Theoretically Speaking

Issues

2008-07-08T00:48:00.000-04:00

Toward the end of last week, I stated that I am going to perform a conversion of sorts. I declared that this site will become more political from here on out, and less humorous. I stated that I would do everything in my power to keep John McCain out of the White House, and to help Barack Obama occupy the Oval Office. However, I never really told you how I would actually do such a thing. To this end, I feel like I owe you a bit of an explanation.

In order to achieve my political goals, I intend to focus my writing on various issues, be they social, economic, international, or other topics, which are of utmost importance to us as Americans. In particular, I will direct my interest, and furor, toward issues that have, for lack of a better term, pissed me off for the past eight years. That’s right, I’m talking about things that Mr. Bush has either done, ignored, or completely screwed up, and that John McCain will be unable, or unwilling, to correct. Also, I want you to know that I will not simply write op-ed pieces that make Mr. Bush out to look like the Antichrist – my anger is not just with him. Instead, I will voice my concern over any mishandling or misunderstanding of the needs of the American people, regardless of who is at fault. In this way, I hope that I can educate and motivate, and not simply proselytize and divide.

In closing, I will mention that my first “issue post” will be on the topic of education, its importance, and what we must do to improve it. I have been spurred to action on this topic not just by Mr. Bush, but by a continuing series of negative editorials that have run in my hometown newspaper. They apparently have a problem with teachers and schools, and I believe that their incessant preaching has gone on long enough. I promise a more in-depth discussion next time.

Oh, by the way, today marks 195 days until the inauguration of the next President of the United States.

The Interview

2008-07-05T02:11:00.008-04:00

In my most recent post, I promised a long overdue gem to you, my nonexistent loyal readers. This gem comes in the form of an interview with my good friend Galvin, depraved writer for the somewhat defunct website Legit, Inc., which was the original inspiration for this particular site. We began this interview approximately two years ago, not long after I first created Theoretically Speaking, as a sort of welcome to the Blogger community from the Legit veterans. We finished the interview about five months later, and it has sat on my hard drive ever since. Naturally, some of the material is dated, and some is far more disturbing than I actually remembered.

Without further ado, I present to you the transcript of the interview in its entirety, along with the original foreword and notes that I had written for it. I apologize, as this will probably completely destroy my integrity and ruin any chance that this blog will ever be taken seriously. Er, I mean, enjoy!

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As all three people who have looked at this site so far can tell, I haven’t been keeping up with my original plan of making regular, timely posts. That is all about to change however, as I have new material, with help from a very special guest. As a way of formally introducing my unholy webdom to the world, I have agreed to be interviewed by Galvin, of Legit.inc fame. I’m guessing that this interview will either catapult my site into true popularity, or it will portray me as a raging psychopath and alienate anyone who may have even thought of looking at it. Honestly, I don’t really care which happens. So, without further ado, here is the transcript of our interview:

Galvin: All right, first I’d like to say thanks for doing the interview.

Scott: Why you’re very welcome.

G: I’d like to say… the reason I had the idea and am so anxious to interview people is because I did it in sophomore year of high school with a friend, and it was fun and entertaining, if nothing else.

S: It can definitely be fun.

G: Indeed. Now, on to the interview…

S: All right.

G: Question number one: Scotty, why’d you start the site?

S: Well, I'd have to say the first thing that moved me towards doing this was the fact that I have become disillusioned with Xanga, my previous blog site. You see, Xanga has gone from a remotely respectable place to a small step above Myspace. It has become a place for prepubescent girls to whine and recap each and every day of their mundane lives. It is also a land where every username must include a minimum of 14 instances of the letter X and words like 'chick', 'starry', and 'foxy'.

G: Ha ha, no shit.

S: I wanted to get away from a glorified diary to a place where I could express deep thoughts, whether they be acerbic or serious. After seeing Legit.inc's site, I became jealous and naturally made the decision to convert to Blogspot.

G: I see. Well, you’ve got Sabens to thank for that.

S: I shall forever be indebted to him for that. I really don't know what that means I'll have to do for him, but I'm sure it could be anything. And you know I’m willing to do anything.

G: Well, I don’t, but Sabens does. [Makes blowjob motion with hand.]

S: Nice.

G: Next question, hombre.

S: Okay, shoot.

G: Favorite sport and why.

S: Well, I would have to say that I enjoy hockey, mainly because its a place where you can watch two ugly
Canadian men with three teeth and a combined IQ of approximately 37 beat the living shit out of each other. That and, well, you can tell the goalie that he's an ass-spelunker and his mom has VD, and get away with it.

G: The games are fun.

S: They are.

G: Mario or Sonic?

S: Well, this is indeed a tough one. I originally learned to type from “Mario Teaches Typing,” so I could not be
partaking in this interview if it hadn't been for Mario. However, I was Sonic for Halloween when I was about 9. So, um, I guess I'd have to say Sonic.

G: I see how it is. The party wins over loyalty. You flighty bastard.

S: Touche.

G: Number four: What is your dream job? Besides male exotic dancer.

S: Well, you just knocked off one of my top choices right there. There are so many though. If I had to narrow it down though, I'd have to say chemical engineer for Aurora Pharmaceuticals.

G: Okay, but who the fuck is Aurora? Some penis pill company?

S: Their most famous product is Astroglide.

G: Oooh, even better. I’m not even going to get into why that’s your dream job. Let’s just fast forward.

S: Yeah, you probably don’t want to go there.

G: Number six: a long time battle of mine and Sabens. Do you take Lindsay Lohan or Jessica Simpson?

S: This is a tough one, anorexia or mental retardation.

G: It is.

S: Well, brains mean a lot to me, so Jessica Simpson means absolutely nothing to me. Plus, I've always found
Lindsay Lohan more attractive anyway.

G: I like Jessica Simpson better. You can’t turn down those legs, among other features.

S: You do make a good point. And all the empty space in her head could be good for certain things. [Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.]

G: This interview just went from weird to worse. Which, personally, is exactly what I always shoot for.

S: Glad to know we’re on the same page.

G: Next question: What is your biggest, most persistent pet peeve?

S: Wow, yet another magnificent question.

G: Why thank you.

S: I must say, I think my biggest pet peeve is vomit.

G: Wow, I did not know that about you.

S: It's disgusting, it smells horrible, it sticks to everything. Sometimes it's watery, sometimes it's chunky, sometimes it burns or goes up your nose. Sometimes someone vomits, and then the smell makes you want to vomit. Sometimes, someone vomits in the hallway and you can tell what they had for dinner the night before. Sometimes you can vomit and defecate at the same time. It's just bad all around.

G: Wow, this was in no way inspired by yours truly.

S: No, not at all.

G: You could go into more depth about pooping and puking at the same time.

S: I could.

G: Yeah.

S: You know, I've never done it myself, but I've talked to those who have. And you know, they say it is quite an experience. It must be, to have hot, molten waste products coming out of both of your main orifices at the same time. And just imagine the combination of smells.

G: It’s God proving that he hates us all.

S: That actually sounds about right.

G: Your back end smells like warm broccoli, while your front smells like steamy corn cooked in rotten egg juice. And meanwhile, you’re drunk as fuck trying to figure out where you are.

S: That sounds absolutely scrumptious.

G: Indeed.

S: You know, for some reason, I’m thinking in a British accent when I answer, I’m not really sure why.

G: Wow, another amazing insight.

S: Yes, yes it is.

G: Well, then let’s roll with it: tea or biscuits?

S: Not a big fan of tea, so I’d have to say biscuits.

G: You would.

S: Yes, yes I would.

G: Okay, I got a weird, sort of serious one. If you could try any illegal drug once, which one and why?

S: I think, seriously, I would have to say acid. Now, you might think, "Wow, this guy is a crackhead." And I
would say, "No, I don't do crack. I said I would do acid, not crack." Now, I would say this because I have heard rumors that it is possible to visualize things beyond three dimensions while tripping on acid. I must say, it has always been a dream of mine to picture in things in four or five dimensions. Hell, why not eleven while I'm at it. I also think it would be delightful to see sounds. I can only begin to imagine what Dave went through when he wrote "Tripping Billies." It's that kind of stuff that I want to experience, what with all the pinapple bracelets and dragons and bumblebees and such.

G: Yeah, that would be awesome. You’d probably have a bad trip though.

S: Probably.

G: It’d be like Michael Jackson petting you or something.

S: Yeah, I’d probably get the bad batch and have MJ and Barry Bonds run train on me or something.

G: [Imitating the voice of a 12-year old Myspace addict] GATORADE MOTHA FUCKA! I DIDN’T DO STEROIDS!

S: Just don’t look at my pebbles. They used to be real chocolate salty balls, you know. Now they’re just a
couple of California raisins.

Nearly 5 months later, Galvin and I actually decided to give this interview an ending. Or, at the very least, a shit-ass excuse for an ending.

G: So looking at this thing, the last topic was Barry Bonds. How have your feelings on Bonds changed over the little while?

S: They've basically been substantiated.

G: Awesome. I hate that guy, for the record. Hey new question… have you ever been caught jerking off in a
closet?

S: Umm… No.

G: It's a good place to hide, isn't it?

S: Oh yea of course. The mops do wonders.

G: What's the weirdest thing you've ever done?

S: One night I was chasing my friend up a spiral staircase threatening to give him a "Steamland Clever". I
might've been drunk.

At some point during the interview, Galvin decided that he would start doing both sides of the interview himself. As a result, I look like a deviant, and possibly a homosexual.

G: What's the nicest thing you’ve ever done?

S: I played wingman for Roche one night and ended up with a 400lb. sumo wrestler woman. It was pretty gross. I've heard of goin’ hoggin’, but never goin’ whalin’. It was something else.

G: What's the meanest thing you've ever done?

S: The next night I donkey punched Roche as we made sweet butt love on his futon.

G: All right, scenario time. If you could either get done in the butt, or have to give head, which would you do?

S: I'd give head. Man I love suckin dick. I like flavored condoms b/c they taste slightly better than a steaming pile of cock.

G: Name your 5 biggest priorities, in order.

S: Get laid, get alcohol, get money, get laid again, unite relativity with quantum mechanics while getting laid.

G: Just for the record, paying doesn’t count for the last one. And good luck.

S: Stephen Hawking still gets poon, he doesn't have to pay. Speaking of which, his wife had a baby a couple of years ago. How does that guy still fuck?

G: The wheelchair does it for him. He just types commands. He actually has a "fluffer'' button on his armrest.

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Hmm, having just gone through and prepared the interview for posting, I am beginning to realize just how demented Galvin and I can be when we’re together. Ah, who cares, he’s probably going to be the only person reading this anyway. With that, I end this abomination. Good night, and good luck.

Revelation

2008-07-02T12:35:00.002-04:00

As the number of days since my last post continues to grow, I have come to realize a few things. First, I'm lazy. Well, I guess that's being a little too rough on myself. I'm really only lazy when it comes to blogging. I tend to devote most of my productive hours to things that make me money, or will make me money in the future. Currently, this amounts to research for my master's degree. I tend to do enjoyable, mindless things in my free time, which leaves no time for this blog. Second, I've begun to discover that I'm really not that funny. Some of my previous posts, while originally seeming like a chance at a comedic gem, simply ended up as meaningless, annoying rants. In most cases, I failed miserably, and I apologize.

For those of you who may think that this is a goodbye post, I assure you that is not my intention. Instead, I am announcing that I wish to repurpose this site, and hopefully channel my creative spirits in new, productive ways. It has come to my attention that Friday will mark the beginning of the final 200 days of this righteous clusterfuck known as the Bush presidency. Ironically, Friday is also the Fourth of July, which is either a sick twist of fate, or a sign that there really is a God. I haven't decided yet. Either way, as of Friday, this site will be devoted to reminding people just how poorly our nation has been governed for the past eight years, and just how poorly it will continue to be governed if John McCain is elected to the presidency. I will use whatever power my words may have to promote the candidacy of Barack Obama for President.

Finally, I want to say that this will become an entirely humorless, political blog. I will still inject witty comments and rants into my writings, but humor will no longer be the sole purpose of the site. Additionally, I will grace you with one final dose of silliness before the transition takes place. This will come in the form of an interview that has been sitting on my hard drive for about two years, and will either convince you that I am awesome, or totally insane.

Great New Look, Same Cynical Asshole

2007-06-13T23:05:00.000-04:00

As you can very well see, I have finally gotten around to updating the look of this site. After much searching, I was able to find a template that I actually liked, then beat my head off the wall for two days trying to customize it. This involved editing the HTML, which I know next to nothing about. Oh yeah, all the while I was researching derivative-free optimization techniques. And I thought I hated computer science.

All joking aside, I have to thank the folks over at Blogger Templates (bloggertemplates.org) for their wonderful design. Though, the layout you see is slightly modified from theirs, as I cannibalized their code to suit my anal-retentive needs. If you’d like to pay them a visit, I’ve placed a link inside the handy-dandy little interactive menu on the left. Aww, isn’t it cute?

Also, despite the new layout, our attitude and mission will stay the same. I still plan to ridicule anything and everything that bugs the crap out of me, and deliver an incoherent babbling rant about it. I pledge to remain a douchebag.

David Stern is a Prophet from God

2007-06-03T17:41:00.000-04:00

It is probably a good assumption that most of you who read this site (which I believe is now two people) know that I absolutely despise the game of basketball. So you are probably wondering why David Stern is the subject of this commentary. Well let met tell you, I saw Stern speak on ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption” a few nights ago, and I am now scared that Stern has truly been sent by God to purify the game of basketball (which I don’t mind all that much, it’s a really shitty game.) It makes my Christian-but-not-really-Christian-embarrassed-to-be-associated-
-with-anything-remotely-religious self cower in fear over what might be coming for our civilization.

For those of you who don’t know, Stern the Holy One has come under fire over the Amare Stoudemire/Boris Diaw suspensions and their impact on the playoff series between the Suns and Spurs. The Holy One has been unwavering in His interpretation of the NBA’s rules pertaining to altercations, suspending both Stoudemire and Diaw for leaving their bench to come to the aid of star teammate Steve Nash. While defending His decision on PTI, He revealed to us the long lost Eleventh Commandment, the one so powerful that Yahweh felt it too awesome to reveal to Moses. His Holiness made the statement, “Thou shall not leave the bench,” and I was immediately converted.

I have since accepted David Stern as my personal savior. The awesomeness of his words simply left me convinced that He is the voice of God on Earth. He has been sent to ensure that basketball becomes the game that God intended it to be when He sent Saint James (Naismith) here to bring it to us lowly humans. In fact, I believe that Stern has already hand-selected this year’s NBA champions, catering to God’s will, and He will do all in his power to ensure that nothing stands in the way of the San Antonio Spurs.

Santa, Bring Me a Bidet

2006-12-22T00:17:00.000-05:00

To most people, Christmas means snow and presents and pine trees and turkey and all that other really nice stuff that’s usually associated with Christmas. But not here at Theoretically Speaking. Here, Christmas means crowded stores, psychotic people, inappropriate humor, inappropriate sexual innuendoes, inappropriate sexual humor, and poop jokes. I honor of that, I present to you a true nightmare before Christmas, a detailed, chronological account of the worst Christmas shopping experience ever.

7:14 P.M.: We arrive at the magical land of Wally World. God damn, the parking lot is packed! What’s with all these losers waiting until now to finish their shopping? Wait, that’s why I’m here. Fuck you, only God can judge me.

7:15 P.M.: We are very nearly run over in the crosswalk by a deranged Christmas shopper, who is probably pissed that somebody beat her to the last Tickle-Me-Elmo, or whatever the new fad is this year.

7:16 P.M.: We enter the enchanted gates of Walmart. Sirens blare as the EMTs arrive to attend to that other person who got hit by the aforementioned psychosomatic Muppet stalker.

7:17 P.M.: I realize that I have just walked into the middle of what is most likely Armageddon. I become frightened, and regret my decision to leave the Sword of a Thousand Truths at home in favor of the Swiss Army knife. I shrug off this indiscretion and forge ahead.

7:21 P.M.: My assistance is needed in the office supplies section, as my mom has decided to give desk calendars to her coworkers. The same exact desk calendar to each person, mind you. I decide not to question it, and, since shopping carts are apparently the devil, accept the burden of carrying the stack of desk calendars around the store.

7:27 P.M.: Fast-forward to the electronics section. Finally, I feel somewhat at home. Then my mom begins not-so-discreetly grilling me on my own Christmas wishes. By this, I mean she starts pointing at every Xbox 360 accessory every conceived and asks, “Now, is that something you need?” No, unfortunately I don’t need a universal remote that could probably control a Predator drone and looks like it doubles as an anal probe. (If I wanted such a device, I would have just asked for a Wii. You know that’s why it’s called a Wii, right? Because what you’re really supposed to do wit that Nunchuk thing is, well…let’s just say I got curious in college once, OK?)

7:29 P.M.: I catch sight of the Halo-themed faceplate for the 360. I strategically reposition the desk calendars to hide my massive erection.

7:32 P.M.: We head out of the electronics section. I notice that one of the plasma displays is showing a clip of Taylor Hicks. I nearly vomit. Or maybe that’s just the buffalo wings and fudge cake finally taking its revenge.

7:35 P.M.: We pass by the women’s clothing. I see several pictures of Kathy Lee Gifford. I move the desk calendars, as my erection has passed.

7:39 P.M.: On to the pharmacy. All this walking has aggravated something inside me. The hot sauce and chocolate begin to wage war at the other end of me now. I start to walk a little bowlegged. The PA announcer begins screaming about a sale on Depends. I cringe.

7:40 P.M.: I try to hold it, but the gurgling in my bowels is too much. I have to find a toilet NOW. I toss the calendars in the general direction of my mom and take off in this weird twinkle-toed sprint toward the restrooms. I stiff-arm several unsuspecting shoppers when they refuse my pleas to “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!”

7:42 P.M.: I reach the bathrooms. The men’s room is, not surprisingly, full. I forgot the two cardinal rules that are associated with the week before Christmas: One, ALL men are doing ALL of their shopping; and two, men have to shit. Despite this, I spot an empty stall, and make a b-line through the sea of men. As crappy as I feel, my germophobe instincts still kick in, and I avoid all physical contact.

7:43 P.M.: I dive into the stall and kick the door shut. I no sooner than hit the seat and I erupt. I won’t go into details, but let me just way that my sympathies go out to the guys in the neighboring stalls. If I ever run into you again, I will buy you a beer. Wait, that’s not good enough, and I can’t buy beer anyway. I will buy you a line of coke. And a stripper. I’ll buy you a really hot stripper, and you can do a line of coke off her ass.

8:04 P.M.: I finish punishing the toilet. Fuck that, here comes another wave.

8:11 P.M.: After five courtesy flushes, I finish, for real this time. By now, I have the entire bathroom to myself. I reach for the TP. None. Fuck. I just had a shit that renewed my faith in God, and he can’t provide me with one lousy square of toilet paper. Unbefuckinglievable. On top of that, I realize that I probably sat in piss when I plopped down on the john. I secretly curse Galvin.

8:13 P.M.: I poke my head out of the stall to make sure that I’m still alone. Silly of me, I don’t know how anyone could stand to be within two hundred feet of that dump. I hop from stall to stall until I find one with an adequate amount of TP. I take up residence there.

8:27 P.M.: I exit the men’s room. A janitorial crew was apparently planning a tactical strike on my position. They nonchalantly enter the bathroom, dual-wielding Lysol and Febreeze. My mom has apparently already checked out and is waiting for me near the exit with that mom look on her face. You know the look, the half “Where the hell have you been?” and half “Oh my God, are you going to live?” look. I ignore it and walk, bowlegged, out the door. Fuck Christmas shopping.

Note: This account is based on events that actually occurred the night of December 20, 2006. Only the names, places, times, events, conversations, happenings, and ordeals have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. Under penalty of death, I am not allowed to disclose any more details. So don’t ask. If you do, I’ll poop on you.

On A More Serious Note...

2006-09-10T10:42:00.000-04:00

Okay, so when I started this site, my intention was not to preach about social and political issues. Unless of course that issue was a senator relieving himself in the White House rose garden. My intention was to rant about stupid people and stupid things, throw in some random humor and a few f-bombs, and I’d have a story. Well, my plan has changed, at least for today. I am speaking about a serious issue this time: Network Neutrality.

So, I woke up this morning, irritable from not being hung over from the bender that I didn’t go on last night, and began my morning ritual: Facebooking everyone and everything. In between spying on my exes, I happened upon some political activist groups that had been created recently. There were several that caught my eye (and will probably be mentioned on this site in the future.) However, the one that I was previously unaware of and that I believe deserves more publicity is called Network Neutrality. For those of you who don’t know (like me before 9 am this morning – wait, why the fuck was I up at 9 am on a Sunday – ok, back to the serious stuff) Network Neutrality is the idea of free flow of information on the internet. It is the idea that all websites, regardless of their resources or capabilities, should have equal access to consumers. It works the other way too – consumers should have fair access to all of the internet’s resources. Mind you, I’m not just talking about your porn not loading before you splooge on your keyboard. It’s much more serious and much scarier than that.

Congress wants to change the way the internet works.There is currently a bill pending, courtesy of Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska, that would severely hinder free speech on the internet. (Ted Stevens, I could write a whole post on this jackass. He actually got Congress to give Alaska $500 million to build a bridge to an uninhabited island. What a greedy little pig Ted Stevens is.) This bill would give ISPs, particularly the large ISPs, like Comcast and AOLTimeWarner, free reign over what content their customers could see. They could throttle bandwidth for their services, while constricting it for other company’s services. They will give more bandwidth to whoever can buy it, meaning a large corporation’s web page will load lightning fast, while those of small businesses and organizations will load at snail-speed, if at all. There are already stories of ISPs doing things like blocking their customers from using a competitor’s digital phone service.

Needless to say, Stevens and most of the senators who are backing this bill are Republicans (don’t even get me started on that), but there are several senators who are still undecided. Get ready, here it comes – sermon time! My goal is to get anyone who is reading this to visit this site: Save The Internet. There, you can read the full story on Network Neutrality, not just my layman’s synopsis. You can also find out where your senator stands, and even sign a petition to your senators and congressperson. If I have at all piqued your interest, please visit this site.

The President of Poopie

2006-08-29T00:39:00.000-04:00

For those of y’all who don’t follow politics, now is the time to start, because big things are brewing in Washington. Or, should I say festering in the colons of our country’s leaders. Apparently, the big man on campus can break wind that’ll clear out the Capitol rotunda. That’s right, President George W. Bush is a huge fan of farts.

You must be saying to yourself at this point, “You’re shitting me, right?” (Yes, the pun was very much intended.) No, I am not. And if you’re wondering where I may have come up with such a crock of shit as this, all I have to say is this: U.S. News & World Report. Yeah, take that and chew on it. It’s delicious. Really, it is. Anyway, according to this report, Bush is a huge fan of fart jokes. And he is apparently not shy about it, as he has been known to flatulate in front of new aides in an attempt to get laughs.

Does this bother anyone else? ‘Cause it bugs the shit out of me. There’s just something about the leader of the free world giving interns an express ride to Foggy Bottom that doesn’t sit right in my bowels. What’s next, Dick Cheney handing out Cleveland Steamers on the floor of the Senate? He already shot a dude in the face, I don’t think he’d really have any qualms about shitting on someone’s chest. It’s just totally unacceptable for a person of Bush’s stature to be pulling crap like this.

Now I’ll pause for the response from the Bush fans in the audience…

Yes, I know Clinton got his knob slobbed in the Oval Office, I know, obstruction of justice, I know, impeachment, I know, I get it. Somehow, that just doesn’t compare to Bush’s floating air biscuits. When the Prez gets his member licked, it’s not really hurting anyone; in fact, it makes him one hell of a pimp. But when he exercises his meat nozzle, it puts every innocent bystander in harm’s way. I have nothing but pity for the poor interns when he airlocks them in the Lincoln Bedroom after a corned beef, sauerkraut and Limburger cheese lunch, washed down with a 12-pack of Keystone. Oh well, I guess we can look on the bright side: if al-Qaeda starts using stinkbombs against Americans, we can rest assured that Dubya and his colonic calliope will put an end to it.

Feats of Manliness, Part I

2006-08-06T00:32:00.000-04:00

If you didn’t already know, I am a very big baseball fan. That said, I usually take offense when people tell me that they hate baseball, which happens more often than you might think. One of the more common reasons I hear for this is that these people think baseball players are, well, pussies. I got thinking about it, and I realized that baseball players indeed are not the toughest guys around. In fact, there are quite a few that Lance Bass could probably have his way with if he truly wanted. In honor of this, I have created some propositions for new rules that I believe would help to spice up the game.

The Hands of Steel Rule
The main requirement for this rule is that a catcher barehands a pitch. Sounds simple, right? Not quite. The pitch has to be moving at least 94 miles an hour, to prevent some asshole from having his pitcher throw a 35-mph flopsy goose curveball. Also, the catcher is not allowed to cry. Fuck that, he can’t even flinch. It may be painful, but the rewards are huge if you can pull it off. It means an automatic five runs for your team, automatic Gold Glove for the catcher, free medical care courtesy of MLB, and all the pussy you could ever dream of.

The Barry Bonds Rule
This rule deals in the thing that Barry Bonds was second most famous for: intentional walks. I must say, it has nothing to do with my personal feelings regarding Barry Bonds, but almost everything to do with my feelings toward managers who feel the need to refuse to pitch to certain hitters. First of all, handing out an intentional walk lets everyone know that both you and your pitcher are lily-livered, pinko-commie, dick-sucking, ass-spelunking, pussy-ass, candyass, motherfucking, shit-headed cockmongers. Also, if you seriously think that your pitcher is incapable of preventing a batter from hitting a home run, much less getting him out, what the fuck is he doing in the major leagues? Isn’t that his job, to get people out, even when ‘people’ may include good hitters? Sure there’s a chance that Barry Bonds could hit a home run off of you. There’s also a chance that Randy Johnson could hit a home run off of you, would you walk him too? Guess what, shit happens, deal with it. That is why, as commissioner, I would officially ban the intentional walk. The punishment would be severe for defying me: pitcher, catcher, and manager each must do 50 pushups with David Wells sitting on their backs.

The Under Armor Rule
Anybody who has ever seen a commercial for Under Armor will understand my naming of this rule. If you haven’t seen them, you apparently don’t own a TV, and I’ll fill you in. Picture this: a very large, very scary black man, wearing a lycra tank top that looks like it’s actually just white-out slathered all over his body, repeatedly screaming, “WE MUST PROTECT THIS HOUSE!!!!!!” It doesn’t exactly get me fired up to go buy spandex. But anyway, all this talk about protecting the house (which interestingly enough never shows up in the commercials) got me thinking about protecting home plate. Baserunners are obviously allowed to railroad the catcher at the plate, but what can the catcher do to protect himself and well, the house? That is why I propose that the catcher should be able to suplex the runner before he reaches the plate. Fuck it, why stop there? The catcher should be able to apply various wrestling moves to the runner, with varying amounts of points awarded based on the difficulty of the maneuver. A pin means the runner is out, regardless of whether he was tagged. However, if he slips away before he can be pinned, he is allowed to score.

So, for all you naysayers who think that baseball is a pansy sport, the only way for real reform is to make me commissioner. As a first step toward my candidacy, I plan on submitting these rules to Major League Baseball at 8:00 am on Monday morning. Of course, I also plan on Bud Selig laughing me out of the country at 8:01.

I Am Not Your Diaper Genie

2006-06-08T21:33:00.000-04:00

Ahh, the joys of working retail. Angry customers. Rude customers. Rude customers trashing displays. Angry customers looking for extra discounts. Angry and rude customers threatening you with crocodiles and Arnold Schwarzenegger if they don’t get said discounts. Doodie?

You may be wondering how that last one fits in there. I mean, most people who work retail don’t normally encounter poop while carrying out their jobs. Ahh, but that all changed on Saturday. On Saturday, my next-to-last full day of retail work, before moving on to the medical industry, I experienced one of the most disgusting things that has ever happened to me. Actually, since I’ve never been puked on or been on the receiving end of a Cleveland Steamer, I can almost surely say that it is THE most disgusting thing to ever happen to me.

Prior to this happening, things were normal. I had just arrived at work, punched in, etcetera. I noticed someone at the register, so I headed up there, stepped behind the cashwrap, and was about halfway to the register when I heard a child’s voice behind me. This little boy, probably no more than five or six years old, said to me, “Excuse me, do you have a garbage?” I responded, “Yes, I’ll take that for you,” in reference to the object that he was hoping to dispose of. This object, at first glance, looked like your basic, run-of-the-mill paper product, perhaps a crumpled up paper towel or food wrapper. However, once it was in my hand, I took a closer look. Just as I began to realize the reality of this situation, the boy-child confirmed my worst fears: “It’s my sister’s diaper!”

I froze. I looked up at the people who were waiting for me to ring them out. I looked down at my hand. I snapped. I yelled, “Oh dear god,” spiked the unholy Huggies into the garbage, and sprinted for the bathroom. A co-worker was occupying the bathroom at the time, so I had to wait while holding my hand out in the air, away from everything, and basically having a seizure from the utter shock and awe of having a five-year-old hand me a poo-ball. It was probably a good thing that I had to wait, because I probably would have throttled the kid. I calmed down though, and he and his family had vanished by the time I got back out on the floor. I realize now that it wasn’t actually his fault, and that I should have tracked down his parents and asked them, very politely, in my nice, sweet salesperson tone, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” This is what is wrong with society, parents should be responsible for their infant’s feces. I personally would not trust my five-year-old with a diaper full-o’-mudbutt, especially in a public place. And I most certainly would not point him in the direction of the nearest employee. I don’t know, maybe some people actually think that a salesperson’s heart glows with joy every time he/she receives a small sack full of shit. Call me a germophobe, but I really don’t appreciate it all that much. Do us all a favor, next time, keep your kid’s shit to yourself.

A Few Good (and, well, a couple not so good) Men

2006-05-30T23:35:00.000-04:00

It’s been a very long time since I my last, and well, first rant. I’ve had trouble finding material, and time with which to write down that material that I don’t have. There is a new post on the way, a long and fitting introduction to my little site, with a little help from a friend. That one awaits completion, pending further collaboration, and in the meantime, I have chosen to give out some weekly awards. Mind you, I use the term “weekly award” loosely, as these will probably fail to become a weekly staple on here. I also must apologize that these will probably all deal with baseball, and most all with the Red Sox. Drum roll please…

The I-Proved-Scott-Wrong-And-Now-He-Feels-Like-Shit-For-Ever-
Doubting-Me Award
This week’s winner: Alex Gonzalez
I never thought I’d say this, but this guy’s actually starting to impress me. Until this week, I had spent the entire season putting him down every time he came up to bat, and, well, every time I saw him on my TV, heard his name, or heard mention of Edgar Renteria, Orlando Cabrera, or Nomar Garciaparra. For a solid month, he sucked balls at the plate. I was even considering writing a whole rant about how much he sucked. That would have been a little hypocritical on my part however, considering my only lifetime home run was a gym class softball, inside-the-park job. And by inside the park, I mean we were playing on a soccer field and the ball rolled a long way before the right fielder could track it down. But that’s beside the point. Since getting two days off against the Yankees, Gonzalez has gone something like 7-for-14 (prior to tonight’s game), including a 3-for-4 game a couple of days ago. It’s not just that turnaround though, that makes him the recipient of this honor. I also tended to criticize his defensive play, quite extensively actually. If I had actually done my homework, I would have known that he has committed one error this year. Yeah, one, compared to like a hundred and fifty for Renteria at this point last year. It makes him the best defensive shortstop in the American League right now, it makes me a blabbering idiot, and it makes Alex Gonzalez a winner this week.

The Choke-Like-The 2004 New York Yankees Award
Winner: Rudy Seanez/Julian Tavarez

Anybody who watched Sunday’s game against Tampa Bay was treated to a gem by Tim Wakefield. Too bad it was only an eight-inning gem. The ninth inning had all of Red Sox Nation praying for Jonathon Papelbon, if just for one out. Hell, I would have taken Keith Foulke. But no, we were treated to Rudy Seanez, who came into the game with a 5-0 lead. Normally, that would mean just go after the hitters, don’t fart around, throw strikes, that’s all she wrote. You give up a home run, guess what, YOU STILL HAVE A FOUR RUN LEAD. Yet Seanez found it more effective to pitch around the Devil Rays’ batters, which is all fine and dandy if you’re dealing with good hitters. I think Rudy forgot that it was, in fact, Tampa Bay, and he managed to walk the bases loaded, in the bottom of the ninth. Tavarez then walked two more, along with a passed ball by Doug Mirabelli, and, voila, the Rays cut it to a two-run game without a single hit. I’m going to leave that sentence for a moment, to fully grasp the meaning of it. Three runs. No hits. Something here does not add up. Luckily for you two, however, Willie Harris saved your sorry asses with a strike to home plate. Had he not, Tim Wakefield would have enlightened you both to the true meaning of knuckleball, and you still would have won this award.

The Who-Died-And-Made-You-Mark-Bellhorn Memorial Trophy
Winner: Mark Bellhorn

This was a last minute addition to the list, as I just found out earlier today that Mark Bellhorn is in fact still alive. Not only is he alive, he is also the new owner of the longest home run ever hit at Petco Park in San Diego, a 438-foot blast. Congrats to Mark, I wish I could still see you hit ones like that for the Sox.

The Derek Jeter Douchebag of the Week Award
Winner: Alex Rodriguez

There is no way in hell a major league baseball player hits a home run and doesn’t know where the ball went. Especially when it’s crushed like this one was. Looking up for a pop fly? Please. You knew it was gone, everyone at Fenway knows you’re a douchebag, the world keeps on spinning. Just save the showboating for New York, they like you there. Oh, wait a minute, no they don’t.

The Brass Balls Performance of the Week
Winner: Barry Bonds

I had originally conceived this award as being something good, something reserved for a really gutsy performance, kinda like Aaron Rowand breaking his face on a wall. But then I realized that it doesn’t have to be gutsy in a good way, it can mean something so ballsy that people will say, “Wow, that was ballsy. What a douchewhore.” The only person to earn this honor recently is none other than Barry Bonds. In fact, Bonds may have done it just for this trophy, as his testicles vanished more than five years ago. For those of you who just arrived from the next galaxy over, Bonds passed Babe Ruth on Sunday for second on the all-time home run list with 715. This is ballsy not because of the monumental accomplishment that it is, but because Barry Bonds does not deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as Babe Ruth. Ruth did what he did in a huge ballpark, with a dead ball and a war club, fueled not by the contents a syringe, but by the contents of a beer bottle and a hot dog. He is the greatest power hitter to ever play the game, not Barry Bonds. For Bonds to infringe upon Ruth’s accomplishments the way that he did, well, it’s just ballsy.

Stick to Football, Chris Berman

2006-04-16T15:36:00.000-04:00

When I started this blog, I had no specific idea about what kind of content it would contain. I pretty much ruled out the possibility of it turning into a blabbering whiny diary, but I never really decided what exactly to turn it into. However, I think I have now made a decision. From this day forth, my blog shall be a sociopolitical commentary. On some occasions, my entries may be on what really grinds my gears (I know, a shameless Family Guy reference), today’s being the first. I have the perfect topic with which to begin this endeavour.

My first topic: Chris Berman

First, I should begin by apologizing to any diehard Boomer fans that may be out there, and by saying that this is in no way a personal attack on Chris Berman. I simply feel that he has been insulting Americans’ intelligence for far too long. If he had just stuck to football, the world would be a much brighter place. At least he makes vaguely relevant comments during football games, the most famous and tolerable being “He could… go… all… the… way!” (Though, interestingly enough, this phrase was lifted from the lexicon of Howard Cosell.) But Berman couldn’t be happy with just football, he had to venture into baseball, the holiest of sports holies, a land where his ineptitude is surpassed only by that of Tim McCarver. (I’ll leave him for a later post though.) Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to say that Chris Berman is an idiot. In fact, my perception is that he is actually a quite intelligent and probably well-read man. I just feel that his inane comments and nicknames have worn out their welcome. Before I continue, I think I should let some of these nicknames speak for themselves:

Mark “the Yellow Rose of” Teixeira
Scott “Supercalifragalisticexpiala” Brosius
Jake “Daylight Come and Me Wanna” Delhomme
Albert “Winnie the” Pujols
John “Generalissimo Francisco” Franco

These are all statements that, while they may be inventive, are just downright stupid. Nicknames should be relevant to the player, and they should be relatively short. There’s no need to give every major league player a fifteen syllable nickname that, if they ever heard it, would empower them to soak your pillow in cat urine. There is also no need, during the Home Run Derby, to say that baseballs are headed to neighboring municipalities, such as from Chicago to Gary, Indiana. If baseball players could hit balls thirty-plus miles, they would have been spirited away by the military for weapons research long ago. Needless to say, there is a line when things are no longer funny, when fun fads become nothing more than annoying novelties. Chris Berman crossed this line about fifteen years ago. That is why he should do us all a favor by leaving baseball alone, and just stick to football.

First things first

2006-04-09T17:11:00.000-04:00

This is my first post here at Blogspot, after moving over from Xanga (which most people who are reading this may already know.) I decided that I was sick of my old blog (no offense to those of you whom I know on Xanga, I still love you all), and I needed a fresh start. Plus, I was seduced by the guys over at Legit, Inc. (check them out at legitinc.blogspot.com). I plan on this being a more serious forum for my thoughts, rather than just the glorified diary that I constantly used Xanga for. This doesn't mean that I won't be talking about my life, of course, only that I my posts won't simply be a recap of the last week's events. With that, I feel my first post is complete, and there will be more on the way soon.