Twerve Days of Baseball

ED:

Hello? Does anyone still read this thing? I guess it doesn’t bode well that I seemed to have forgot that this existed, but I must just hope that there are still a few furry woodland creatures who check in from time to time. Since the last time I’ve blogged, we have arrived home, seen our last game, had a roof top party that contributed to our neighbors being kicked out of our building, plus -- I have moved, contracted the flu, slept for 16 hours in one night, seen Batman Begins (Christopher Nolan is the man), and mostly recovered from said flu.

As I write this, I am sipping a fine glass of Pinot and preparing for the upcoming party at Andrew “Uncle Shotgun” Dombrowski’s. And sitting in Bridget and my new apartment (is that correct grammar, it took me three minutes to word that and it still sounds wrong) which is missing a wall, table, and some lighting, but is “homey” nonetheless…


Outside of the Real World Philadelphia House We Pondered That Eternal Question: "What Would Landon Do" (WWLD)

So, what is there left to discuss about Twerve, you ask? Well, what about the fine people outside of the Northeast? All the “red state” dwelling, god fearing religers out there in the middle? I must say that for the most part (swearing dad’s, not-withstanding) there are some fine folk out in the middle. For some flight attendants, drunk Kansans, bachelorettes, and students out drinking the day before taking their finals to take in 4 dirty, smelly Twerves wearing their last pair of shorts and baseball t-shirts acquired by signing up for credit cards under assumed names, is to be commended, if not ultimately discouraged. (Dads out there, may I suggest teaching your daughters not to bring home the likes of us, for we may fall asleep on their aerobeds. Ewww.)


Midwesterners Have a Sick Sense of Humor...

So thank you all out there in Middle America. (Though, flight attendants, we still await our pictures from your apartment, and word on what Kelly Johnson things of the blog—by the way, congratulations to Kelly on his first major league homer. And it looks like Mr. Teahen has been tearing it up recently as well. What can I say, we are good luck.) But I digress, as always. So, as a group of merry, foul-mouthed puppets once sang, “America, fuck yeah! ... it’s the dream that we all share; it’s the hope for tomorrow.”

They also sang “America, FUCK YEAH! So lick my butt, and suck on my balls.” But that somehow seemed less relevant. Or appropriate... And yikes, I think I just scared away our under-8 readership…

So for now, I leave you with this mind-scratcher that Morgan and I bid adieu to a couple of nice young ladies with last night at Ryan’s Daughter on the Upper East Side: If you could do one celebrity, who would it be?

My answer?

Most definitely Christian Slater.



What? Did I just write that?

Shit, the backspace button stopped working right now! FUCK! Oh well, I give up…

By the way, I apologize for the long, rambling, overly-compound sentences. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t even understand what I’m saying half the time.

Good night…

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