors, and bourbon (to be relieved only after having a sufficient amount. And then, the only acceptable substitute is Sox Nation's most stalwart ally, High Life.

Yeah, it's going to be messy, and some may not survive. But I'm ready to do what it takes.

I am the ruler of these nether worlds
The underground
On every wall and place my fearsome name is heard
Look around, whoa yeah
Nobody rules these streets at night like me,

The atomic punk.

Let's kick ass, boys.

Foxxe, man your positions. It's on.

World Fuckin' Serious.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Baseball, Jesus!

The aftermath.

Sheesh, it's amazing. The World Series, for me, cannot possibly top what we've just been through. And yet, three days from now we enter the breach again.

Some random thoughts...

1. I can't decide who I would rather see in the WS. Houston has Clemens, St. Louis has 1946. Either way, f*ck the Yankees.

2. Some quotes from around the horn..

"They played better than us. That's basically it. You can come up with this or that, but the bottom line is that they beat us." - Short-Rod (Derek Jeter)

"Now they'll go back to the drawing board with next year in mind and a newfound hunger in their collective belly. Losing in the World Series to the best team in the other league is one thing -- failing four times in a row to dispatch their bitter rival is quite another. It will stick in their craw for the entire winter, even if they pretend that it doesn't matter. "

"I said, 'Don't let us win Game 4.' If we win Game 4, that gets us to Pedro Martinez, and then that would get us to Curt Schilling." -Kevin Millar

3. Here's the secret: Josh had Smithwick's all night, didn't smoke, and ate H-to-da-arry Browne's buffalo wings only. Me, I had no Red Sox hat on, listened to Dokken, and drank Raspberry Wheat beer. What's your talisman?

4. I gotta figure out travel plans today or tomorrow. Boy, my mom's gonna be pissed when she finds out I can't come home for Thanksgiving because I'm coming home for the WS.

5. We the people (that is, the Annapolis chapter of Red Sox Nation), made a valiant effort to help break the c-word. At Harry Browne's there was an auction last night of Sox/Ball Lickers memorabilia. The only thing we could afford was a baseball signed by Don Zimmer.

Our plan was simple; bid on the ball, win it, take it out on the street during the seventh inning stretch, burn it, and urinate on it to put out the charred remains. (Boy, beer does that to you, huh?)

We made the bid, but at the last second a bastard outbid us (literally at the last second.) Well, we must of looked really upset, because the winner approached us looking bothered and said,

"You can have the ball if you want. I didn't realize how important it was to you. Why do you want it so bad?"

My compadre Josh began making some story up, but Captain Adam Beer Pants decided to give him the abridged version.

"We want to take the ball outside, burn it in the street, and then piss on it. Go Sox."

To which he replied,

"No, seriously. Why do you want it?"

"We want to take the ball outside, burn it in the street, and then piss on it. Go Sox."

He says,

"But, I'm from New York."

I say,

"Well, then. How about this. You can hold the ball while we're doing it."

Needless to say, we didn't get the ball.

Go Sox. Go.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

69 and feelin' with my hands...

Ok, monkeys. I am all but freaking out here. The past five days have been draining, to say the least; but they have also been invigorating. Here are some lessons learned.

1. There IS a baseball Jesus. There is. You can doubt his existence, you can question him, you can even try to deny his mercy. But he exists. Just ask me. Or The Silver Fox. Or anyone at Castlebay.

2. Curt Schilling has launched himself into the pantheon of Boston sports legacies. Everyone knows about "das boot", but does anyone realize he wasn't wearing the friggin' thing last night??? It was applying too much pressure on his foot. He pitched seven innings with his fucking ankle tendon sutured to his bone. His BONE!!! Did you watch him between innings? He was in excrutiating pain. But he perservered. His name now resides (in my mind) right next to the names Larry, Bobby, Yaz, Teddy, and Bill. Thank you, Curt.

3. A new hymn.

Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come, follow me
And I shall give you runs

I love you baseball Jesus. Please forgive those who may have doubted.

4. A cute Euro chick stole my Red Sox hat a few days ago. Yes, it is true I have had that had for approximately ten years. Yes, it is true that I value that hat as one of my most prized posessions. But it is also true the Sox are 3-0 when I don't wear the hat. At this point, she can almost keep it. I can get another one while I am buying an authentic Schilling jersey the nest time I'm home.

5. I noticed the CD in my car over the last few days is Dokken's Greatest Hits. Hmmmm. Three days listening to Dokken, three Sox victories. Could it be coincidence? Who gives a shit. I don't have my hat, I'm listening to Dokken tonight on the way home, and I plan on drinking my fair share of High Life while simulcasting the game with Red Sox Nation back at Bad Abbotts. After all, the Annapolis chapter of Sox Nation has important work to do.

Go Sox. F*ck the yanks. Listen to Dokken. Have kinky circus monkey sex with a loved one.

It's all good, baby.

And the rockstar sayeth,

Bring it on.

(b.t.w. the '69' reference is to the fact this is my 69th entry.)

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

I believe...and I cry

Tonight I was subject to one of the most disheartening experiences I've ever had. It's not abnormal, mind you. In fact, it's totally understandable. Tonight, the Silver Fox lost faith. Truth be known, we all did at one point or another. I mean, Schilling giving up 6 runs in 3 innings is enough to make any one soul weep. Hell, I cried a bit. But, if there's one immutable thing I've learned, it's that Baseball Jesus loves us, and will come through.

I believe in Baseball Jesus.

Say it with me.

I believe in Baseball Jesus.

I totally understand in a temporary lapse of faith. I can understand it. Totally.

Personally, i have suffered at the hands of baseball as much as anyone.

And tonight, when The Silver Fox weakened, I almost faltered with him.

but I have faith. Enough for two.

Go Sox, go.

Tomorrow night, Pedro.

And I FULLY expect The Silver Fox to march along side me.

He is my best friend, and I believe in him.

As much as Baseball Jesus.

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

We Don't Need No Education...

Ok, my little monkeys. I knew going into the whole rock and roll list thing would create a stir; and oh! what a stir! A few quick thoughts on the comments thus far...

Anonymous: To who I don't know; for your information, Morrisey came in at #42. Also, have the testicular fortitude to at least name your entry! Coward! A pox on thee! I had the canastas to stick my neck way out in voicing my opinion that Steve Perry is the greatest male rock vocalist. Kindly show me the same courtesy!

Mitch: Yeah, it was tough to put the Boss so far down, but I never really considered him a "rock" vocalist, at least not in the traditional sense of the others. Perhaps on a different list, both he and John Cougar would fare better...

Beth: My darling, big brown-eyed Beth. I at first was taken aback at the sheer vitriol your comment exuded. Feeling shamed by this, I decided to investigate this female who came at me so forcefully. So, I took a little ride on the check out Beth's profile and know thy enemy train.

Here's what I found...

Gender: female
Location: Massachusetts : United States

About Me
I've already written enough about myself on my three blogs. If you can take the self-absorption, I encourage you to visit any one of them.

Describe the sound of a moist waffle falling onto a hot griddle.
"I did not have sex with that woman."

Red Sox
New England Patriots
Nine Inch Nails
Chuck Palahniuk
Jhonen Vasquez
Invader Zim

Favorite Movies
American Beauty

Favorite Music
Nine Inch Nails
Tori Amos
Johnny Cash
Goodspeed! You Black Emperor
Telefon Tel Aviv
The Pixies
Ani Difranco

Favorite Books
Johnny the Homicidal Maniac

Now, in reading this information, I couldn't help but notice one thing...

(excuse me while I clear my throat....ahem...)

Where is Chris Cornell or Soundgarden on your list?


And with that, we get ready for a little second period action with the score

Thirsty Bunny 1, The Rest of you Chicken F*ckers 0

Monday, September 20, 2004

Rock and Roll will never die.

Hello, faithful little monkeys. I have returned from places near and far with many tales of debauchery and wackiness. But first, i submit for your consideration,

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

It dawned on me today that too little attention is paid to those who brought rock home. Those that made us want to be bad-ass, drink a lot of beer, and love porn; and yet, they could capture our emotions and crush them like a gentle drop of dew on a summer's leaf. (Hey, did anyone else's bullshit meter just go off? Mine is going nuts. huh.)

Anyway, as previously stated, I present to you my list of

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

The first 20 I am strong on, the rest are somewhat in order, but I gots stuff to do! And now, without further ado, i give you...

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

1. Steve Perry (Journey)
2. David Lee Roth (Van Halen)
3. Bonn Scott (AC/DC)
4. Rob Halford (Judas Priest)
5. Freddy Mercury (Queen)
6. Steven Tyler (Aerosmith)
7. Roger Daltrey (The Who)
8. Robert Plant (Led Zepplin)
9. Roger Waters (Pink Floyd)
10. Bono (U2)
11. Chris Cornell (Soundgarden)
12. Ozzy Ozbourne
13. Bruce Dickinson (Iron Maiden)
14. Brad Delp (Boston)
15. Mick Jagger (The Rolling Stones)
16. Sting (The Police)
17. Geddy Lee (Rush)
18. Axl Rose (Guns N Roses)
19. Billy Idol
20. Joe Elliot (Def Leppard)
21. Prince
22. George Thorogood
23. John Fogerty (CCR)
24. Joey Ramone (The Ramones)
25.David Bowie
26. Bob Seger
27. Joe Cocker
28. Ian Astbury (The Cult)
29. David Coverdale (Whitesnake)
30. Corey Glover (Living Color)
31. Neil Young
32. Brett Michaels (Poison)
33. Geoff Tate (Queensryche)
34. Alice Cooper
35. Paul McCartney (The Beatles)
36. Frank Zappa
37. James Hetfield (Metallica)
38. Bruce Springsteen
39. Peter Gabriel (Genesis)
40. Johnny Rotten (Sex Pistols)
41. Joe Strummer (The Clash)
42. Morissey (The Smiths)
43. Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top)
44. Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)
45. Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins)
46. Kurt Cobain (Nirvana)
47. Jim Morrison (The Doors)
48. Gregg Allman (Allman Brothers Band)
49. David Gilmour (Pink Floyd)
50. John Bon Jovi (Bon Jovi)
51. Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails)
52. Eric Burdon (Animals)
53. Warren Zevon
54. Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam)
55. Don Dokken (Dokken)
56. Steve Miller
57. Ronnie Van Zant (Lynyrd Skynyrd)
58. Robin Zander (Cheap Trick)
59. Lou Gramm (Foreigner)
60. David Byrne (Talking Heads)
61. Eric Clapton
62. Henry Rollins (Black Flag)
63. Edgar Winter
64. Joe Walsh (Eagles).
65. Stevie Ray Vaughan
66. Jimi Hendrix
67. Tom Petty
68. Jeff Keith (Tesla)
69. Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)
70. John Kay (Steppenwolf)

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Do it !!!


I became a Yankees fan the first time my daddy f*cked me.


Now go tell your mother you love her, drink an icy cold beer ot three, and go make sweet love to some sort of barnyard animal (unless you are a Yankees fan, then you probably already are and should quit the livestock and go back to takin' it downtown from pops); the world is coming to an end...

The Sox might just do it.

Let's say, hypothetically (and I stress hypothetically) you check your email one morning as you try to do every day, and there is an email from an old school buddy living in California. Now let's say (again, hypothetically) that buddy has forwarded you a link under the guise of "ya gotta see this!!!" So, you click on it. After a few seconds the screen goes dark, and...

you see an old ex-girlfriend in a porn that cost about fifteen bucks to make, including buying coffee for the cast and crew when it's a wrap.


(Well, Yeesh hypothetically)

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Bad, bad math.

Ok, gather 'round, everyone. I'm going to impart a bit of wisdom you all would do well to heed. if you ever listen to anything I ever say to you, make it this; trust me.

NEVER have more shots than beers. NEVER, EVER, EVER. EVER.

I had the dubious honor of turning 34 yesterday. The plan, as presented to me, was for a few friends to help celebrate quietly. Why must my home consistently be turned in to a house of lies? "Few" turned into roughly 20, and "quiet" became "Tiki Night" at McGarveys'. I was deceived. And boy did I pay for it. I had more shots than beers. Never ever again. In fact, I think I'm abolishing all shots entirely. It's not worth feeling like I have part of Annapolis' sewer system running through me. Yuck.

Anyhoo, i still plan on posting stuff about the trip with the Foxxe, i lave lotsa lists to share, and so much more!

See ya!

Sunday, August 08, 2004

Catchin' up.

Hello, my little monkeys. I must apologize for my absence as of late. Busy busy busy. Some important items, tho;

most importantly, a belated blogesque 'shout-out' to the lovely Heather Jean Shannon Thomas, who had a most delightful birthday scant days ago. Her blog, 'Shards,' is a wonderful amalgam of thoughts, beliefs, and cool sites where you can make a characature of yourself holding a fish. Good, good stuff.

And now, in honor of Mrs. Shannon's (tee hee hee "Mrs.") birthday, I shall compose seventeen anagrams from Heather Shannon's Birthday.


Ok, there will only be two, because i suck at this (but I CAN do the 'floating thumb' thing pretty well.

Happy Birthday, Heather!

Saturday, July 31, 2004

F*ck it again.

I created this entry to apologize to Orlando Cabrera and Doug Mientkiewicz, the two players the Sox ultimately got for Nomah. I referred to them as "two retards and a hand job."

I was harsh. I was abruptly unfair. I shoudn't have.

Then I looked at their stats.

Orlando Cabrera: .246, 4 HR, 31 RBI
Doug Mientkiewicz: .246, 5 HR, 25 RBI

I just can't do it. I can't.

As stated previously, the Red Sox today traded Nomah for two retards and a hand job.

At least Boston fans got fucked in the deal. That's better than a hand job, I guess. But it feels more like we got fisted.


Oh f*ck.

Sometimes life shows you a preview of things to come. Sometimes those things are really good. Sometimes, not so good.

The Sox just traded Nomah for two retards and a handjob.

Oh f*ck.

My Kingdom for a Firkin of Belhaven.

Geez, I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want a Belhaven on tap right now.

Oh, by the way, a firkin is 72 pints. Or 144 cups. Or 288 gils. Or 6,912 teaspoons.

Look, I'm just thirsty, ok?

Finally, some answers...

I'm hard at work today. I spearheaded an effort to help save all mankind from itself. I am proud to report we devised a tool (hee hee, I said "tool,") to solve the age-old dilemma...

What's for lunch?

Cinema Lunch Generator

Thursday, July 29, 2004

11 Minutes of Huh?

I had a really weird night last night...

So there I was.

I was sitting on my steps, practicing guitar in preparation for the lesson I give my friend John every Wednesday night. My roommate, Jason, had come outside to hang out and chat. We were sitting there, drinking icy cold beer and chatting when a girl rounds the corner down the street from our apartment. She's about 16, maybe 17. She walks the block or so towards us, peers into the new piano shop about three doors down from us, and then tentatively approaches us.

Odd sixteen-year-old: "Excuse me, do you have the time?"

TB: "Uh, yeah. It's 9:55."

OSYO: "Great, thanks."

And she walks off. Well, she gets about eleven feet from us, stalls, and then returns.

OSYO: "So, uh, what songs can you play?"

TB: "You mean, songs you might know from the radio?"

OSYO: "Yeah."

TB: "None, really. I just play my own stuff for my own pleasure."

OSYO: "Oh. So, uh, do you guys live around here?"

Jason Bertrand: "Yeah, we live here."

OSYO: "That's cool. I live in Arnold."

At this moment, a woman rounds a different corner with a camera on a tripod.

Camera Gal: (in a thick European accent) "Can I take your picture?"

JB: "Uh, sure. Hang on though; I have to fix Old Glory." (The American flag hanging from our doorway which had become tangled.)

CG: "Ok." She takes a picture. (click)

JB: "Hang on!"

CG: "Sure." (click)

OSYO: "So, uh I work right around the corner at Buddy's restaurant."

TB: "That's cool."

Enter another girl with a camera on a tripod. She sets up next to the first girl, about six feet away, and starts taking pictures of CG.

CG2: (to CG) “Can I take your picture?”

CG: “Sure. Hey, are you almost done with the flag?”

JB: “Yep.”

CG: “Great!” (click.)

CG2: “Smile!” (click2)

OSYO: “So, uh, you guys ever get to Buddy’s?” (click) (click2)

TB: “Yeah, we’ve gone for brunch a few times. It’s pretty good.” (click)


CG2: (to JB) “Can I take your picture?” (click)

JB: “Sure. What’s this for?” (click2)

OSYO: “Well, I don’t work Sundays. Well, I work at four.” (click)

At this point a third photographer with a tripod is setting up shop at the end of the block and starts photographing the whole scene.

JB: “That’s cool. I’ve eaten there once or twice for dinner.”

(click) (click2) (click3)

CG2 starts taking pictures of JB and TB. CG starts taking pictures of P3.

OSYO: “Uh, you guys should come in some time for dinner. I can hook you up.”

TB: “Uh, yeah, right.” (click3)

(click2) (click)

JB: “So, what’s up?”

OSYO: (click) “Oh, nothing.”

TB: “So, do you play guitar?”

OSYO: “No. I don’t have the coordination for it. I play piano, though.”

(click) (click3) CG2 is reloading her camera.

TB: “You play piano. That takes coordination.”

(click2) (CG2 is done reloading.)

OSYO: “Yeah, but not for guitar.”

JB: “What kind of piano do you play?”

OSYO: “Well, I only have a keyboard right now, but I’m saving for a full-size one. There’s a piano store on the next block that sells some great ones.”


JB: “Actually, it’s a few doors down.”

OSYO: “No, I’m pretty sure it’s on the next block near where my mom picks me up.”

(I remind everyone at this point she was peering into the piano store window at the beginning.)

JB: “okay…”

OSYO: “Yeah, so, what’s going on?”

TB: “Nothing.” (click) (click2)

P3 packs up and walks off.


CG: “Thanks, guys!”

JB, TB: “Sure.”


OSYO: “Got a light?” (click2)

CG packs up as well, and walks up the street.

TB gives OSYO a light.

OSYO: “Thanks. Yeah, so, you guys should come in and visit me sometime.”

JB: “Yeah, well, our schedules are kinda odd. We’ll see.”

OSYO: “Well, I guess I gotta go. Nice to meet ya!”

JB, TB: “Yeah, you too.” (everyone shakes hands. OSYO walks off.)

CG2: “Thanks, guys!”

JB, TB: “Sure. What’s this for?”

CG2: “Just out taking some pictures, that’s all.”

CG2 walks off.

JB, TB sit there alone, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Total elapsed time: 11 minutes.

Painful Discovery.

I don't know how it happened, but it did.

It's tough to be a superhero when all who know you are constantly suspicious, and therefore nosy. It worse than papparazzi, because you know they only do it because they care.

Well, I've been found out. So, I might as well come clean.

By day, you all know me as mild-mannered, sober, Adam.

But, by night, I'm....

Der Mann Der Den Kindern Fische und Freude überall Gibt.
Yep, that's right. Loosely translated, it means

The Man Who Gives Fish and Joy To Children Everywhere.
Man, I was trying to keep it a secret. But I got cocky, and got caught. How, you ask? Well, I posed for a photo whilst distributing said fish and joy. I was in Tiannamen Square a few nights ago (well, night to us, day to them.) A tourist said,

"嘿! 那不是帶來魚和喜悅給孩子到處的人?"
(Hey, isn't that the Man Who Brings Fish and Joy to Children Everywhere?)

To which I replied (naturally),

"當然我是, 您傻的短的人! 這裡! 有一條魚和一些喜悅為您的孩子!"
(Of course it is, you silly, short person! Here! Have some fish and joy for your children!)
They took the fish and joy gladly. Then then mother (I assume she was the mother) said,

"但我們怎麼可以曾經感謝您魚? 它是顯然的一個人如您太重要以至於不能完成魚和喜悅工作為自由!
(But how can we ever thank you for the fish? It is obvious a man like you is too important to do fish and joy work for free!)
So I said,

"所有我問是您敬佩我的  從一個中等距離和給我的汽車超級幸運的亮光, 百分之一百!!!
(All I ask is you admire my genetalia from a medium distance and give my car a super-lucky shine, 100%!!!)
Ah, we all laughed. Then she snuck out a camera! The 母狗 took my picture! Well, I managed to take most of the fish back, but the joy was lost. I mean, you can't really take back joy cleanly, can you? And, wouldn't you know, the next day my friggin' picture was on the web.

So, I give up. I'm sorry, children of the world, Der Mann has to hang 'em up for a while.

Der Mann at Werk
(The incriminating photo.)

Sigh. That's what you get for trying to do the right thing.


Friday, July 23, 2004


Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just a little daft in the head.

But why does it seem is though America consistently fucks up? Why do we seemingly always drop the ball when it comes to doing the right thing?

I thought of this as I read The Silver Fox's entry regarding the Tour de France. It got me thinking. Why does the world hate us so?

It couldn't be the whole Iraq thing, could it? Such subversive behavior couldn't be it.

Maybe it's the whole Americans cheat at practically everything we compete at because we are so about the fame and money and 'glory' that we leave our dignity and integrity in the poop sample we send to the BALCO lab? Nah, couldn't be that.

Perhaps it's scandal after scandal spanning every conceivable arena: Martha Stewart, Enron, the Presidency, sports figures (remember the "13-year-old" that won the Little League World Series for new york by throwing 90-mph heat? They cheat in Little League, for fuck's sake. Disgusting.) But, maybe that's not it.

Could it be the way we simply take what we want, when we want it? Possibly.

Maybe it's simply because we are the bullies of the world, and have been for a long, long time.

And who doesn't like to see the bully get their friggin' asses handed to them?

Boy, it's getting tougher and tougher to hold my head high when I say I'm an American.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

The Juke Box Hero speaks...

Ok, so I took Whiskypants' personality test. And I swear to all that I hold dear no manipulation was done. None.

Wackiness: 168/100
Rationality: 182/100
Constructiveness: 226/100
Leadership: 172/100

You are a WRCL--Wacky Rational Constructive Leader. This makes you a golden god. People gravitate to you, and you make them feel good. You are smart, charismatic, and interesting. You may be too sensitive to others reactions, especially criticism. Your self-opinion and mood depends greatly on those around you.You think fast and have a smart mouth, is a hoot to your friends and razorwire to your enemies. You hold a grudge like a brass ring. You crackle. Although you have a leader's personality, you often choose not to lead, as leaders stray too far from their audience. You probably weren't very popular in high school--the joke's on them!
You may be a rock star.

I've said it before, and it applies once more.

I don't put on my rock star face...I am the rockstar.

Ladies, the line starts in the back.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

The Foxy List.

An extra-special WAHOOO! the The Silver Fox, who turns a paltry 34 today. That's right, ladies, step right up and lay yer dowry down!

In honor of TSF, here are some interesting statements about the number '34.' It's my gift to you, Fox. I'm so sorry. 

Fun Statements About The Number 34. (or, the Foxy list)

1. "34" was Nolan Ryan's number when he pitched.
2. "3" plus "4" equals 7.
3. If you say the numbers really fast ("threefour") it sounds almost like your sneezing.
4. 34 is half of 68.
5. In Egyptian times, they used 'numbers' to count things, much like they do today in modern Mesopotamia.
6. "3443" is a palindrome.
7. In Chaldean numerology, "34" is "3+4."
8. Also in Chaldean numerology, "3+4" signifies enthusiastic, optimistic, and fun-loving. That's   
our wacky Fox to a T!
9. The Yankees have 34 losses today! (That's about 100 too few, the dicksuckers.)
10. The Royals only have 34 wins today!
11. 33 is only one away from being 34! (keep streching and drinking your milk, little one!)
12. Jose Cappellan of the Greenville Braves is the 34th best player in the AA minors!
13. If you put 17 women in a room, you'd have 34 boobies!
14. The T-34 medium artillery tank was designed in 1937!
15. Exodus 34 quotes, ""Cut two stone tablets like the former, that I may write on them the commandments which were on the former tablets that you broke." Gee!
16. in 1861, America's flag only had 34 stars! (Look out! Here comes Kansas!)
17. Chapter 24, paragraph 1 of Utah's Code 34 specifically prohibits blacklisting employees!

Gosh! That's seventeen already, 34!!!

Boy, we sure had fun tonight, didn't we my little monkeys! Well, Fox, have an outstanding birthday, and I'm sorry I'm not there to share it with ya. Have many for me, ok?

See ya everyone.

Monday, July 19, 2004

This Just In: The Hello Kitty Mafia Has a Headache.

Oh, my head.
Hello my little monkeys. I'd really appreciate it if you could please read this as quietly as possible. It's been a long weekend.
I spent Saturday night with New Character in the aforementioned Finn MacCool's. And, might I add, had a mah-velous time. After much commiseration and consideration, the decision was made that Finn MacCool's is a decent enough place, but not the pub mecca I had hoped for. New Character is not mega-found of Seisun music to begin with, and I'm sure sitting ten feet from the band didn't help. But the drink was cold (well, mine was. NC had single-malt scotch. She has excellent taste in scotch.) And the conversation was swank. I managed to be my usual Don Juan self (well, as everyone knows, that is much, much closer to Don Knotts.) A good time was had by all.
Sunday afternoon came quickly. As I found out, our fair street was having a festival! Yep, that one was sprung on me. But as you all know, I now feature the speed of a cobra with the speed of two cobras, so it was no problem. Before you could say "Adam zipped to the store and got provisions for a cucumber and pepper salad, and also got a bunch of stuff for barbeque including ingredients for what would become an absolutely bitchin' BBQ sauce, and then ran home and whipped it all up. Purple monkey dishwasher," I  zipped to the store and got provisions for a cucumber and pepper salad, and also got a bunch of stuff for barbeque including ingredients for what would become an absolutely bitchin' BBQ sauce, and then ran home and whipped it all up. Purple monkey dishwasher. All while drinking beer and watching High Society. Abbypilot once commented that she prefers older movies because they are just as funny as current movies, have better plots, and just feel more real. I concur. If you haven't seen this movie, do so. Good, good stuff.
Which brings us to today. I'm off to the gym to try and banish the toxins in my system to the land of wind and ghosts.

Saturday, July 17, 2004

I got skillz.

Sup, monkeys?
I'm writing this at 8:47 am, Saturday morning. For anyone that knows me at all, this is a friggin miracle. I'm up this early because I was out late last night. (Yeah, it doesn't make any sense to me either.)
But make no bones about it; I got skillz. Permit me to demonstrate.
"Why do u riff with me
the maniac psycho
And when I pull out my jammy
get ready cuz it might go BLAAAAW
how ya like me now?"
"Give me a sista
I can't resist her
Red beans and rice didn't miss her
Some knucklehead tried to dis
Cuz his girls were on my list
He had game but he chose to hit 'em
And pulled up quick to get with 'em"
I tried to warn you. My skillz are impeccable.
Why am I so?
Someone has doubted me. Someone is actually in doubt of my skillz. I know this because they wrote so. They actually wrote it.
"When I step up in the place yo
I step correct
got you all in check
I got that head nod shit
make you break your neck"
I don't put my rock star face on, babe; I am the rockstar.

Friday, July 16, 2004

The stage is set...

In a brief moment of unfamiliarity, I left the cocktail locale up to New Character. And it appears she won't disappoint. We are off to Finn MacCool's Cork Publick House in DC. I opted for DC simply because I have been here too long not to have a better knowledge of our nation's capital. Plus this way, when I have burned Annapolis to the ground, I'll have a backup plan.
As you all no doubt know ('specially you kah-razy Beantown folk), Finn MacCool, the legendary Celtic hero, was the leader of the Fianna Éireann, a corps of 3rd-century warriors and hunters that protected Ireland from invasion. Stories of the Fianna that were written down in the 12th century form the Fenian cycle, which remains a vital part of Irish folklore.
Of course you knew that. Geez, I'm Italian and I'm on it.
Interesting fact about this place; no Guiness on tap. Ok, Q-townies, just breathe. Apparently, the reason stems from the owners not wanting to go with the norm. Instead, it is one of, if not the only, bars in DC to pour Beamish on tap. And, might I say, a well-poured Beamish can be every bit rewarding as a Guiness.
We have concocted a theoretical agenda for discussion (well, actually, she did. I simply rode the coattails to glory.) This agenda includes explaining everyone's nicknames to her. Should she ply enough 'potent potables,' it'll happen, too. Sorry, guys, I'll fight the good fight as long as I can. But we all know a full house (three beers and a rack) beats the possible reprocussions of friends, especially those who would agree with me on this.
Oh, and I just got wind Snuggles is coming to town next weekend to sup form the baseball cup; by which I mean we're going to the Sox vs. Orioles. Tee hee hee.

Rock you like a Bunnycane...

So there I was.
Last night was a treat, sort of. Abbypilot had returned from Iceland the night before with a case of lobsters packed on ice, as well as two cases of Icelandic beer called "Thule." Needless to say, a surf n' turf dinner took place amongst all the Fleet Street faithful. The Burgundy and butter flew like wine and butter, and a good time was had by all. My story is but a sliver of time in the greater scope of this evening (last night.)
So there I was.
I was sitting on the back porch, practicing guitar, enjoying the melding of scents and white Burgundy wine. I find myself practicing virtually every day now. I get irascible if I don't play; it's an out for me. Quite often, it's in the presence of my friends, and they tolerate it politely, often asking me to play "Stairway to Heaven" because they know I won't on principal. This evening, friends came and went on the porch, mostly to check on the steaks (the "turf" portion of our show.) As I was practicing, I notced I was drifting farther away from practice, and closer to free-form playing. I confirmed this a few minutes and a glass of wine later. I had indeed left the practice arena, and found myself purely playing. Bliss.
For any musicians out there, they know what I am talking about. The feeling when you are just can do no wrong. Everything you play makes sense. You play with a speed and clarity unrivaled in the annals of the universe. Unfortunately, it only lasts a short time.
I had sex three times last night alone, I was so fired up. (And I do mean "alone.")
Just kidding, it was only twice. But I did promptly walk into the house and say "boobies."

Thursday, July 15, 2004

The Return of the Thingie.

I had a much better title than that originally, I swear. I managed to completely forget it as I was writing it (or not writing it, as it were.) I intend to keep my promise of regailing you with tales from a broad, or abroad, whichever you prefer. But for the moment, I write for a different purpose.
I write to welcome.
Specifically, I write to welcome New Character to the blog universe. Everybody say "hi, New Character!" (No, I'm serious. Do it. Do it now. Do it now or I will come and cut you.)
So, a hearty and hale welcome to the newest member (hee hee, I said "member") New Character.
May your blogs always be interesting and frequent, lest your fifteen minutes of fame dwindle prematurely.
Oh yeah, before I forget, she emailed me today and said,
"I am notorious for being bendy. It's good. It's part of my seduction routine. What do you prefer? Oh, this day is so much better now that we've had some dirty exploits. Will you let me sit?"
We're going out for drinks Saturday night.

Monday, July 12, 2004


Sup, my little monkeys? It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, as you may be surmising as you read this, The Silver Fox and I are back from our kooky, kah-razy road trip spanning over two thousand miles of tarmac-and-curveball mayhem. Oh, the stories I have. I'll be firing 'em up shortly enough. Oh, and make sure to check out The Silver Fox's blog for his takes on the madness (link below).

See ya soon, bitches.

Friday, July 02, 2004

It's time...

The Silver Fox flies in tonight, and our tempestuous sojurn begins shortly thereafter. I have been looking forward to this for some time now.

I should probably pack.

Oh, and Marlon Brando died today. A pity. But then again, that's what happens when you pat Frank Sinatra condesceningly on the head in Guys & Dolls. Yep, everyone who has ever touched Sinatra is already dead, or will die someday.

Think about it.

Twisted Irresistibunny

Sup, chickenf*ckers?

Well, it's Friday.

Your first inclination might be to assume this to be like any other Friday. But something seems...different. Somewhere in the primal occipiatal lobe of yer brain a twitch happens; that twitch grows into the realization something is different. But you can't put yer finger on it. You swim in a sea of incoherent thoughts and jumbled data, looking furitively for that one kernal of context that will trigger an inexorable chain reaction leading to critical mass, and ultimately, knowledge of the difference.

If I may, I'd like to save you some time and some precious brain power. Because you won't think of it. You will try until you are blue in the face. But you won't get it. Brando just passed on, and even he didn't get it. What is it? What is that damn difference that proves to be a most elusive adversary? Want to know what the difference is?

Want me to tell you?

Today, I'm faster.

Yep. Faster.

Today I have the speed of a cobra with the speed of two cobras.

That's pretty darn fast.

Why am I moving faster? Good question. I move faster because I am the Twisted Irresisibunny, and Twisted Irresistibunnies simply move faster.

I move faster because I move now with more purpose than ever before.

I'm starting to get it.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Just for laughs...

I have the best friends in the world. I really do. And, I am fortunate to have top-shelf friends in both Boston and Annapolis. Here's why; following is a transcript I received from a friend after inviting him to a BBQ last week.

"Sorry I never called back with a response to your bbq. I’m guessing by now you’ve picked up on the fact that I can’t make it. If you haven’t, well, I’m here now to tell you that I can’t make it. I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship..all the good times, the bad, the ups the downs and so forth.

I will however be attending tonight’s festivities whatever they end up being. See you on the stoop of your apt around 8ish. I’ll be the one holding onto the telephone pole crapping on your sidewalk yelling, “It isn’t real! It can’t be real, this poop I feel!!!”

-Married Jonny"

How do you not laugh?

43 pick up lines authored or approved by me.

Gentlemen, start your engines.

Note: I am NOT inferring I wrote all of these. I wrote SOME of these. Once again, I did NOT claim to have written all of these, just SOME of these. So, yes I know, some you will have seen before.

LADIES: please do NOT read this, as I might try these on you someday. If you DO read this, feel free to ask me to recite some to you. It'll be fun. You'll already know the line, and you can be subject to my irresisable charms and almost frightening eye contact.

Here we go!

43 pick up lines authored or okayed by me personally

1. (Go up to a girl and say) Fat penguin. (What?) Oh, I just needed something to break the ice.
2. My magical watch says you aren’t wearing panties. Oh, you are? Hmmm. It must be an hour fast.
3. I’m not actually this tall.
4. Can I take your picture to show Santa what I want for Christmas?
5. The only thing your eyes haven’t told me is your name.
6. Would you help me find my puppy? I think he went into that cheap motel room.
7. You look like my first wife. (How many times have you been married?) Never.
8. Excuse me Miss, but you owe me a drink. (Why?) I dropped mine when I looked at you.
9. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
10. Do you mind if I flirt with you?
11. But, I’m a doctor!
12. I’m an organ donor. Need anything?
13. That’s a nice little nothing you’re almost wearing.
14. (Approach a girl, and open your mouth as if to speak. Then close it. Open it again and wait. Eventually, she will comment) I can’t think of a single line, but I just wanted to talk to you.
15. (Walk up to a girl, look into her eyes, look around the room, and return to her eyes) How do you do that? (What?) How do you make the room spin like that?
16. Am I making an ass of myself? (Yes.) Can it be your ass? WOOHAH!
17. If you were a dinosaur, you’d be a hottieasaurus.
18. I believe I speak for most men when I say, “hello.”
19. My doctor scheduled me for an MRI. He thinks I have a magnetic personality.
20. Are you Jamaican? (Why?) Cause you is Jamaican me kah-razy!
21. You know what winks and screws like a tiger?
22. Do I look like the kind of guy that would like to get to know you better?
23. I need to take your temperature. (Why?) Because you are looking mighty hot.
24. Black and white. Peanut butter and jelly. Me and you.
25. The missing teeth just leave more room for your tongue.
26. I have an imaginary cat.
27. Let’s see, I’ve got the F, the C, and the K. All I’m missing is U.
28. That’s a beautiful shirt. Can I talk you out of it?
29. Hey, it’s not my fault I fell in love; it was you who tripped me.
30. If I asked you for sex, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?
31. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?
32. If I had a nickel for every gorgeous woman like you I see, I’d have a nickel.
33. Is it hot in here or is it just you?
34. I don’t know if you are beautiful or not yet; I haven’t gotten past your eyes.
35. Do you know how much polar bears weigh? Just enough to break the ice.
36. You bring new meaning to the word “edible.”
37. Would you meet me on the pier at midnight? I’d like to see what is more beautiful, you or the moonlight.
38. If you were the last woman on earth, and I was the last man on earth, we could do it in public.
39. You’re my compass; I’m lost without you.
40. I’m an author, and I’m currently writing a phone book. Can I have your number?
41. (Approach a girl standing alone) If he doesn’t show up, I’ll be right over here.
42. Why do you think they call it a “pick-up” truck?
43. I’m a magical being. Take off your bra.
44. You’d look hot in a Raggedy Ann wig.
45. Falling for you would be a very short trip.
46. Do you know why the sky is so gray? All the blue is in your eyes.
47. I’m going back to my place to make out. Care to join me?
48. (Ask a woman) “If you could have a year of perfect bliss, but have no memory of it, would you take it?” (If she says yes, lean in and whisper in her ear) “Well, you’ve already had it. You were wonderful.”
49. All you have to do is breathe, I’ll take care of the rest.
50. Stand back! I’m a doctor. (point to someone) You, call an ambulance. I’ll loosen her clothes.
51. Do you know why you should masturbate with these two fingers? (hold up any two) Because they’re mine!
52. What was that? (What?) That sound. (What sound?) The sound of my heart breaking.
53. Uh oh. My parents met in a place like this. Let’s get the hell out of here.
54. If we cut your arms off, you look just like Venus di Milo.

Ok, I gave you 54. What can I say? I'm a nice guy (Eddie.)

New Character challenge...

In fairness to New Character, there are some corrections I need to make regarding earlier postings with any reference to New Character. Sorry, babe, I meant no offense. So, here we go.

a. We, in fact, ate at a Lebanese restaurant, not Indian as I preveously alluded to.

b. New Character does not like girl-on girl...only. It is merely another color on her palate of carnal delights from which she can choose.

Now, the challenge. New Character inadvertantly divulged her middle initial to be "G." When I asked her what it stood for, she asked me what I hoped it stood for. (I know, I know; she'll learn.)

What I hope New Character's "G" stands for

1. Good God, that'll never fit!
2. Good God, how did you ever get it to fit?
3. Gotta get it on!
4. Give it up...TO MYSELF!
5. Goin' DOWNTOWN!
6. Gentle, rolling fjords
7. Gonna get me some Adam!

Sigh. The likelihood I am even close to it is staggeringly small. If only I had some good pick-up lines...

or do I?

Squeaky clean and dirty as hell.

Hello, my little monkeys. Hope your day is going well. For me, this day marks the end of quarterly inventory (yahoo!) Hectic, and more hectic.

So what's new?

Well, as you may have noticed, there is a new character among us; at the moment, the new character is referred to as New Character, until such time that I can think of a proper referent. As we also know, New Character digs chick-on-chick action. This, coupled with New Character's witty banter (which never dissapoints), superior intellect, and quick wit, moves New Character into the top 100 of my list of favorite people.

But wait, there's more...

I came to work this morning to discover a new email! New Character had seen fit to grace my email box! I'm sure you can understand my shaking with anticipation at the prospect of New Charater's divulgence of more preferences.

And I was not dissapointed.

"If you're trying to make me...then you should have my great rack."


"I have a feeling...I'm egging you on."

Hello, top 75.

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Oh, and one more thing...

oh yeah (almost forgot),

while I am mulling over a name for the New Character, she asked that I remind everyone she totally digs chick-on-chick action. In fact, I distinctly remember her writing (just today, in fact)

"And tons of girl-on-girl, please. I can't imagine living a day where there wasn't at least some girl-on-girl. God, I love that stuff. I even like writing it; girl-on-girl. WAHOOO! Yep, if there's one like I like, it's girl-on-girl. Beyond a doubt. Girl-on-girl is the thing for me. And midgets. I dig midgets, too."

Weird, huh?

We have a Fancy New Character!

On rare occassions you meet someone so profound, so intriguing, so bigger-than-life, you simply must write about them. That, or you've eaten Indian food with them. Either way, they need to be shared; their fancy pants are simply too beautiful not to share. But, how to share such majesty? How do you possible share with the masses someone who makes such deep and insightful statements as,

"A giant schlong would make you very popular here in DC."


"Country Roads my ass."

We are truly lucky to know such genius.

Now all she needs is a name...and to get drunk.


Occam's Razor and the X factor...

Because my life is so interesting and fun, fun and interesting things happen to me constantly. Quite often several of those things can happen nearly simultaneously, almost appearing (to the untrained eye) as if I have my life together. Huh? You want examples? Ok.

Last night at 9:43, I was eating filet mignon, drinking a $200 bottle of wine (vendor-sponsored dinner meeting. Tee hee hee.) At 10:39pm, I was cruising blissfully with my top down, en route to the local for a pint with Garrett. At 11:06 I was supping said pint, albiet slowly because of the earlier activities. At 11:11, I saw TK421. Yes, that's right, TK421 appeared at the local. (For those not in the know, refer to an earlier entry entitled "The Irony of Life: A Quartet of Misery Performed in Eighteen Minutes".)Could it be? Could it possibly be TK421 had entered the fray once again? Well, yes. Sort of. Technically, she entered the bar. But she never actually made it inside, as someone called to her, and she promptly left. Sigh.

On with the show.

At 11:53 I was in another local, sipping yet more beer (At this point I had had five different types of alcohol over the course of the evening. Prep work for my sojurn with The Silver Fox.) We were trying to enter a game of darts, to no avail. At 12:10 or so we wound up at the local meat market, drinking (gee, imagine that.) Fuzzy wuzzy!

Well, I think I've painted a fair picture of the scenario up till then. So, what happens now? There is a postulate named for the 14th century English logician and Franciscan friar who formulated it, called Occam's Razor. In its original form, the principle is

Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem. (Remember, 14th century friarspeak here. All God, latin, n' booze.)

English translation,

Entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity.

Simply stated,

Of two equivalent theories or explanations, all other things being equal, the simpler one is to be preferred.

We shall apply it here, to my situation last night.

Let's examine the facts.

a. I've been drinking.
b. I'm all dressed up in my fancy pants and tie.
c. I'm having a great time.
d. I've seen TK421.
e. I'm headed for a bar I usually don't frequent.

Well, as O's theory states, what is the simpler answer to "what happened next?"
Of course! Something 'bad.' It's gotta be that way.

What was it?


Staring me straight in the face; screaming as she plowed through a crowd to get to me and Garrett, where she would remain smotheringly so until my departure.

And, Y.

Drinking with her, unable to chat with me.


A volte dovete ridere semplicemente.

Monday, June 28, 2004

And 4...

Four of my favorite baseball quotes.

4. Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple. ~Barry Switzer


3. If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an infant's life, she will choose to save the infant's life without even considering if there are men on base. ~Dave Barry

2. I've come to the conclusion that the two most important things in life are good friends and a good bullpen. ~Bob Lemon, 1981

1. Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good too. ~Greg, age 8

Jeezum crow, will Friday ever get here?

Saturday, June 26, 2004

We're down to T-minus 5...

Ahhh. I've finally caught up. Five more to go. The Silver Fox grows ever closer.

The Five Worst Baseball Uniforms

5. 1975 Cleveland Indians Road uniform: Bright shocking red jersey and pants. Blue sleeves, socks, and belt. And, arguably the straw that broke the camel's back for me, "Indians" written Wampum-style. That's more cliche than Doc Brown dressing up Marty McFly as 'Atomic Cowboy' in Back To The Future III. Yuck.

4. 1956 Cincinnati Reds Road uniform: Although the belief that a player or team can truly "strike fear" into an opponent is a fallacy, having a logo that resembles a cross between the Pringles guy and a gay train conductor can not possibly help in any way. And for God's sake, the friggin' thing is smiling. That, and the Wicked Witch of the West socks. The worst part of it all, for me, is that it adornes the away jersey. Right. The challenge of playing in another team's stadium isn't enough. Naw, we need the punishment only wearing Mr. Gay Pringles Train Man can bring. By the way, this jersey lasted exactly one season.

3. 1973 Philadelphia Phillies / 1974 Chicago White Sox (all jerseys): ok, you're probably assuming a tie here, right? Well, you're right in that it's a tie, but on a technicality. You see, I'm almost convinced they're the same uniform. And not only are they virtually the same uniform, they're both bad. Although I have to dole out credit to whoever picked the colors. At last, powder blue and crimson. Thank God. Apparently, the general managers went to the same pajama party. Sitting around drinking dad's vermouth from the bottle, listening to Ritchie Valens records, giggling over boys they want to bring to the prom, they both had the same idea simultaneously; these pajamas would make the most darling uniforms! They are, in my admittedly elitist opinion, unattractive uniforms. The fact that two teams (one in each league) happened upon the same essential unform makes these uniforms both Super Mega Ultra Unattractive uniforms and a sign the end is near.

2. 1975 Houston Astros home or road jerseys: At least they tried to be colorful. And they weren't bashful about it, either. Perhaps the uniform design was intentional on the part of the owners. Nolan Ryan wore this uniform, and he could throw about 102 mph. So, to an opposing batter, a pitch would look like a perennial coming at them really fast. And, after all, who'se intimidated by a Geranium, no matter how fast it's going? Yep. 5,714 strikeouts; 3,879 mistaken for flowers. Oh, and as an added bonus, the player's number is on thier thigh. Nothing quite likw having a number near the old ding-ding.

1. 1978 San Diego Padres 3rd uniform: I can see it now. Before each game, the announcer would fire up "September" by Earth Wind & Fire and boom out, "ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, stand up and put your hands together for your Chocolate-stained Thunder!" Speaking of train wrecks, have you seen this uniform? Subcutaneous fat meets Rear Admiral Brownfinger. Imagine being enshrined in the Hall of Fame wearing this accident. Rollie, I'm so sorry.

Ok, a few disclaimers. First, I mean no offense to fans of the teams mentioned. If you don't believe me, take a look at the 1998 Boston Bruins alternate jersey; I bleed too. Also, I found an exemplary website on the history of baseball uniforms.

And I admit, I was a little tougher on these choices than I needed to be. My opinions here don't take into account periodic trends, and other stuff like that.

There you have it!

T-minus 6...

Sorry I missed yesterday, all. Let's bang it out.

My Six Favorite Pitches

6. Four-seam fastball: Ok, back me up here. There are few things in life more rewarding than throwing pure, unadulterated heat past someone, right? There are two wonderful qualities to the four-seamer. First, the batter sees four parallel seams coming right at them. Second, it rises slightly if thrown properly. To a mediocre or inexperienced batter, this has the desired effect of seeming to come at their head. Tee hee hee. Why is this not higher on the list? Well, given that my fastest four-seam topped out in the low eighties, it wasn't super effective. I had to rely on off-speeds more often than not. And, as my life unfortunately reflects, chicks dig the fastball.
5. Cutter: often dba as the "slurve," this pitch has the velocity of a pure-bred fastball, but curves slightly away from the side it was thrown from. I always like screaming confusing things when I threw this pitch, like, "I'm gonna cut you so bad, you gonna wish I no cut you so bad!" That could possibly explain why my cutters rarely made it over the plate, and instead sailed off into the crowd.
4. Knuckle-curveball: This is truly a bitchin' pitch. Made famous by Mike Mussina, it is thrown like a curveball, but you bend one finger to induce an erratic arc. I would have possibly rated it higher if Mussina wasn't a cocks*cking Yankee. (Just kidding, I would have rated it number 4 anyway.)
3. Screwball: Another fav, although my coach forbid me to use it. For those of you unfamiliar with the mechanics of pitching, try an experiment with me. Mimic throwing a ball. If you are a righty, notice how your hand and forearm either stay parallel with your body, or lean slightly outward. Ok, now, do it again, except turn your wrist and arm inward. Feel that awkwardness in your wrist? Feel the potential for disaster in your elbow? Yeah, that's why I was forbidden to throw it. This pitch has destroyed more arms than chronic masturbation. The good news, though, is that when it is well-thrown, it curves back towards the side it was thrown from, and almost always works.
2. Eephus: Also known as the 'blooper.' A really f*cked up pitch to watch. It lost its popularity around forty years ago when hitters started more regimented workouts and training routines. The Eephus (pronounced "Eephus," I mean, "E-fus") has one defense; it crosses the plate at an angle almost impossible to hit. The pitch is thrown in a huge, sweeping arc. Seriously, a good eephus would reach somewhere around fifteen feet at its apex. The idea is for it to drop exactly at the inside of the plate. Supafly pitch.
1. Forkball: Most commonly known as a 'splitter,' this little gem bailed me out of countless jams when I was a lad. The grip used causes the ball to drop off late in its arc. It is an especially nifty pitch when thrown sidearm, as the delivery causes the pitch to break down and out almost diagonally. I throw an amazing forkball. (oh, by the way, replace "I" with "Roger Clemens." I'm always doing that. Hello, is Walter Mitty home?)(Incidentally, my forkball is above serviceable, but then again I am a mere shell of the man I once was. Well, a fatter shell, anyway.)

Thursday, June 24, 2004

And two bad ones...

1. BankOne Ballpark, Phoenix: Imagine traveling in the desert. It's hot, you're hot, no end in sight. And then, on the horizon, you see a vision. Your spirits perk up, and you run to it. As you get closer, you realize it's a really big, sterile box. But you go in anyway. You see the roof is open, and the air conditioning is on full blast, which makes as much sense as positioning the diamond caddie-corner to the box itself, creating a shape not normally found in nature. Now try to picture yourself surrounded by 30,000 retirees in purple and green who don't know baseball from thier medication keeping them alive, with their grandkids waving plastic rattlesnake heads packed with beads at nothing in particular. The pool in center field everyone is crazy about? Let's just say from 50 feet I could make out the ring of scum around the inside. One saving grace though, and this keeps BankOne from the bottom; lining the concours, around the entire ballpark, is a banner that pays tribute to every ballpark ever used in major league history, even the torn down ones. That was really cool. It helped dull the pain of being surrounded by people who were never loved.

2. Memorial Stadium, Philadelphia: Imagine BankOne Ballpark had a toilet. One that it forgot about. Five minutes before gametime, I was the only person the the main bathroom behind home plate. I won a hot dog because I had a Red Sox hat on.

T-minus 7 and counting.

Ahhh, baseball. The sweet sweet pastime. The great Americana. Can anything really compare to the smell of the grass of the outfield, the roar of the crowd, or the crack of the bat? In preparation of my trip with The Silver Fox, here are my 7 favorite ballparks.

My Seven Favorite Ballparks

7. Jacobs Field, Cleveland: I would have liked this place a whole lot more if it wasn't packed with Indians fans. I give them this; they are extremely knowledgeable, apparently trading grades four through six for a baseball education that would cripple most. They can't seem to distinguish Red Sox fans from Yankees fans, even when the Yankees fans are in a bar wearing pinstripes, and the Red Sox fans are screaming "Yankees suck!" and throwing beer and appetizers at them. (I swear, Snuggles and I stopped talking to a young boy at the pre-game bar with his dad because of his affiliation. A damned child, for God's sake! And still the Cleveland fans chanted "chowderheads" at us incessantly. Like I said, a good indication more has been spent on beer and [bad] chili dogs than on education in that town.)
6. Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles: Like an ugly chick wearing hot shoes, a great oasis in a less-than-savory place. I must admit, I've never been, but the name sounds like a great ballpark, doesn't it? "Dodger Stadium." Say it with me. "Dodger Stadium." Ahhh. It's like having your feet rubbed by the aforementioned ugly chick, but because of the positioning, you only have to look at the hot shoes.
5. Camden Yards, Baltimore: The park is beautiful, and rightfully the blueprint for new ballparks. The concours are huge, the food is above average, and the warehouse is endearing as hell. Overall, it's a comfortable, great place for me to watch my Red Sox win.
4. Comerica Park, Detroit: From the bowels of hell itself rises a gem. Surrounded by Dante's fourth or fifth level (wherever auto assembly-line workers go), rises a park festooned with Tigers of all sizes and materials. There's lots to do for the kids, and the beer is really good. In center field, gigantic wrought iron tigers flank the oversized scoreboard. Plus, it's next to Hockeytown, USA (Joe Louis arena.) Blue-collar meets fancy-pants.
3. Wrigley Field, Chicago: I must concede, I've never been. But any park with that much history has to be great to be in. Also, The Silver Fox gets all misty-eyed when he regales us with tales from Wrigley. He likes to be held.
2. PNC Park, Pittsburgh: I think PNC gets so many points because it was the first ballpark I saw outside of Fenway. Otherwise, the park itself is gorgeous. The seating is spacious, the amenities are plentiful, and they bring beer to you! You can see Pittsburgh's skyline from almost anywhere, and they have a great catwalk just out of center field. Oh, and me and Snuggles got absolutely loaded and met some life-size pierogis. Mine was Angry Pierogi. I have pictures.
1. Fenway Park, Boston: The beer is ridiculously expensive, the seats are meant to accomodate people from a century ago, and the bathrooms are travesties. But, the Pesky pole, Teddy Ballgame's red seat, the Green Monster; it's home, man.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

T-minus 8 and counting...

In 8 days, The Silver Fox and I embark on our sojurn across this great land to suckle at baseball's great teet. In honor of this event, I will begin a countdown.

This one's for you, Silver Fox.

My 8 Favorite Pitchers

8. Mitch Williams: He's not on the list for any accomplishments; he was a moderate pitcher at best, and a sloppy closer at best as well. No, "Wild Thing" is on the list for no other reason than his control was so sketchy and erratic, he would scare the absolute crap out of batters. You could actually see the fear when they came up to the plate. Coupled with his wild hair, he was a pleasure to watch (except for the '91 World Series when he blew it against the Blue Jays, giving up the home run to Joe Carter. Boo.)

7. Tim Wakefield: Any fan of the Red Sox, or knuckleballers, will agree; the boy can pitch, and he has the work ethic of a horse.

6. Rollie Fingers: Have you seen the moustache? He helped epitomize the role of "relief ace." 17-year career, 341 saves, and a bitchin' moustache.

5. Randy Johnson: Any man that stands 6'7", can throw 100mph, and scares John Kruk is ok with me.

4. Dennis Eckersley: The Eck, another treasure the Sox once had, displayed an uncommon side-arm delivery that lasted him throughout his starting career(149-130), and as one of, if not the, greatest relievers in baseball history (390 saves.)

3. "Three-Finger" Mordecai Brown: At the age of 7, Brown was playing on his uncle's farm and got his right hand caught in a corn shredder. His index finger was amputated above the second knuckle, and his thumb and pinkie were both impaired permanently. While chasing a hog a few weeks later, he fell and broke the third and fourth fingers on the same hand, both of which healed unnaturally. This accident led to the distinctive nickname, "Three Finger Brown." It's eerie how much his story mirrors my sex life. Sigh.

2. Dent "Cy" Young: nicknamed "Cyclone" because of his blinding fastball. 22-year career, 511 wins, and over 7,300 innings pitched as a Red Sox. I loved that man.

1. Nolan Ryan: The "Alvin Express" accrued 5,714 strikeouts (still the record) and seven no-hitters over a 27-year career. His last no-hitter came at the age of 46. He owns or shares 48 Major League records, some while wearing one of the worst uniforms in the history of professional sports (Houston Astros of the 1980's.)

Cutting-edge Midget Theory.

This is correct. I have a theory on midgets. I couldn't tell you why I have a theory on midgets, but that doesn't detract from my having one. And here it is.

"Any given scenario, no matter how somber, morose, or gruesome, will be rendered comedic immediately if a midget throws a pie at the protagonist of the situation."

Go ahead. Try to prove me wrong. I've logged myriad hours over my years to disprove this theory. In fact, if noone has any objections, I'd like to consider it an axiom. Just think...

Bunny's Midget Axiom

My mom would be so proud of me.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

And Abba played on...

Hello, my little monkeys. Hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was most interesting.

Friday: Whilst enjoying a pint at Castlebay, I was told by a female stranger I "Look like
someone I haven't met yet." Now, I'm no fancy-pants gigolo, but if that's a
pick-up line, it's the worst one I've ever heard, and I know something about bad
pick-up lines.

Saturday: I was at a friend's wedding on Saturday. The day was beautiful, and the ceremony ended at 130. The reception didn't start until 3pm, so a few of us went downtown to a sea-side bar called Pusser's. We sat out next to the piers and had a few fruity drinks. We then realized open bar started at the reception at 2, so we went post-haste to the reception only to learn the reception started a 4, not 3, and the open bar started at 3, not 2. So, like all good soldiers, we sat at the bar and drank bourbon until 3, when we went into the reception and hit the open bar. About three hours later, we had cleaned them out of bourbon. Felling absolutely no pain, we let slip the dogs of war. Although I don't remember doing so, evidence has it on good authority I went to all the bridesmaids and convinced them to dance with each other. I then grabbed a piece of wedding cake, an additional drink, and went out to the dance floor where I simply stood there, eating cake and drinking bourbon, watching them dance. Oh, and trying to get them to smell each other. Go figure. Oh yeah, and the after-party at McGarvey's was pretty much the same. I vaguely remember the bartender telling us we had polished off thier bourbon as well. Eek. On a positive note, the vivacious and always pleasant "shiny eyes" Abigail showed up and we amused each other until one of our other neighbors showed up. You see, I was wearing the little bell you ring at a wedding to get the couple to kiss. On an ill-advised bet from Mike, I donned the bell and pretty much drank free all night for it. Well, anytime a girl rang the ball, I got a smooch. Good plan, right? Well, the neighbor is a guy, and rang the bell before I could stop him. Yikes. Abby thought quickly for me (she's such a trooper,) commenting on what had to happen. The neighbor smiled and said "ok!" and planted one directly on Abby's lips. Yikes redux.

Sunday: Slept in, with the intention of going out on Mike's new boat with John, and perhaps Abby. At noon, I was good to go. Abby couldn't make it, so I sat on my doorstep for four hours playing my guitar drinking beer. As it turns out, Mike's boat died about 300 yards off-shore, and John had dropped his phone in the ocean, so they couldn't call me. Tee hee hee.

Friday, June 18, 2004

Another list!

Ok, we here in Maryland have perhaps a slight bit too much free time on our hands. In an effort to share with you all (plural, Jesse) and perhaps spread the love, here are the only 22 acceptable reasons to wake one of us up at 4am.

22 Acceptable Reasons To Wake Us Up At 4am

1. Somebody died
2. You gotta have it (and, to be clear, by “have it” I mean “get some,” by which I mean “intercourse.”)
3. I’m on fire
4. There’s a midget loose in the house.
5. Your roommate just got some, and he needs to tell you about it.
6. The TV that previously had scrambled porn on the porn channel has mysteriously started showing clear porn for free.
7. Your roommate is about to get some, and wants to have some sort of pre-game show, which comprises telling you about it.
8. Your roommate remembers getting some, and wants you to know about it.
9. There’s a fire down at the old beer mill.
10. There’s an emergency A.F.C. meeting.
11. A nuclear holocaust will be starting on the east coast at 430am.
12. Two dogs are humping in the backyard, and it’s really funny.
13. A dog is humping a cat in the backyard, and it’s really funny.
14. You are being humped by a cat or a dog in your “backyard” and it’s really funny.
15. Your “backdoor” is traumatized from your humping the now-clear, porn-prone television while watching your roommate hump a midget cat.
16. You are considering hosting an “A.F.C” anonymous meeting (the A.F.C.A.,) but want to do it again to make sure you WANT to quit.
17. Schwinger is parading around the neighborhood in a dog suit looking for a little bling-bling (by which I mean “action,” meaning “getting’ it on,” which signifies his desire to “lay it on the line,” or, “taking it for the team,” which means “peeling the banana,” otherwise known as “parading around the chocolate Millenium Falcon lookin’ for some wookie,” which is commonly referred to as “having anal sex with a strange man who has no intentions of calling you the next day, and you’re okay with that, and so you make sure to try everything you’ve been thinking about because once you’re married you can’t be parading around the neighborhood looking for wookie.”
18. Will’s made either a Chateaubriand or a rippin’ lentil soup.
19. At approximately 4:02 you will poop your pants.
20. Your roommate is about to poop his pants and a friend wanted to let you know to ready the camera for obvious blackmail reasons.
21. Jenna Jameson stumbled into your living room and would like some sandwiches, only by sandwiches I mean something else.
22. Will is dressed up like Shakespeare again and lecturing the town drunk on "asides."

And that's about it, unless you can think of another?

They're droppin' like flies...

Hello, my little monkeys.

I hope this Friday finds you well. For me, today is a little disconcerting. Tomorrow, yet another good friend is shuffling off his mortal coil, and marrying.

Disturbing? Perhaps.

Unnerving? Absolutely.

It almost doesn't make any sense. How is this happening? With this (God willing) successful marriage, the pool is down to (team Massachusetts) me, The Silver Fox, and Snuggles. (Sorry, K, but you're involved with Roscoe, and thus removed from qualification.) In Maryland, it's me, Lipstick Mike, Big John Holmes, and Clark. (Same here, everyone else. You don't count because of your situations.) Why do I count twice? I just do. But, think of it this way; that makes me twice the weiner.

And, actually, The Silver Fox is involved. Now, its me and Snuggles.

God help us.

For all the ladies out there, special insight: I can understand if your initial reaction is to dive for the phone in a rutted frenzy. Just relax. We're here, and you still have your shot. You see, when you draft one of us, you're drafting a quality veteran player, not some dipshit rookie who can't rub yer feet worth a damn. Our pedigree is such that you can sit back, and actually watch your life improve the minute you interact with us. And you'll notice immediate benefits: ATM machines will suddenly give you more cash than you ask for "by accident," people will seek you for advice, and there is a good chance you will become a rock star. Besides, once you let us put our filthy man-paws all over you, its all over...

So, good luck, ladies. We're judging you on poise, creativity, and effort.

The line starts in the back.

(Hey, you know what? I feel better now.)

More bad ones...

Adding to the list of horrible characters...

Riddick in Pitch Black
Everyone in The Fast and the Furious

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

If I only had a list...

I was just reading The Silver Fox's entry Cast of Characters, and I felt compelled to create one of my own. (If you want to see his selections, go to good stuff.)

So here it is, my list (in no particular order) of favorite characters, literary or cinematic.

1. Bucky Turdgeson, Dr. Strangelove
2. Burgess Meredith's "pop", Grumpy Old Men
3. Inspector Clouseau, The Return of the Pink Panther
4. Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark
5. Hannibal Lecter, Silence of the Lambs (particularly the book)
6. Phileas Fogg, Around the World in Eighty Days
7. Dante Allegheri, The Divine Comedy
8. Cyrano de Bergerac, Cyrano de Bergerac
9. 'Pinhead', The Hellbound Heart
10. Leland Gaunt, Needful Things
11. Clark W. Griswold, National Lampoon's Vacation
12. Inspector Danvers, The Frighteners
13. Reverend Scott, The Posideon Adventure

And, for the hell of it, a list of the worst.

1. Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars The Phantom Menace
2. Jack Dawson, Titanic

Well, that's enough, isn't it?

The Legend of Katie Stumblepants.

I have had numerous requests of me to tell this sortid tale of lies and deception. And so, like all good men, I am caving in. So gather 'round, my little monkeys, and listen well...

So there I was.

Sitting in the local (the finest pub in Quincy, MA) sipping a pint or three with The Silver Fox (dba The Mason), and Kevin. It's late; like, 1 am or so. The band has just wrapped up for the night, and we are getting ready to do so ourselves. We are sitting at the round-top directly inbetween the exit and the men's room. It's loud. It's smokey. It's everything you are envisioning. As we worked on our lukewarm Belhaven and Miller High Life, a woman approached the table. With the grace and poise of a baby being hit with a cat, she slung arms around me and The Silver Fox (another great story, by the way,) and introduced herself as Katie. We said hello, she said hello and once again introduced herself as Katie. This seemed to please her, so she left.

minutes pass...

the band decides to play one more song...

Katie stumbles back in to use the rest room...

The girl's bathroom is about 50 feet from the table we're at, so we have mucho tiempo para veer la chica quando regresa a nuestra me.....wait a minute. I switched to spanish, didn't I? How embarrasing. Sorry.

The girl's bathroom is about fifty feet from the table we're at, so we have ample time to see the girl when she comes out. She's loaded, and she riccocheting off patrons and bar stools alike. About halfway to us, she sees us, and her eyes light up. Abandoning all caution, she approaches, arms spread wide. The following ensued...

Katie Stumblepants: Hey! Whoo! Zowie!
The Silver Fox: Hello, Katie.
KS: You know my name? Cool. BZANG!
Kevin: Time to go, huh?
KS: I can't! My sister left without me! She was going to pick me up but she left me!
K: Whoa. That sucks!
Thirsty Bunny: Yeah, that sucks a lot.
KS: I'm drunk!
TB: Yes, yes you are.
(TB,incidentally, is the victim here. And, I'm not just saying that because it's me. Well, replace "not saying that" with "saying that.")
KS (looking directly at TB): You need to get your life together.
TB: What?
KS (looking at TSF now): You've got straight lips.
(TSF goes to say something, but KS pounces far too quickly, almost preternaturally)
KS (back at TB): You look like James Woods.
(TB is stunned into silence.)
KS (to K sitting [wisely] silent across the table): You're ok.
K: Gee, thanks.

At this point Katie Stumblepants saunters over to Kevin and slings her arms around him. After a life of searching, she has found her man.

K: Oh no.
TSF: Yep.
TB: Enjoy!
K: Help me.

(TSF goes into the men's room. Minutes pass, TB goes in because the sight of K being accosted by KS is nearly overwhelming.)

TB: Hey, why are you just standing in here?
TSF: I'm not going back out there.
TB: Yeah, me neither.

(TB and TSF stand in the men's room, holding the door for passersthrough, smoking and drinking a beer.)

TSF: This is ridiculous. I'm going out there.
TB: Okay, here we go.

(TB and TSF exit the men's room to immediately find KS trying to something to K's hand that resembled a cross between licking your own feet and coughing up a hairball.)

TB: Oh, God.
TSF: Uh, did we interrupt something?


K: NO!!!
KS: YES!!!

TSF: Well, uh, Katie, we called you a cab.
KS: Oh, I don't need a cab! Kevin will drive me home.
K, TSF, TB: What?
KS (snuggling up to K): Yeah, he'll drive me home.
K, TSF: I don't think so.
TB: I think that's a wonderful idea. Goodnight, Kevin!
K: Shut up, TB!
TSF: Well, Kevin, it does sound pretty tempting!
K: Well then, YOU take her home!
KS: But, Kevin, I want you to do it!
TSF, TB: Yeah, Kevie-wevie! Take her home!
KS: Take me home, Kevin!
K: I, uh, can't.
TSF, TB: Why? You're single and live alone. Why not?
K: You'll pay for this.
TB, TSF: Yep, just not right now.
K: I, uh, oh, look! The cab is here!
KS: But aren't you...
K: Cab's here! Goodnight!
KS: But...
K: Bye!
KS: Can I at le....
K: Bye!

(KS leaves the bar dejected and alone. K promptly smacks TB and TSF. Like I said, I am clearly the victim here.)

End of Scene.

See what I mean? An amazing story, huh? I can't, for the life of me, figure out how the three of us haven't been snagged by either hot chicks or Hollywood by now.

I hope you enjoyed this tale. If you're all good and I get beer, I might regale you next time with the The Silver Fox