Avoid the Mustache

This weekend, is one I dread each and every year. Like clock-work, it comes around, almost un-noticed, and it almost snuck up on me this year. The 4th of July usually distracts me, but I always seem to catch on in time to find an escape path. The last 4 years, I’ve managed to have the good fortune of having a family get away this very weekend, and for the most part, miss out on the suffering. What is it, that year in, and year out causes me angst? Well it’s the annual classic car/hot-rod car show at the Ohio State fairgrounds.
One would think, this would be right up my alley. One would also be dead wrong to think this. Sure, I love old cars, especially ones that go really fast, look cool, and burn gas like it’s free. There seems to be beer associated with this show, but still, it causes nothing but grief for me. Sure, I love old cars, scantilly clad women, and of course beer. The problem is, what comes with it. First and foremost, the sheer number of these car fanatics, is far more than you would think. From the time it starts, till sunday afternoon, I-71 (not THE 71) is jammed just norht of downtown with people flocking to this show. Unlike some events where the people not getting off at this exit just cruise on past in the far left lanes, these guys all have cars people want to look at, so everyone pretty much stops. it’s like a huge wreck, only no actual wrecking, or any cool damage. Getting stopped in traffic drives me nuts. I’ve known deep in my heart since I was a young child, that one day, I would go psycho with road rage, and shoot innocent people, because I got stopped in traffic. This car show does nothing but confirm this belief.
Of course there is the jealousy factor. Someday, I too will have a sweet car (as long as i am not in prison/dead at the hands of a cops bullet). In the mean time, all I can do is look on with envy at these assholes who are driving around in old ‘vettes, and mustangs, or hot-rods, while I drive around for work, or just everyday life.
There is also the whole “major pain-in-the-ass” thing. You see, up on my end of town, is the hotels where these guys seem to stay. There is no route to my house, that does not take me past all the hotels where these cars are, thus causing more traffic issues. It’s like a Buckeyes game, only I don’t get to go, or even drink beer for that matter.
Perhaps what grinds my gears the most, is the over-exposure of douchebags with mustache’s, cut-off t-shirts, sleeves rolled-up t-shirts, or hawaiian shirts. First off, only 1 out of 10 guys with a mustache can you trust. The rest, are undercover cops, regular cops, gay people looking for HJ’s, sexual predators, and guys with corvettes. Then the cut-off t-shirt guys. If you are not driving a total redneck pick-up truck on your way to our from either a country music concert, or to bail hay, or a 16 year old boy/lesbian, and you are wearing a cut-off t-shirt, you are gay. Then the hawaiian shirt thing. I firmly believe Homer Simpson said it best when he said “only two types of people wear Hawaiian shirts, Gays, and big fat party animals”. Now many of these guys are actually big fat party animals, but they all have to drive back to their hotel, which means, wrecks, which means, horrible traffic for me.
Of course, most of these old cars have been either built from scratch, or re-built by the owner themself, and many of them clearly suck at this hobby, and they break down, causing me to sit in traffic yet even more.

So until the day when I can have a sweet old corvette, or camaro, or just a Geo Tracker with a really cool paint job, I will avoid not just this car show, but the people who attend this show. I will do this, until the day I die, or when i get the Geo Tracker, whichever comes first. If I do get the cool car/Geo Tracker, I will definitely don a mustache, wear a Hawaiian shirt, with the sleaves cut off like a gay person, and have a really beat up looking skank riding around with me, and I will love every minute of it. So help me God.

I’ve never been so excited to drive out of town, to move furniture in all my life.

Defense

As I sit and watch my Redlegs try and find their newest way to lose, I can’t help but think about Defense. It’s been on my mind a lot lately, partly because I just read a sweat book on Bo Schembechler and Woody hayes, partly because I keep running outside to check and see if a North Korean missile is about to land on me. Then I remember, all the North Korean Missiles have knock-off Hyundai motors in them, and just crash into the ocean. The Reds do suck at defense tonight, and base running last night. In case anyone missed it, they lost (another sweet outing by homer) because on a 1st and 3rd situation, with one out, Adam Dunn…I mean Jay Bruce grounded into an easy double play. Instead of stalling, and forcing the 2nd baseman to either run after him, or throw to home or first, our runner just jogged into Chase Utley, who managed to lob it to first (Bruce was also jogging, and was out by a mile) before Joey Votto (also jogging) could score. This meant not insurance run for my Reds, and it meant Shane Victorinowent to the plate, with a chance to win it in the 9th. It was ‘Vote Shane In’ night in Philly, what do you think happen.
The other reason I keep thinking about defense, is that I have finally realized a purpose for my asshole dog Rudi.

I saw a weird bus dropping old people, and real douchey looking young folks, all about our neighborhood. They were all dressed really nicely, and travelling in pairs. I could not find my anti-Mormon/Jehovah’s witness defense kit, so I just turned down the lights, and hoped they would skip over me. Dylan had crashed early tonight, and if someone were to ring the doorbell, thus causing my asshole dog to go nuts, and wake him up, I was gonna snap. Plus the Reds were on. Finally, the damn doorbell rang. Rudi went nuts as expected. There were two older ladies at my door, one of whom clearly wanted me. They were religious folks passing out flyers or pamphlets, or whatever. I subdued rudi before he could wake my son, and prepared to listen to their spiel. They were quite brief, and not at all pressuring me to go to any church, give money, read the bible or sacrifice any livestock. This is strange. Usually, they are a total pain in the ass, but tonight, they got the hell out of here fast. I didn’t have time to even mess withthem. Usually, I pretend to either be Satanic, super into Jesus, and claim to talk to him regularly, or yell things like “Honey, we got Mormons again!” or say “Oh, well we go to St. Michaels, we’re catholic as shit”. It gets them to leave, andit’s fun. messing with religious people, who take time out of their evening to ruin mine, is good, clean fun. I like god, and Jesus, andpretty much most of the Bible characters, I just don’t like listening to people talk about them, especially during Reds games. Tonight though, I never got a chance to mess with any of them. It seems as though my dog Rudi, who is very large, black, and when he wants to can have a scary bark, scared them away. They were quite nervous, and commented on how large he was (I should have made a comment about his sack, but never thought about it). He was lunging at them the whole time. not to kill, but for them to pet him. Strangers have no idea my dog is the biggest pussy ever, but they never even get a chance to risk it. Since rudi has been full grown, we’ve had no problem chasing people off our porch. Though he may be retarded, and he does smell, Rudiis my home defense system. There’s pretty much no way in hell he could ever fendoff an intruder, but they don’t know that. Often times, people will ask if he is mean, or if he bites. I almost always say yes. It’s fun to pretend I am losing my grip on his collar, and watch them scatter. If he did get off, all he would do is rub loose fur onto them, and make them smell bad, but they don’t know that. So tonight, I salute my asshole dog Rudi. If it were not for him, I may have missed Micah Owings meltdown, because I was learning about Moses.

Can you make squash bread?

So we got a shitload of squash, or squorsh, depending on where you live. I enjoy the stuff, and will use it in a few of our upcoming meals. The problem is, we have a ton, and there is only so much squash, or squorsh one can eat, that and I don’t think my son will eat it, which means I make two different vegetables at dinner. He can throw squash, or squorsh as well as any veggie. We also got some zucchini, which is destined for some delicious zucchini bread. A possibly glorious idea came to me. Can you make squash, or squorsh bread? I mean, in zucchini bread, you really just taste the other stuff, and won’t taste zucchini, so why not try it with squash, or squorsh? How bad could it be? In fact, what other veggies have I been neglecting to grind into a pulp and mix with a shitload of sugar, and other delicious stuff to make tasty breads? Someone already stole carrot cake, but I’m sure I can do it with most any veggie, as long as I have enough brown sugar. Right? I mean, asparagus bread could be alright. As long as it tastes Half-way decent, and makes your pee smell funny, I think it would work.
Has anyone made breads with other vegetables, or is my squash/squorsh bread destined for the dogs bowl? Let me know if anyone has any tips. Dirty hippies need not apply.

What the…

Last evening, I kind of skipped over my Redlegs, and went about other business. I was still a little peaved about the total meltdown that followed Homer Bailey’s (finally) awesome performance, or the total ass whomping I had to watch at my in-laws Sunday. So either way, I had missed the Reds vs. Phillies game completely. I flipped through the channels, to see if the game was still on, or at the very least, the postgame. Thats when it hit me.
What the fuck? Did I see that right? Did we really lose by 3 touchdowns?
How could this happen? I know the Phillies won the world series last seaon, but come on. 22-1? I know a good deal of the runs were given up at the end, by back-up shortstop Paul janish, but still, 22-1. This is Major league baseball. I can see some crazy summer night, with the wind blowing out, a high scoring game, where one team gets into the 20’s, but you gotta expect the other team posts an otherwise crazy score, not a shootout on one side, and a near shutout on the other. Thats little league stuff. We’ve all either played on that really good little league, high school, or softball team, or inversely played on that cast of retards that made you hate life after every game. Blowouts happen, we’ve all been a part of one somewhere along the line, but the majors? I know, it only counts as one loss, and as a sympathetic society, I can expect that, even though I think the Reds should forfeit the rest of the series. The real injustice, is Philly only gets one win for that. Give those guys credit, they kicked the shit out of the Reds. They should either get like 10 wins for that, an automatic post-season bid, or a really awesome trophy.
The other thing that really struck me, was, how is there not a mercy rule in the Majors? I understand, it’s a business, and the fans paid to see at least 9 innings, but there can be rainouts. and stuff, so stopping the game before 9 full innings does happen. I’m not saying you have to have a universal mercy rule in MLB, but maybe just for the Ohio teams. They both suck really, really bad. The saddest thing is, Cleveland sucks way more than the Reds do, imagine if they had to play Philly.
To think, when I saw the matchup between Cueto, and Hammels, and thought it was gonna be a pitchers duel, and meant to watch it, I was actually saved from what could have been a toalt meltdown. Now, I’m glad I instead worked tirelessly at making puffy-paint Michael Jackson tribute signs to decorate my vehicle with. Instead of looking like just another ass-hole Reds fan, I was that guy witht eh awesome wheels blaring thriller all day.

Go Reds!

Meteorologists should die

Maybe not die, I’ll settle for a tar and feathering, but I have not ruled out death.
It was a simple plan really. Wait until the last possible moment before embarking on a mini-get-away, to cut my grass. I thought I had everything covered. I’ve been working crazy hours lately, to get things done, and get more money. Leaving myself with only enough time to mow, if it was completely necessary. I had a nice mowing schedule worked out, so I could get as much other things done, and cut it at the last moment before I took off for the weekend. The grass is now slightly higher than I like it, but it’s for a good cause. I was hoping to avoid mowing too early, only to return home to find the grass so tall, that I would have to mow twice in a row, and maybe still rake. I had it timed perfectly. The big debate was, do I mow late yesterday evening, just before dark? Or, could I wait till I had more time to do it right, just before leaving town. I checked every weather forecasting service at my disposal. All the local t.v. networks, radio stations, and yes, all of the internets. They all said the same thing. It was a go, for waiting until thursday to mow. No rain until late thursday afternoon, early evening. One guy even said specifically, 6:00 p.m. I was all set. I let the yard go until today, where I would mow, and it might still be short enough when I return home this weekend. That’s where the plan went to shit.
I awoke this morning, to see it had indeed rained. I was watching the weather guys early this morning, who still stuck by their guns that no rain would be coming until later today, much later. The puddles outside said different. It continued to drizzle, even as the radar showed nothing, and the talking heads on t.v. kept their heads in the sand. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe the sun would come out, dry things up, and I could still mow a little later. All morning, it kept drizzling. never a downpour, but it never stopped for more than a half hour. How can they all be this wrong?
I blame myself really. I should know better than to trust retards whose very profession has been the subject of stand-up comedians bits for decades. People who get paid to tell you what is going to happen, despite endless advancements in technology, and centuries of semi-science at their disposal, still give every forecast with a percentage of likelihood. Much like a vegas casino, except way less accurate. I can only blame myself. I waited too long. I trusted a bogus forecast, and now I’m about to pay the price, by trying to mow tall, wet grass.
I have friends in Cincy, Fort Wayne Indiana, Lima OH, and Toledo. I live in Columbus. My entire western flank is guarded by friends. Still, I trust the idiots on t.v. and weather.com. From here on out, I’m just gonna make a round of phone calls and ask, is it raining there? If it is, I’m gonna mow. If it’s not, I’ll keep up the status quo, and call back in a few hours. Maybe I’ll get a weather balloon, we’ll see. It can’t be that hard, can it? All I know is this, the weathermen/women/computers, can no longer be trusted. My t.v. will only be used for sports, movies, antiques roadshow, and Ice Road Truckers. My Computer will only be used for work, sports, movies, music, and the occasional porn. My radio, will only be used for sports, music, and old Jerky Boys cd’s. From here on out, I’m making my own weather. That may not work, I’ll give it my best, and go from there. At the very least, I’m gonna do my own forecasts. I’ll use everything at my disposal. The social network I have in place will allow me to know what weather is coming my way in the next few hours. What I need though, is friends in the following locations. Central, and southern Illinois, Western kentucky (the guys at the Makers Mark distillery still won’t return my weather related calls), and someplace in Missouri. Having friends in these locals, will allow me to know what weather I can expect for at least one entire day. It would be nice to know a little farther in advance, but I can’t be friends with anyone in Kansas, or Nebraska, for obvious reasons. So if you are a friend of mine, and you live in any of the areas listed above, expect plenty of calls from me about the weather, sometimes, really early in the morning. If you live in any of the other areas I’ve listed, and want to help out, please send me your info, and then I’ll give you my address, and you can send me money, or beer. I have enough friends at the moment, so any new ones should expect to pay for my services. I really can’t offer any good services, but you should still expect to pay.

Almost here…

I can hardly wait. This vacation of sorts, can’t come soon enough. Though we are all getting screwed by having a national holiday hit on a weekend this year, I’ll take what I can get. Sure, I have to take a few extra vacation days to supplement this joy, but it’s well worth it. the 4th of July, is quite possibly the greatest holiday of the year, not just the season. Sure, Christmas has gifts, but it also has gifts. Many holidays get you off work, and most get you food. Only one is celebrated accross the globe with coolers full of beer, and grills full of brats. Unless you live in Iran, the 4th of July is as good as it gets. Many people ruin this great day, by attending parades, fireworks displays, and otherwise fraternizing with the general public. not me. No, day to day life forces me to confront all sorts of folks I really hate, from all kinds of races, religions, and creeds, whatever the hell a creed is. This day, I choose to avoid the public. My only interaction with strangers will be with whomever is behind the counter when I purchase booze, or ice, or the necessary supplies for home-made fireworks. I choose isolation, and I love it. Weathe permitting, I plan on one hell of a sunburn, followed by one hell of a bonfire, and depending on which supplies I buy, one hell of an explosion. Instead of funnel cakes, and fat strangers, I choose brats, pie, and fat friends. Instead of frozen lemonade, or over-priced draft beer, I choose endless supplies of properly chilled alcho-drinks of my choosing. Instead of long lines for a porto-shitter, I choose to pee on a tree. No gay old people playing Soussa tunes from a gazeebo, get me a Reds game on the Radio, and I’m set. This could be my last 4th of July, to avoid the general public, so I have to do this one right. Soon, my duties as a father will expose me to public 4th of July celebrations. Bumping shoulders with fat white trash at a parade, or standing next to families of strangers in Jean shorts while watching crappy fireworks. it’s all right around the corner, and I’m freaking out. The other parental duties I can handle. Food, shelter, a role model. Check, check, check. Love, support, a college fund, I can do those, it’s the white trash in lawn chairs that has me losing sleep. No folks, I will not let this waining oppurtunity to live it up pass me by, I will do it right, come hell, high water, or fat people in jean shorts. In fact, if I see someone wearing jean shorts this weekend, and it’s not my hot wife, and they aren’t super short jean shorts, I’m gonna pee on their legs. The fire-hose bandit is not dead yet.
So lets all do this one right folks. My back-up/shitty weather plan, is to sneak a bottle of Makers mark into the theatre, and see Transformers. otherwise, this entire weekend, is gonna be beer, brats, and cancer causing sunburns. It’s gonna start early, and it’s gonna rock. My work day is going to end with a trip to the butcher shop, followed by the liquor store, and then it begins. No matter how much beer is in that cooler, it’s getting drank. Remember, their are kids in third world countries who don’t have beer for their 4th of July picnics, so lets not let it go to waste. They would want us to drink those beers after all.
So everyone, have a fun, un-safe, exciting, and highly boozed up holiday. Be un-safe with whatever watercraft you have access to, eat too much, drink waay too much, and make a total ass of yourself. It’s what General Washington would have wanted.

Tragedy

This has been one rough week, I’ll tell ya what. Pretty much every celebrity has died, and I don’t know if I can press on. It seems like every time I turn on my computer, the MSN homepage informs me that another one of my heroes has passed. This is why, I’ve decided to just make a porn site my new homepage. I have yet to decide on the lucky site, but I’ve narrowed it down. Any time someone dies, no matter how screwed up they are, it is sad. However, after attending the funeral of someone I knew, liked, respected, and worked with on a dialy basis, I do have to say. I could really give a shit about Farrah Fawcett. I know, she was at one time hot, and she has a kid, but come on, lets get a reality check. I know that at one time Michael Jackson may have been considered the coolest guy on the planet (before we found out the actual truth), but is it really that big of a deal? Had he never went down the whole “little kid ball tickling path” I might have respected him a whole lot more. About the time ‘Thriller’ came out he could have had any chick in the world, instead, he chose (allegedly) little boys. So I can’t say I’m too tore up about his passing. It’s sad for his kids, but did they really stand a chance any way? I can honestly say, finding out Billy Mays died, did really suck. That guy, though far less famous than Farrah, or MJ, was awesome. He seemed like a pretty cool dude. The kind of guy you could have a beer with, or borrow something to get a stain out of your clothes from. Plus, the way he went really hit hard. I always thought the whole “things in the overhead compartment may have shifted in flight thing” was just a way to get people to stay in their seats after landing. Now I know. So yes, I will miss Billy Mays, and that’s it. Maybe Dom Delouise, but really just Billy. He was one of my few hero’s. Maybe now, their really is a void in the promo-world, that I can fill. It was my dream after all. I think Billy would have wanted it that way. Then, I can truly endorse some of my finer ideas, like shitter in a box, and hooker-in-a-can.

Chris gets attacked by a dog!

It was almost as fun as it sounded. Like every other time I have been bitten  by a dog, this dog was slightly larger than some of my more impressive stools. And, like all the other times I’ve been attacked by dogs, I failed at setting the world Canine punting record. Although I did try.
For a long period of time, I had to go in and out of strangers houses, on a daily basis. This lead to seeing some really cool, and really not-cool stuff. It also lead to more than one run-ins with bastard dogs, who are trying to defend their turf. I stopped having to go into strangers houses for a while, but it did not last. Today, I went into a cigarrette smoke filled shit-pile with a little wiener dog/hell spawn. According to the homeowner, it was a mini-dauchsund. I always thought wiener dogs were already miniature, but I guess this one was slightly smaller. The lady made us go through this highly effective ritual, of me slowly “introducing” myself to the little bastard. She claimed it would show him I was friendly. I am not friendly, and none of her retarded actions could change this, and the little bastard dog saw right through it. The lady grabbed my hand, which in general is a no-no, and her skin looked like the dude from ‘Gold Member’s, except not hillarious. This kind of freaked me out, and I pulled my hand away, and kept from striking her as a defense mechanism. I was without my rape whistle, and couldn’t take any chances. She of course did not get the hint, and did it again, this time I let it go, and she slowly pulled my hand back up to pet the dog, who was vibrating with pent up rage, and flashing his little shit-head teeth. He of course, bit the shit out of my hand, just before I was about to ask if he bit. Question answered. She corrected him ever so slightly, and then told me he was very protective, and even scares away the larger neighbor dogs. After about 3 awkward minutes of me, pissed off dog, and crazy old lady staring at eachother, the dog whisperer decided it was cool to put him down. I was ready, and kicked him away as he lunged at my bare leg. Not hard, like a goalie would do when he was showing he was way too dominant to be scored on, rather dismisive. It came back, this time at the other leg. Since I still had my left leg in the air, I was wide open for the attack, and he got me again. So the crazy lady grabs her little doggie, talked to him in her “stern” baby talk voice, and held him there. All the while the devil dog was shooting me the “as soon as she puts me down, it’s on” look. Again, crazy lady puts down her little sweetie pie, who again, went right at me. I had my back to him, and he started going ape shit on the bottom of my shoe. He never got my skin on this attack, just the shoe. She grabbed him again, and I went on my way to look at what i was there for. On may way back out to the truck, she set him back down behind me, as I was walking away. This time he got me good, as I did not hear his little devil paws coming at me, and kind of thought the crazy lady had learned not to set the dog down. I was wrong. He got at least 3 little bastard teeth throught the skin. I did what my natural instinct told me to do. Use profanity, and kick the fucking dog. I got him pretty good this time. Good enough for him to think about coming back at me, for like 2 seconds, and then he came again. Crazy lady managed to intervene before I contracted rabies, or the dog went night-night for good. She said “maybe I should put him in the bedroom” Ya think? I never would have thought of that! When I came back inside a few minutes later, the demon dog was growling from behind a closed door, and trying to claw his way out. I kind of wanted the little shit-head to get out, as I was bleeding fairly decent, and had cleaned all the Wendy’s napkins out of my truck the day before. I wanted payback. I wanted to kill this dog. I kind of fantasized about the dog getting out, and me Morten Andersoning this dog into space. I even stepped off my drop steps in my head, to get perfect contact. He never got out. The lady looked at my leg, which was bleeding in at least 2 areas (not to mention my index finger that she pretty much stuck in his mouth) and she asked “did he do that?” Noooooooo. Once a month my legs bleed for 4-5 days. it means I’m going into manhood. I hate stupid people, really bad. I held back saying any one of the 2000 or so awesome things I wanted to say, and just said, yup, he got me. She apologized, and said he’s so protective, and makes her feel “safe”. This woman was roughly 65 years old, the size of a pile of ole beer kegs, and had some crazy skin condition, and was in her “house coat” at 2 in the afternoon. I really wanted to break the news to her nobody in their right mind was going to rape her, but it was Groveport OH, so who knows. I held back, finished my stuff, and went on my merry way. I would like to see that little dog in a dark alley some night.

On the way home, I saw something that made it all totally worth while. I am a huge fan of watching stupid people in action, and of irony. Both came together in perfect harmony. It was like the Haley’s comet of unfortunate irony. I may never see it again. There was a bunch of old furniture, and junk laying by the curb on main street, in lovely Groveport OH. and wait for it….. a dude with one leg (he had the metal peg leg thing) was sorting through the prized junk, and was holding up, and inspecting a chair with only 3 legs.
Magical

I tried to stop this

Thanks Dusty, or Bronson, or whomever is really the one behind letting Arroyo pitch tonight in Toronto, despite my warnings. You allowed me to turn the chanel to ESPN so I could devote my full attention to College baseball, which was far more competitive. I tried to help. I warned everyone, and even launched an AIDS scare, but you just wouldn’t listen. Bronson Arroyo did do a little better this time. He only gave up 6 earned runs, in just a shade over 3 innings. Considering he had given up 5 right out of the gate, he really was on a roll there in the “latter” innings. Either way, it’s still better that his last outing in Canada, and not as bad as the 17 run loss I predicted. Glad we got that out of our system.

Once again, you’re welcome…

I shall hereby be known as the real life Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. Or better yet, Dr. Phil, except not a bald southern douche bag, and actually more of a Dr. than Phil.
Just 24 hours ago, the fate of the Reds franchise slugger, 1st baseman Joey Votto, and the Reds season was in doubt. Then, I saved the day. When we all woke up Tuesday morning, nobody really knew what was going on with Mr. Votto. Redneck sports talk radio rumors from the ‘nati had covered every subject imaginable, and then some. Everyone had a theory, and most were getting spread pretty wild. Someone, who’s name rhymes with ‘Till’ even went so far as to spread a rumor about young Mr. Votto’s sexuality, and even full blown AIDs. This rumor was not only blasphemous, but it was grossly mis-spelled. When people say things like “Joey Votto’s boyfriend is dying of AIDS, and he thinks he might have AIDs” it makes the baby Jesus cry, and myself as well. Rumors are hurt-full, but also fun, like the one about Barry Sanders quitting the Lions to pursue a career molesting Malaysian boys, and Rich Rodriquez being a tranny. Anywho, no matter what the real reason was, I fixed everything. All I had to do is offer my unwavering support (which does make you kinda think about the whole gay thing, but I’m cool with that) and Joey Votto is healed. I go out, and buy some Tim Hortons Long Johns, and a couple jelly filled’s, and a 12 pack of Blue Light (with strangely small 11.5 oz. bottles) and young Joey is back in the lineup. I did it! I’ve saved the Reds season! Kind of. I still need to think of a way to keep Bronson Arroyo from giving up 38 runs against Toronto like he did last season, but it’s a start. So, like all true humanitarians, I do what needs to be done, have a few beers, brag about it online, and then move on. My next pet project, is to find a way to  stop bronson from pitching on Wednesday. Luckily, I scanned all the internets, and found this story, which is entirely true.

Playing Creed music, and eating JTM’s causes SUPER AIDS!
Recent science studies have shown that playing Creed music on your guitar for fat southern Ohio college chicks, and eating too many JTM’s will cause AIDS. Full blown Super AIDs, not the kind that magic Johnson has, but the kind people in Africa get, according to studies, and scientists. Scientists have also discovered that living on a boat ,and throwing curve balls will speed up the effects of the Super AIDs, as does having long douche hair. According to recent reports, the only way to stop the Super AIDs from killing you, is to not spend 2 consecutive days in Canadian cities such as Toronto. -Associated Press

Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never been one to argue with Science studies, especially recent Science studies. If I were Bronson Arroyo, I’d totally go home, and not play Creed on my guitar, and eat JTM’s with fat UC sluts.
Looks like you’re starting tomorow Danny Ray!

Go Get ‘em Redlegs!