You yell “shark,” and we’ve got a panic on our hands on the Fourth of July.
So we’re in more or less standstill traffic on the way home from the mountains this weekend, and edging by inches alongside us is a large manly black-and-silver pickup with a muscular forearm sticking out of the driver’s side window, hand clutching a lit cigarette. A sticker on the back window said “POWERED BY JESUS.”
Thing the first: Mr. Gleemonex, out of nowhere, made a joke about the sticker that I can’t repeat here for fear you’d all get the wrong impression about us Gleemonexes – I laughed for like ten gridlocked miles, even after he said “It wasn’t that funny!” Because yes it was.
Thing the second: I hate stickers (and other similar pronouncements) like that. Come on. The automobile you’re driving is powered by FOSSIL FUEL, sir. If you refer instead to your soul, perhaps you could show, not tell, yes?
And on a completely unrelated note:
Apropos of a conversation Mr. Gleemonex and I had this weekend, this one’s for all you baseball fans out there: Dusty Baker manages pitching like a guy who blows every paycheck he gets at the dogtrack, working on his gut-based “surefire system” that he believes in his soul will someday win back all that lost cash and millions more. He ignores streaks, has no sense of a pitcher’s rhythm, manages short when time is long and long when there’s two outs left, blows out an arm that’s obviously failing and retires a guy that looks to the rest of the world like he’s got seventeen innings left in him that night. He does all these hunchy moves and double moves and countermoves, shuffling and dealing and trying to psych his way through – the net result is a big old steaming sack of pelican crap, and that is why he’s destined to disappoint every team he ever gets to be in charge of. The end.
Thing the first: Mr. Gleemonex, out of nowhere, made a joke about the sticker that I can’t repeat here for fear you’d all get the wrong impression about us Gleemonexes – I laughed for like ten gridlocked miles, even after he said “It wasn’t that funny!” Because yes it was.
Thing the second: I hate stickers (and other similar pronouncements) like that. Come on. The automobile you’re driving is powered by FOSSIL FUEL, sir. If you refer instead to your soul, perhaps you could show, not tell, yes?
And on a completely unrelated note:
Apropos of a conversation Mr. Gleemonex and I had this weekend, this one’s for all you baseball fans out there: Dusty Baker manages pitching like a guy who blows every paycheck he gets at the dogtrack, working on his gut-based “surefire system” that he believes in his soul will someday win back all that lost cash and millions more. He ignores streaks, has no sense of a pitcher’s rhythm, manages short when time is long and long when there’s two outs left, blows out an arm that’s obviously failing and retires a guy that looks to the rest of the world like he’s got seventeen innings left in him that night. He does all these hunchy moves and double moves and countermoves, shuffling and dealing and trying to psych his way through – the net result is a big old steaming sack of pelican crap, and that is why he’s destined to disappoint every team he ever gets to be in charge of. The end.
Labels: balls in YOUR mouth sir, beisbol a been berry berry good to me, clean livin, cryin' amazacrazy, deportivo, I really am sort of an asshole sometimes, yes Sensei
posted by Gleemonex at 11:01 AM
4 Comments:
To Mr. Gleemonex...sometimes, it really is that funny.
As for Dusty Baker (or any manager for that matter), I think we sometimes get too caught up in the statistics of pitching. Pitch "count" is a ridiculous thing. You need to rely on a pitcher, or more exactly, a catcher to tell you when a pitcher is done. Sure, you can string them along for a little, but sometimes you CAN feel your way through. That said...some people shouldn't be managers, and that goes doubly for anyone who used to play.
Just my $0.02.
I bet we'd laugh too - spill!
What? You won't tell the joke? Aww...you tease! SO curious now...
oh, you'd laugh -- but you'd also think less of us. I like to keep my reputation shiny, eh wot!
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