I know, I know. I’ve been ignoring the world. Oh, woe is me. Hamish almost made it an entire Phillies season without saying a word about the team he creams for. And now, with tonight being the second to last game (that’s right 2nd to last), I can no longer stay silent. I must shout from the rooftops what I feel inside.
The Phillies are going to win their second (in a row) World Series in tomorrow. This is no joke. I have a strong psychic feeling inside that tells me that the Phillies are going to win their second World Series tomorrow night. A spaceman came up to me yesterday as I was drinking an Old Fashioned a the bar at the local ‘Oliday Inn. He began telling me about how he’s from the future and has seen the Phillies win the World Series in 2009. He then took me up to his room (I went due to the fact I was still unsure if he was male or female) and told me what needs to be done in order for them to win.
#1: Brad Lidge must be killed.
He is like a giant cyst on your back. You don’t remember how it got there, or if it was ever not painful to look at. But it must be lanced and the juices inside it must be squeezed out until it is dead. He should never pitch again, now I remember why the Astros got rid of him. He blows nard sacks. I want that trade reversed right now and I want Geoff Geary back.
I’d rather have Geoff Geary be our closer for the final two games of the World Series than Brad Lidge. I’d rather watch Geoff Geary have sex with every animal on Noah’s ark then watch Brad Lidge again. Brad Lidge’s pitching is like watching a car crash and then every other car crash behind it, and every car that crashes has someone you love in it, and every time they crash their lifeless bodies fly through the windshield.
I do not care if Lidge saves the next two games with perfect innings, 3 strikeouts in a row. I will still hate Brad Lidge and hope that he winds up on some mole removal commercial for the next season.
#2: Cole Hamels needs to clear the sand out of his vagina.
Seriously Cole. Seriously. Here’s a bucket of water. Pull down your pants and spread your legs. I’m gonna pour until the sand has all cleared. Then I’m going to beat the ever living shit out of you until you fight back. Brett Myers was right for giving you shit. I’m a huge Brett Myers fan right now. He’s trying to spark some life into your lifeless soul. Yeah, you had a kid. There are thousands of kids born every day, it’s not every day that your World Series MVP pitcher turns out to be a sandy vagined bitch salad.
Stop it. Stop it right now. Get up off the fuckin’ ground. I know that Charlie’s gonna pitch you tomorrow for the crucial Game #7. He has to. He’s fuckin’ Kris Kringle. He brings presents to all the children. Your present is going to be a chance to be the savior of the Phillies. Will you step up? Or will Chan Ho Park have to pitch 5 innings in relief. The ball’s in your court Cole, are you gonna keep selling Comcast to us? Eating pizza with Jameer Nelson and Ochocinco? Or are you going to pitch some motherfuckin’ nasty baseball?
#3: Ryan Howard has to shave his beard.
It’s not you man, it’s not at all. I better be tuning in tonight and see you walk out of that dugout sans facial hair. Remember last year? When you didn’t have a beard? And you didn’t set records for most strikeouts in a World Series ever. Remember that? I do. STOP IT RIGHT NOW. Shave your little girly facial hair and open your eyes and hit some motherfuckin’ baseballs. You know what happens when you start smashing around baseballs? We score more baseball runs. And that’s how we can beat the Yankees. Tons of baseball runs. Then we can pitch anyone we feel like. But when you strike out, you do nothing. Nothing at all. You don’t advance base runners, you don’t pose a threat. We might as well have Jim Abbott out there, because at least he might make contact.
In case you are ill-informed. Jim Abbott was a one armed pitcher. Notice the picture and his baby glove. It’d be very difficult for him to bat. And thankfully he never had to. But, Ryan Howard bats. And Ryan Howard needs to bat. So, let Ryan Howard get out there, clean shaven, and shit all over Yankee Stadium.
#4: Alex Rodriguez and Robinson Cano need to continue not caring.
If I was a Yankee fan, and that’s really taking things far, but if I was a Yankee fan and I had those two players on my team I would continually write about how much I hate them and wish they would get speared through the heart by Baraka.
Now, I know they are both really good hitters, A-Rod way more than Cano (Had Cano on my Fantasy Baseball team two years ago, had to drop him a month in cause he sucked so bad.) But every time I see A-Rod bat I think to myself, Jesus, this guy looks like he doesn’t give two shits. He has the look of the asshole in his eyes. He’s like, “I’m so good, I don’t even know why I stand up here, I should be in the stands watching how good I look standing up here.” Yes, I know he’s clutch and most likely a future HOF (barring steroid issues). It’s just the fuckin’ look he gives standing up there. It’s the same thing I give D McNeezey shit for, if he doesn’t stand there laughing after he throws a ball 50 feet in front of DeSean, I’m happy. But, when he smiles and laughs after fucking up, I want to kill him. I want to smash A-Rod’s face in for the smug ass look he gives. But, you know what, keep it up dickhead. I hope you have the same soulless look when the Phillies in in 7.
As for Cano, he does the same thing and then everytime they show him in the dugout he’s spitting out 40-50 sunflower seeds and they’re all sticking on his gigantic colagen induced lips (Hence me nicknaming him “Colagen”). I hate Cano for his smug ass looks and his holier-than-thou attitude. Want to hate him just as much as me? Look at this picture.
This is fine, keep looking like you both don’t care. It’s one of my personal keys to victories and will make me hate both of you more and more. Fuck the Yankees. Oh, yes, Fuck the Yankees.
#5: Eric Bruntlett needs to pinch run.
I’m pretty sure we can only win these final two games if at some point near the end of the game Charlie decides to pinch run Bruntballs for Stairs or Ibanez or Feliz. Anyone slow on our team really. Bruntballs suffers from the opposite of Ryan Howard. Howard’s hair needs to go, Bruntballs’ beard needs to be bushier. Way bushier. I have a bushy beard right now. But Bruntballs beard is still bushier and needs to be extra bushy for the Phillies to win. This is a point the alien I was talking about earlier kept telling me as I railed him in the ass. With an extra bushy Bruntballs, the Phillies are money in the fuckin’ bank …
So, there’s a little bar at 8th & Fitzwater by the name of Vesuvio’s. They do a lot of Eagles postgame shows there, and they have an amazing special that every drink is $4. No matter if it’s an expensive beer or a glass of Johnny Walker Black, it’s still $4. So, needless to say I was there last night getting my crunk on. It was after work so I was a little hungry for some dinner. They also have a very good menu with what they call the #1 sandwich in the country.
I’ve had it before, and let me tell you. Amazing. So, anyways, I was feeling a little peckish last night, and I was reading through their menu, trying to find something that suited my half-crunk mind’s pleasure. Then the bartender says to me, if you can’t decide what you want, you need to have the #98. It was one of their specials of the week created by the Eagles very own defensive tackle, Mike Patterson. I looked to see what Mike had created. It was a sandwich with pulled pork, crispy chicken tenders, gouda cheese, crispy fried onion peels, and served with a side of homemade BBQ kettle chips. I was very tempted. The guy sitting next to me at the bar said, “I came here on Sunday and spent the whole day watching football, and I had 3 of those #98’s.” I thought to myself, alright, I guess they must be good and not that overwhelming. “Barkeep! Hook me up with a #98.” Before I continue, I want to show you Mike Patterson with our insanely fat coach, Andy Reid.
He’s a tank. And standing next to a “I eat cheesesteaks on the sidelines” Andy Reid, you can really tell his girth. This sandwich came out and it’s about 8 inches tall. And the bread was spread out to the side just to make it look shorter. Bear in mind, I have a giant fuckin’ mouth and can chonk almost anything. I had to open the jaw to full capacity just to get from bread to bread with a single bite into my gully. But, to keep #98 happy, I’d like to say I finished the beast and have now woken up @ 3 AM to write about it. Why am I up at 3 AM? Because my stomach feels like Mike Patterson took a shit in it. Thanks Mike, you and your boys better kick the shit out of the Chiefs on Sunday, or I’m gonna find out where you live and load up your front porch with all the fecal matter I produce from your stomach damaging sammy.
So, I found an old cassette tape of Disney’s Splashdance (circa 1983). It’s fuckin’ amazing. I mean they’ve got that dude singing most of the songs. You know that dude. The dude who has just the perfectly toned voice that makes it sound like all little kids should take off their pants and show ‘em what they’re working with. Some of the songs even sound eerily similar to like some kind of strange ELO/Styx/REO Speedwagon mix. It makes me feel so good.
Anyway, since I forgot my iPod on multiple occasions, instead of listening to terrestrial radio (it’s way too random) we pop in this tape. And those first couple of songs just make you want to dance, sing, and plain take off your pants, no matter what age you are now. (I plan on including some YouTube videos to give you a feeling of what I was feeling.) My car was ripping and roaring, anyone who hears these songs immediately falls in love with them and can’t stop singing and dancing. It’s just this overall rush, better than crack/cocaine, better than heroin, better than horse tranquilizers. Get some of this Splashdance … it’ll rock your fuckin’ world.
“They’re upside down weeps, on inside out swings. They do things backwards, and backwards they sing. Yapph Yadhtrib, Yapph Yadhtrib, Yapph, Yapph Yadhtrib Ot Uoy. Which means …”— Happy, Happy Birthday to You, Splashdance, an amazing Disney Album
Was way too high-tech for simple minded wagon folks.
"Challenge the Unpredictable Frontier!"
I wondered if a CD-ROM version of Oregon Trail II would still run on my new-fangled computer. So as I loaded it up I checked out the system requirements.
Microsoft Windows 3.1 or higher.
Check. Wait, I’m not sure if Vista is considered higher. It doesn’t have a number. Unless, Vista is like some numbers puzzle I have to solve. I’d go with … V=22, I=9, S=19, T=20, A=1 meaning Vista was version 2291920. That’s looks like a long version type, it actually looks more like a phone number. I tried calling it. It’s a fax machine. Fax machines must be higher than 3.1. We have to be cool.
256-color SVGA display.
Shit. Don’t have that anymore. We may be fucked here.
12MB hard-disk space.
Ouch. Vicious. I didn’t know if my computer could possibly spare that. So, I called MECC Technical support with the ‘612’ area code they provide me with in the manual. Minneapolis, Minnesota. Nobody is fuckin’ answering. This is bullshit. Why ofter a customer service with no hours indicated and not pick up the phone? In the 15 years, since the manual’s copyright date, have our morals seriously dropped this low? We can’t even honor things we put in place 15 years ago, how can anyone have faith in things we once believed in the past? What is Almond Joys didn’t have nuts, and Mounds did? Would that change their business scheme at all?
No. It wouldn’t, because coconuts are evil no matter which way you slice it.
“Well, then you’re gonna have to make 4 Purple Alaskan Thunder Fucks.”— Hamish, last night, How to Find the Best Shot in a Shot Book (SoCo, Jack Daniel’s, Amaretto, Raspberry Liqueur, OJ, Pineapple Juice)
As I sit here in work, just finishing off a Banana Nut Muffin, which I very strategically left for myself yesterday, I need to tell you all about a beer I tasted last night. It was incredible. It was fantastic. It tasted like a SON OF A BITCHIN’ BLUEBERRY MUFFIN. A good one too. Not some run of the mill, dinky doodle little coffee shop Blueberry Muffin. I’m talking about one of those huge fuck off giant blueberry muffins with crumbles falling everywhere and blueberries so juicy they shoot their juices into your eye. If this isn’t getting you wet yet, then nothing will.
I saw this Kids in the Hall episode back in the day about this guy working at an office and he gets invited out after work with his co-workers. He’s not a big drinker, so one of them order him a big fruity looking drink. And he’s hooked. It ends with him in the supply closet blending ice and cutting fruit to create another “girl drink” to feed his addiction.
Oh, poor Dave Foley. Soon enough afterwards, I began my drinking career. We all start down the same road, through the Beer Gardens. And beer is so good and perfect and cheap and easy to come by. Then you move on to harder alcohol, and that’s good too. Then you’ve build up all sorts of creations you love to drink, that are considered masculine. Rum/Coke, Whiskey/Coke (Really Whiskey and anything), anything on the rocks, anything straight up (anything that is not flavored). And everything’s going great for you …
But then you are tempted by the fruit of another … a sweet delicious fruit. Some call it Love Potion. And that’s exactly what it is. Take some Hawaiian Punch, some Red Bull, and some *gasp* Three Olives Cherry Vodka, and mix it up. It tastes like a fuckin’ Starburst. Like fuckin’ Shirley Temple herself ejaculated into your mouth. But, you’re afraid, you can’t let others see you enjoying this amazingly girly drink. So you hide your passion. Until you can convince others …
So don’t be afraid “Girl Drink” Drunks are everywhere. I’ve dabbled with it myself. Shout it from the rooftops, “I LOVE FRUITY DRINKS.” Actually don’t shout it and don’t tell anybody. It’s not good for your image, people are already start to wonder about you and your life choices. Don’t feed the flames. Oh, fuck it. Feed the fuckin’ flames and enjoy your drinks. Taste is everything. BOOM!
I can’t tell what will happen in the future, and usually when you write about things that you’re attempting to do, you automatically jinx yourself. So, I quit smoking on Monday, cold turkey.
And looking back on that past blog about how I’m a crazy smoking rebel, and no one can stop me makes me think that I might have killed a few people before and not remembered doing it. But, if I don’t remember, it never happened. Right? Anyway, you may ask why I quit.
I don’t know, I had an out of the blue amazing weekend, full of tons of fun. I got home from work Monday, no one was at my house, and I was out of cigarettes. I started doing yard work in our backyard. I worked out there for over 3 hours, sweating. And then that was it. I haven’t had one in 3 days. I’ve wanted to, but I’ve managed not to have one even through some after work drinking. So, we’ll see where this takes me … but forgive the lack of blogging this week. I’m trying to quelch one addiction … whilst bringing back another.
Ok, yeah, I smoke cigarettes. I smoke fifty packs a day. I like it, I enjoy it. It gives me something to do. It keeps me calm when I’m feeling stressed, it gives me a break in the monotony of the day. I’m a smoker, I know it, but people around me seem to think I’m afflicted. As if, because I smoke I want people to help me stop smoking. I’m a smoker, HELP ME, I can’t control myself. I’m killing myself everyday and I just want YOU to help me stop. Please help me, I’m a useless human being who doesn’t understand what I’m doing. HELP!
Fuck you. I smoke and I want to smoke. So, suck it and fuck it assholes. If I want help, I ask for help. If I don’t want to smoke, I won’t smoke. If I have problems quitting, I’ll deal with it then. But, I’m not ready yet. My life isn’t that important yet to have a need to stop smoking. If someone doesn’t like me because I smoke, suck my ass. Unless I’m doing a family thing, or if you want my body and you don’t like smokers, I’m going to smoke. If you’re either of the two previous thing, BAM, I stop smoking. I’ve done it many, many times. A girl I was seeing before had me stop for months. Months! And I did it, I did it all for the nookie. But, as of now, I’m a smoker, just like my idol Bogie.
I wasn’t mad when they banned cigarettes from restaurants and bars. I think it’s a good idea. First of all getting engulfed by cigarette smoke while trying to eat a meal sucks assholes, it’s nice to just enjoy your food without distractions. The only good thing was enjoying a cigarette after you eat, but you can sit up and walk outside if you really need it. As for smoking at bars, well, it kind of sucks, but not totally. Did I care that my clothes smelled like smoke after bars? Nah. My clothes smell like smoke anyway. The thing that I like about it is that it gives you that break from the bar. Away from the loud music and tight places, so that you can really talk to someone one on one or to get away from the annoyingness that is the bar. It actually gives you something to do while drinking, take a walk outside. Nice, thanks lawmakers!
So, smoke if you got ‘em, or don’t smoke if you don’t. I don’t think people should be judged on their smoking status. In fact, I don’t think people should be judged at all. But, these are judging times. And if you choose to enjoy cigarettes and subtract years off your life, go for it. I’d rather enjoy cigarettes now, then make with the diarrhea in my Depends when I’m eighty-four.
Ok, ok, ok, I’m fed up with the five billion e-mails, texts, facebook updates all involving everyone’s own opinion on the whole Michael Vick thing. I really don’t care what anyone thinks about it. Personally, I love it. But, that’s not what we’re talking about here. Because, I’m tired of it. Win, lose or draw, we have Michael Vick on the Eagles and it’s time to make the best of it.
I was reading recently about all the money problems the city of Philadelphia has been having and how we’re going to have to start shutting down local pools, youth clubs, and libraries to save on the money. It sucks to rob people of government operated things due to a shitty economy, if there’s no library where will the children expand their minds? God only knows. And right when all was seeming to slide downhill on Philly in comes Michael Vick.
He brings with certain skill sets that no one else could provide, and he also is in search of a way to give back to the community. Well, Philadelphia needs you Michael Vick. What can you do for us? So, I drew up in my head everything I know about Michael Vick and came up with a 2-part plan of action.
1) If Michael Vick starting sleeping all around with random chicks in Philadelphia and his genital warts became rampant, people would stop having unprotected sex. Not only would it keep down on population, but it would keep kids off the street. And due to the closing of safe places where children can go, this is a huge deterent for unwanted teenage pregnancy, and all Michael Vick has to do is fuck. And I’m pretty sure he knows how to do that, he was in jail for awhile.
2) Forget legalizing weed, closing post offices, or laying off more workers, to really start the money flowing in the city we need Michael Vick to begin opening up government run dog fighting arenas. We could have each section of Philly have their own team of dogs, and the fun would begin. The West Philly Bulldogs vs. The Fishtown Fighting Poodles. Not only would it unite neighborhoods together with pride, but the revenue at one of these events could be gigantic. Think about the food/beverage sale alone, not to mention the betting that would bring so much money in. I mean that’s why Vick was in it to begin with. It’s a money making monster, and now we need Vick to bring that to us, and he will. He’s one devious bastard.
This is bad news folks, not just that there are grandfather’s out there pinching asses and grabbing boobs on cartoon character mascots, but what this means via Mickey’s revenge. I mean, they’ve been together for like 70, 80 years. And this old dude’s gonna come into his home, act like he’s taking a picture with her and then totally molest her innocent mousey body. This is some fucked up shit. If someone came into my home and pulled that shit with my girl, I would probably stomp their ass inside out, so that when they shit it would go back inside their body. Think about this, real hard. It makes no sense, but perfect sense. I fear what is going to happen as a result of this … I will just stand back and watch, and stay far away when that drunk mouse with a shotgun comes through …
So, anyway, I went to get my prescriptions filled, and I was sitting in the CVS Pharmacy waiting area. Really tiny one too, about 3 seats and a blood pressure cuff bench. And the store was pretty empty. A young 20 year old black kid comes in and grabs a magazine and sits down next to me. First I thought, this isn’t a doctor’s office, it’s a store, you just can’t sit here and read magazines. But, I got over it quick, because seriously who fuckin’ cares? So, we were just sitting there waiting, listening to whatever bullshit CVS satellite radio they’ve got playing. Then “What About Love?” by Heart comes on. It’s pretty quiet in there, and as the song reaches the lyric part I hear next to me, “I’ve been lonely, I’ve been waiting for you, I’m pretending and that’s all I can do.” I was about to burst out laughing and I turned to him for a quick second. He said, “I like Heart.” And I said, “Yeah, man, they rock.” Then we both went back to being quiet.
So, as it was, I had to get a root canal today. And I went to my dentist a few weeks ago, and they couldn’t get it done. Which happens I guess, so I didn’t get to upset. But, when I realized that I’d have to see an endodontist and pay pretty much straight out of pocket, it pissed me off. So, I shopped around, and found one in Drexel Hill that seemed to be good, and also was the cheapest that I could get.
Yep, I spent $746 to have a dude drill into my teeth. It took about 15 minutes. Probably less. Then he goes, “OK, done, we’ll finish up on your next appontment.” I’m thinking, what the fuck dude, it took you 15 minutes to do this first part, why not just finish now and call it a night. But, I don’t argue much. So, I made my appointment and then I got a script for some Percoset. I was thinking, Wow! Percoset, I had no idea. I love pain killers. Who doesn’t? So, I left happy.
In my car I realized, is this SOB gonna charge me another $746 to finish the same tooth? I have no idea. And now I’m scared and worried. I never asked, and I don’t want to ask. He fooled me by leaving me on a good note with the Percoset and I wasn’t even thinking about am I gonna have to pay another $746. Shit. I got duped by the King of the Dupers, and then bribed with some Percoset.
But, let me tell you, if I was a dentist, I’d want to be this guy. Just listens to opera all day and works for 15 minutes at a time. Doesn’t do weekends, and doesn’t have appointments past 3 PM. And makes $746 per 15 minutes, and then dishes out pain killers. What a wonderful life.
I’m sorry that I’ve stop writing things on my blog. I’ve been real busy with the holiday season and whatnot. I really haven’t had much time to do anything. To add with that I’ve been going crazy personally and don’t really have much motivation to write. I’m sorry. I suck ass. Well, it’s gonna go like this, I’m taking a vacation to Orlando until January 11th. At that point I will begin again to write for my blog. So, I will see you all again post vacation. Have a wonderful holiday season and go fuck yourself.
Look you monkey breeding assholes, I don’t know what you expect out of me. I’m lazy and I don’t usually feel like doing anything besides staring off into space and dreaming of living in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. But, for you, I will do it. Do it. DO IT.
#1: Playoff Flag Football
We actually won our first playoff game to get us into this week. Now at 8:30 AM tomorrow morning we have to wake up and possibly play 3 games. Sounds rough, but fun. And I plan on vomiting on the field, just like my fav football player Donny McNeezey.
We’re going to beat the Giants this week and show everyone why they are not the best team in football. They are merely illusions. It’s easy to pretend like you’re good in football, but to prove it, against a team that wants your blood, is difficult. So, Eli? GIVE ME THE BLOOD ELI. GIVE IT TO ME! I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!
#3: Fantasy Football Playoffs
Well, I’ve made it and am forced to play Wangaholic for a second straight week. Since I know no one really cares about my fantasy football playoffs. I’ll keep this short and sweet. Tiny cinnamon buns.
I shot myself in the leg before. It’s rough, and embarrassing. I can only feel his pain in knowing not only did he do it. But, now everyone knows and they’re not letting him play football and they want to put him in jail. Shit. That sucks. So, I shoot myself in the leg and you take away my livelihood and my freedom? But, Ray Lewis kills someone and he’s still allowed to tackle Clinton Portis next week. WHAT THE FUCK? Don’t think I’m sticking up for Plaxico, cause I actually hate him way more than Ray Lewis. But, I think people that kill people are worse than people who shoot themselves.
"Ow, my leg!"
So, I saw the movie, JCVD. If you don’t know what it is, find out now. Anyway, I want you all to know, it’s no JCVD action movie. It’s like a French foreign film that’s actually really good and interesting. And the JCVD monologue to the camera is perhaps one of the most moving moments I’ve ever seen from Van Damme. Of course I had a bottle of Aquafina filled with straight vodka with me. But, that only enhances my own ideas of the movie into greater ones. It doesn’t spin me one way or the other on the film itself. Go see it. SEE IT.
I’ve had a headache for a week, and it sucks. It doesn’t go away, but hopefully soon it will. I am suffering from PCS. Pussy cock syndrome. No, seriously. It’s not pussy cock syndrome, that doesn’t even make sense. Or maybe it does, but if it does make sense than I’m not suffering from it. And since I have PCS and this headache, I’m really tired of typing … hopefully this will end soon …
“You maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!”— Charlton Heston, at the end of Planet of the Apes, and my darkest fear in my black soul of death, that Charlton Heston will be the last man alive. He didn’t die on some 8 months ago, he’s just in some African jungle, hunting and killing apes, and wearing their hides. Trust me, I’ve seen pictures.
I hate to be the one to vent on things. Actually, I love to be the one. Fuckin’ McNabb. You’re seriously making everyone hate you. Why? Why do you smile when you throw horrible incompletions? That is killing each and every one of the Eagles fans. We just got done with the Phillies winning it all for us. Then we come to watch our beloved Eagles play football and we’re having a tough time out there. That’s OK, I’ve come to accept the fact that we can’t win every game, and that we’re not the best underrated team in the NFL. But, when you throw a ball 5 feet over a guys head who’s wide open and then you are just smiling when the camera is on you, I want to fuckin’ kill you. I want to rip your fuckin’ lips off your face and pour so much Chunky soup down your throat that your shit looks like Bloody Bean Orzo. I mean come on, man. Show some fuckin’ passion for the game. Make us feel your pain when we’re doing bad. Make us stick behind our team. Let us have that average team, that everyone still loves and respects. You won’t give us that will you, McNeezy? You just want us to hate you and hate you until you’re traded to the Vikings and we all curse your name.
It doesn’t have to be this way. Just come out and play some football and show you care. Show that it’s not just a game for shits and giggles. Show us that we should care for what you do, and make us feel bad when you suffer. Get mad. Throw your fuckin’ helmet. Yell at people on the sidelines. Fuckin’ kick the Gatorade stand into Jon Runyan and then fist fight him to the death. Whip your giant dick out and rub it all over Akers before he goes out for field goals. DO SOMETHING. Make me love you again, not just like you.
SIDE NOTE: This whole bullshit about not knowing there is only one overtime in football makes me sick. Blow me where the fuckin’ pampers are, because if you thought the game was not over, why did you throw a fuckin’ 70 yard jump ball at the end of the game. Pretty much the stupidest thing ever if we were going to play another quarter of OT.
He’s actually only allowed to smile if he’s fro-ing his hair out.
Yeah, I know, shit has happened. And as someone who’s supposed to write about shit in his blog. I haven’t. I’m sorry. Let me recap.
Yes, we won the World Series. And I was on Broad Street with the rioters. I didn’t flip cars or start bonfires. But, I saw a lot of crazy shit like people ripping down trees and climbing lamp posts and traffic lights. Shit was out of control, at one point 12 dudes riding a dumpster crashed into the sidewalk near us. But, when it’s all said and done. The Phillies won the fuckin’ World Series. FUCK YEAH BITCHES! EAT OUR ASSHOLES NOW! WE ARE THE FUCKIN’ CHAMPS! BOW BEFORE OUR GREATNESS! SUCK IT, SUCK IT, SUCK IT HARD!
In honor of the Phillies winning the championship 2 days prior. I decided to dress as my favorite Phillie, Eric Bruntlett. Or Bruntballs as I love to call him. And let me tell you something, Bruntballs got mad props from people out and about on Halloween. Not only from my friends, but people at the bar loved Bruntballs and thanked him for scoring the winning run in the final WS game. BRUNTBALLS!
Bruntballs & John Kruk, and the Jackal. It was a Bruntballs converted Pat Burrell jersey, and I also wore cleats all night. Bad idea. My feet fuckin’ hurt.
#3: President-Elect Obama
Obama is going to be the new president. I’m happy. For once in my life the man I voted for won. In 2000, Ralph Nader didn’t win. In 2004, John Kerry didn’t win. Finally, my vote was for the man who will be stepping into the Oval Office and getting blown from underneath his desk. I am so proud. Plus, I like some of his ideas. Especially the one about free ice cream cones on the 1st of da month.
Chonk that shit, Mr. President.
ONTO THE WEEKEND:
#4: Eagles/Giants: Sunday Night
Gonna be a pure shit show. Especially tailgating all day until the game gets on the way at 8:30PM. And Eli Manning is going to bleed brown blood from his asshole as we constantly pound his ass. I love Eagles/Giants, it’s more exciting than Eagles/Cowboys right now. I just want to pound them. I want to show the world that the Giants are a shitshow team and they do not deserve any props they get. I WANT THEM TO SHIT ON THE FIELD AND BE CARRIED OFF IN STRETCHERS. I said it, now I can’t take it back. Blargh mina.
#5: Flag Football
Back to back games at 2PM and 3PM. The 2PM game is a battle of High School past. As in the team we are playing is a lot of guys most of our team graduated high school with. It’s going to be a fuckin’ shit show. And this will be the most important game of the year. We must win. Not only for bragging rights, but we are better than them. And they must feel our wrath. I WANT THEM TO SHIT ON THE FIELD AND BE CARRIED OFF IN STRETCHERS. I said it, now I can’t take it back. Franks and beans.
#6: Friday/Saturday Night
Yeah, I have no idea what’s going down either of those days. But, I promise you it will be a shit show of all things unholy. Betcha.
#7: Playoff Beard
Say Goodbye to it folks … this will be it’s final weekend.
So, I worked the early shift yesterday and didn’t get much sleep. But, was invited to go see a movie at night. We didn’t get any food before the movie and decided it would be better to see it if we were trashed. We finished the last half of my Three Olives grape vodka in about 30 minutes. I was bombed. We got some snacks at the theater, sat down, watched the previews then I was out. Passed out for the entire length of the movie. Woke up at the end where my friend proceeded to tell me that it was the worst movie going experience of his life. I was apparently snoring and people were pissed at me, and he kept trying to wake me up, but it was no use. I guess I’ll never know what Pride and Glory was about.
Let me tell you something. If the Phillies lose game 5 and/or the World Series, Bud Selig will be killed. Not by me. Let me reiterate that. I will not kill Bud Selig. But, there are some fuckin’ nut jobs out here in Philly and anyone who causes us to lose a championship, that’s not directly related to our team, when we are this close, will die.
Keep praying Selig, you will need God to save you now.
In lighter news, I still think that the Phillies are going to rock the socks off of the shitty Rays. Pinch hitter, then the top of our lineup. BAM! Bring your rookie closer. Bring it all, you will not stop the Phillies. We are pissed, we are angry and we will have our Championship.
This rain delay thing sucked ass. What was an amazing start of the game was destroyed way too quickly. I blame Bud Selig and I hate him so much now. The game should never have been played, but since it was, it should have been stopped right when the Rays player, Trever Miller, said it should have. The 4th inning when Jimmy Rollins dropped the pop-up. Right then you should have known that it was not the right conditions to be playing the most important game of the year for both teams and all of the Major League Baseball. Who couldn’t see that? I hate you Bud Selig. I can’t wait til you are relieved of your testicles.
Yep, the World Series is tied up at 1-1. So EXCITING! It’d be more exciting if I actually had tickets to one of these games. And all the people I know that are going, just getting me more jealous by the minutes. I watched/listened to every game, and I get dumped on. I’m trying though to get tickets from Mayor Nutter, I know his secret (It’s SPAM!). We’ll see what happens. If I get lucky enough, I’ll be there, will bells on my nipples. Really though, this is one of the most exciting times in my life and I’m loving every minute of it. FUCKIN’ WORLD SERIES, you shitbags. DID YOU HEAR ME? Can’t wait for Jamie Moyer to throw his old balls into BJ Upton’s bitch-ass mouth! Old balls, Bruntballs, Matt Stairs homerun. Phillies up 3-1 by Monday, unless the rain comes …
I was so fuckin’ sick this week, I was dead to the entire world. I fell asleep during that boring ass Jets/Oakland 4 o’clock game on Sunday and my friends were bitching and left. Then it happen, STREP. Fuckin’ got strep throat for 3 days, I couldn’t sleep more than 10 minutes without waking up, I had so many hallucinations and visions it was insane. I thought the Phillies already won game one before it happened, but they did it anyway. I thought many things, still have to wait to see if my visions came true. But, I missed 2 days of work, and I was thrown all off cue. I was so confused, where am I?
#3: Friday Night Mayhem
So my evil Landlord/friend got a free room at the Borgata on Friday night, and has invited everyone and their mother to come down. It’s looking like it’s going to be a complete mess/shitshow. Tons of booze, tons of world series anguish, and tons of dudes screaming and throwing feces around. WAIT! And somebody has gone and hired a monkey to hang out with us for 2 hours. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE? IS THIS NOT THE CRAZIEST SHIT THAT HAS EVER BEEN CREATED? I can’t even contain myself for this one. I want to meet Marvin so bad.
You ever see a Falcon and an Eagle fight? Well, guess who goes home with the bleeding rectum? Yep, the Falcons. They suck and I can’t wait to watch them lose in the parking lot … wha …
#5: Mega-Tailgate Sunday
1PM Eagles game, 8PM Phillies game = Mega-Tailgate. I will be there at 7AMish, with strombolis and beer and cornhole. When everyone leaves to go in to the game. I will still be in the parking lot with a 26 inch plasma TV, a slingbox, watching the Eagles and drinking, and ordering pizzas to the Holiday Inn. Then when the game ends, people will come back out, we will continue to drink and watch the 4 o’clock Giants/Steelers game. Then continue to drink til 7ish, when people will either go to the World Series game, lucky fuckers, or go home. Well, thank God I’ve been taking a lot of Gingko Bilboa, because I need my MOTHERFUCKIN’ STAMINA this weekend. Big time. I’ll tell you all the tales on Monday …
“Why do they have Bruntballs up here? 2 Outs, they should have brought someone up who can hit a …”— The last words of a Bruntballs hater, right before Bruntballs hit a solo shot and gave the Phillies a glimpse of life in last night’s World Series Game 2
Another weekend, another post, another week in the life of Hamish McMonkey Pants, let’s get it rolling.
We are going to the World Series and I couldn’t be happier. Seriously, I’ve been nothing but smiles the past day and it will continue forever. And my playoff beard is something nasty you should keep your kids away from.
Our MVP Cole Hamels, hard at work with some ugly chick.
Bye week? Ugh. Guess I’ll have to root for my 2nd favorite football team, um, shit … I don’t really like any other football teams.
They play the Sharks tomorrow and they better fuckin’ win, I’m tired of people saying the “win-less” Flyers. Believe in Gagne! (Now a member of my Fantasy Hockey team)
#4: Flag Football
We play again on Saturday and I’m pissed about having my jersey ripped from my body 2 weeks ago. So, I’ll be looking for blood, and a lot of it.
Probably going to be there Saturday night, hoping some Phillies luck will slide over to some gambling luck. I like moneys.
So, a new cat was on our porch all last night, crying for the evil landlord to give him some food. He claims he couldn’t find our cat food stash. I came home and hooked up the cat. The cat was grateful and apparently stayed there all night, because he was there in the morning too. Fed him again. He’s gone now, but I’m sure he’ll come back. Cats like me, and I like pussy. I’m sorry for being so vulgar, I don’t usually say stuff like that. I like cats, and I like women. Not just their body parts. But, I do like boobs. That’s not as vulgar. That’s just straight fact.