Saturday, April 23, 2005

Let's get one thing straight...

OK, my monkeys. There has been some debate over the outcome of a battle of me versus TMS. Let's look at some facts.

1. It is true I like beer and sausage more then TMS. Edge: TMS.
2. I move with the speed of a drunk mongoose with the speed of TWO drunken mongooses. Edge: Bunny.
3. Steve Perry is on my side. Edge: WAY Bunny.
4. TMS can see her feet. Edge: TMS.
5. I can see TMS's feet. Edge: Bunny.
6. TMS can recite every Supreme Justice ever born. Ever. Edge: Bunny (distraction by me.)
7. Bunny likes bacon. (ahh, the power of bacon.) Edge: Bunny.

Clearly, I would win by a score of 5-2. Of course, this does not factor in such elements as physical prowess or stamina, bu that doesn't matter.

Bacon rules us all in one form or another.

See you soon, monkeys.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

I finally figured it out.

I always had a hard time articulating my love for baseball relative to football. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy football greatly, and follow it passionately when in season. I love my Pats, and the joyous barbeques they bring and cause.

But let's get one thing straight right now.

Football is no baseball, and it never will be. At least not for me.

For me, football is pablum when steak is not available. It is brown, when orange is sold out.

As I (frequently) get into battles with football fans, I usually fail miserably.

Untill now.

I have finally figured out a way to express my feelings for baseball versus football. Interestingly, it came to me in the form of a comparative statement. So, here it is.

My Baseball Comparative Statement

Baseball is to football as chess is to foxy boxing.

I think that works rather well. Of course, I invite all opinions on the matter.

Meanwhile, the Sox are 0-2, and Barry Fucking Bonds* is still roaming the planet, albeit on crutches (coincidence? Maybe Barry Fucking Bonds, as the piece of dog shit he is, is using the "injury" as time to allow his head to shrink back down to a normal human's head before resuming his pitiful subterfuge of denial.)

But I don't even care. I'll be in Boston soon (two days) hanging with the posse, awaiting Opening Day (fa-la-la-la-la-la-la) and the purchase of my shiny new jersey. (Who to get? I haven't decided.)

See you wacky cheeseburgers and hamburgers soon.


A sad entry.

To Heather and Chuck;

I am truly sorry for the loss of your father. I can't begin to comprehend what that feels like; it scares me to know I will someday.

To everyone else;

Call your dad (and mom) and tell them you love them. Do it right now.