Return of the Theory

Just go ahead and mark this one down next to my Dinobolicaly brilliant theory Which you may read here-

My genius is this: What if this giant Dino they found had T-Rex's for fingers?

And for years now instead of finding what they thought were separate T-Rex's they had just been finding fingers for one giant Dino, (cue shot of a perplexed Sam Neil).

Sort of like "Alien" but instead of a mouth-monster they had Finger-Rex's

Furthermore, if this idea ends up as a Dane Cook joke or a Steven Speilberg movie, my lawyer will take issue, (cue shot of a glowering Sam Waterston).

Episode 7.5 A New Contract

cue music:

Scott Boras watches Star Wars. And this is solely how he went about A-Rods new contract. Darth Vader was bad. Like- he told his kid to get a switch from the peach tree and it was a lightsaber and he cut his hand off- bad

(ugliest face in history NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)

But in the end we end up liking Vader because there was someone even worse for us to hate, The Emperor. The Scott Boras. Follow. . .three more dots to get it. . .

A-Rod comes to Scott Boras and says something to the effect of, "I want to stay a Yankee, I love it here, hitting in this lineup is like shooting Womp Rats in Beggers Canyon."

Which means easy

"They hate me though. They boo me. I am good looking and the best baseball player ever, but they would rather have Scott Brosius who looks like Aunt Beru playing third."

But Boras has been watching episode: 4-6 and he knows.

Here is the plan he says. I will do something so despicable that every ones natural disdain for me will be multiplied. Then you come along and in a moment of clarity and wisdom throw me under the bus/down the wellpowerconverterthingy.

So Boras announces A-rod is opting out during the World Series- A rebel alliance is formed

Boras says A-Rod is not coming back to the Yankees- Someone puts plans to stop him into a MAC strapped to a trash can on roller blades

Boras says A-Rod is asking for 400 million "Boras Bucks" which is roughly translated to the money pit Scrooge McDuck dives into- five multiplujillion, nine impossibidillion, seven fantasticatrillion dollars and sixteen cents

all the while A-Rod remains quite and lets the furor build. GM's says there is no way in hell they or anyone else will approach him with a price tag that large.

IT'S A TRAP!

Just when all seems lost, A-Rod is going to be a Los Angeles Angel of Southern Californiaville and make 400 mil. A-Rod Vaders up. He claims Boras subverted him and made him throw Sam Jackson out a window. A-Rod swoops in and saves his own day. Claiming he always wanted to be a Yankee. He negotiates his own contract, which can't be that hard when it comes to 300 mil, right? And all of the sudden people start to like A-Rod. He turned on the guy who was destroying Baseball. A-Rod saved the day!

All the while Scott Boras goes on being hated, which he was anyway. And getting the best for his client, which he always does one way or the other.

. . .well

It seems to me, which is the only person it seems to matter to, that I never have anything to write about when everything is copacetic.


ten mins later: copacetic is quite a pretentious word, but then again so is pretentious. I could have just said "when everything is going well"

Tooth Fairy

"Got any socks"(?)
I am not sure if that should be followed by a question mark or not.

Doing laundry where I live is an adventure. Doing anything where I live is an adventure.

At any given time the laundry mat may have a drug deal going on or some manner of homeless frogger tournament happening. Also, Creepy laundry is run by a cross dressing dwarf. I am not making that up. I couldn't. People would think I was lying. He rides a bike (normal). He has a pony tail (normal if he is Italian or time traveled from the 80's). He wears a skirt (typical for where I live, what with all the Kilts and all). He lives in the laundry mat (yes, behind the dryers. . .take it in. . .breath it in like dryer sheets in spring). -This. . .no wait this requires seven dashes. . .on a separate line

-------This is the most normal thing about the Spooky Town Laundrizzel. If you counted those dashes to see if there in fact are seven7, smack yourself.

I do laundry a lot. I only have three work uniforms and I get old lady peed on Le frequent. Insert R-Kelly joke here. Also, I counted the dashes and like things clean. CLeanCLeanCLean

Last time I ventured to Soap, Suds, and Vagrants I was confronted with that sentence. "Got any socks" (?) It was quite clear I did. I was folding them and had a pile of about ten in front of me. I keep my head phones in but turned low for just such, wait come again, moments.

"Pull your ears out" My headphones? Threat to tear my ears out in exchange for socks?

Seeing as I was just going to keep staring at him. He decided to barter. Old timey trade going down in the Wash-n-Rinse, ow was that a needle! Taking out a container he poured what was inside on the counter. Container, counter, pour, my face slide to the floor. So there I was, because I had no where else to be, Standing in front of a man wearing a leopard coat, smelling remarkable like Gin/pee/frat couches/ and old moustache clippings. And teeth. The container was filled with teeth. Dentures? no that would be too, umm, sane? They were teeth of varying sizes and cavity filled holyness.

You got any socks. No not floss or perhaps a spare dentist in my pants? Warm socks fix almost everything.

I did and he shambled out saying something to the effect of my headphones would give me an aneurysm. Perhaps if he had told me they would give gingivitis I would have take it with a grain of laundry detergent and salt.

History Lesson

For the record these are some things that should happen to Marc Ecko

1) Feed him to Rhinos

2) Bake two giants cakes for him. One topped with the Letter "K". The other topped with the letter "H". Then throw him a learn how to spell your name party

3) Make the cakes out of old hot dogs and stale beer

4) Introduce him to Commissioner Ford Frick

There is a great monologue in Take Me Out where a character describes the similarities between Democracy and Baseball. The similar checks and balances (blah blah blah this blog isn't about politics it is about baseball, which, le blow me, means more to me)

"I bought this baseball to democratize the debate over what to do with it"

Yes, I am glad you have 750,000 under the couch cushions to spend on a ball.
Yes, I am glad you believe in Democracy

Fantastic, you have nothing better to spend 750,000 dollars on.
Fantastic, like me, you think Darfur is a type of lamp at Ikea

Players are voted into the Hall of Fame by a group of old stodgy sports writers. Sometimes, these paragons of sporting value and know decide not to vote someone in on the first ballot Why? Because. . .that's it, just, because. Last year a guy voted for Dante Bichette! So just like politics baseball has its own funk way of electing people.

BUT! The ball is not a person. It is the event. The ball does not represent what's wrong with sports, or even what's right with sports. It represent the 756th home run. That's all. We didn't spray paint "racist" on Ty Cobb's jersey. We don't list the amount of coke Ricky Henderson was on. Troy Glaus won a World Series MVP and he was on HGH. What? Who? When? If it was up to the public to trash history I would have peed on everything Kirby Puckett did years ago. But I didn't because I can't. Besides the fact- he was a wife beater and the grounds crew cheated (look it up) and he looked like the black Michelin Man- someone, somewhere should be able to view what he did without having the glare of an asterisk or the smell of my urine messing with their Cooperstown experience.

the ball belongs in the hall. Do not make me come to your house and play baseball ninja.

new 1

More or less this is how I look. Now-a-days I look a little less like K.D. Lang, but you get the picture because there is a picture.

After the show on Sunday a lady told me I had a wonderful face. Old lady thinks I am pretty is a common theme of my work day so it is cool. However, then she elaborated that my face was wonderful because I could contort it like some sort of wet wash rag of wrinkles. I told her my father was actually a giant piece of silly putty and was on my way.

I almost broke my toe kicking a chair across a patio/room. inanimate objects beware when I am near.