Derek Jesus Christ for MVP

There's a lot of talk about Jesus Christ, Jeter Christ, Derek Jesus, Derek Jeter for MVP. I've not got much problem with it but Sweeny Murti, the Yankee reporter for WFAN Sports Radio brought up a good point, how can Derek Jeter be the MVP if he's been the lead off hitter all year and he doesn't lead the Yankees in runs scored. Johnny Damon has the most runs scored. Let's compare.

Runs Jeter-81, Damon-85

Doubles Jeter-21, Damon-29

HRs Jeter-15, Damon-22

RBIs Jeter-54, Damon-68

Walks Jeter-48, Damon-53

BA Jeter-.331, Damon-.285

OB Jeter-.395, Damon-.365

SLG Jeter-.471, Damon-.519

Pretty damn interesting. Both are less than average fielders, with less than average arms and less than average range (despite the Yankee talk "The Fishermen of Wins" is still not a good fielding shortstop. Damon is a corner outfielder so no MVP talk even by John Sterling.

Here's a TEX message to you Yankee fans. The mouth-breathing first baseman with the scrunched up face is your best shot.

As a former catcher, I'm voting for Joe Mauer.

The Dead Pope Sketch

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Don't Cry for Me, Brett Favre! You were supposed to be immortal...

I figured out why Brett Favre can't stay retired. He lives in Hattiesburg, Mississippi! I know he says he likes it there. I know he says he likes spendin' his time killin' things, huntin', fishin', and trappin'. But if Hattiesburg is so great, how come every August he gets an itchin' to get the hell out of Hattiesburg? Maybe because the average daily temperature in August in Hattiesburg, Mississippi is 99 degrees. And it's not a pleasant dry heat, its 100% humidity heat -- with the nearest ocean breeze 1,000 miles away.

Brett Favre made 890 million dollars playing football. This makes him the richest man in Hattiesburg by $889.5 million. The next richest guy has a lot of pigs. He doesn't even bother to turn it into dollars. He just sends the IRS a couple of piglets every year.

I mean look at Brett over there in Minnesota straight off a private jet from Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He's wearing a hat with SHIT ON IT!!! He has retired to a place where he's ass deep in shit. Pig shit, probably. There's so much nasty shit in Hattiesburg, Mississippi that the cleanest hat Brett Favre could find for his press conference still has a shitload of shit on it. I know what you're thinking, it's a fashion statement, the hat with shit goes with the homeless beard, toothless grin and inarticulate mumbling. I say $890 million and he's wearing a hat with shit on it.

I did some exhaustive research for a few minutes and learned a thing or two about Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Two things actually, because that's all there is to know about Hattiesburg. First, it was named after a wife named Hattie who was born without an edge to her face. Second, it's famous for having a history so racist, the Klan is embarassed.* Second, it is where Brett Favre calls home.

So, how can we avoid 890 billion hours of Brett Favre coverage on ESPN? How can we avoid the God awful feeling we get watching a grown man crying, over and over again? Somebody has to buy the guy a couch and tell him to move to Florida FerChristSakes! Hey Brett, I hear Arizona is nice, lots of white people and you can kill stuff like snakes and gila monsters.

*I have edited this bit due to numerous comments and e-mails from the good citizens of Hattiesburg. While my extensive research on the internet did reveal a racist past, let's face it, there's a racist past everywhere in the US including up north. Also, it didn't make the bit more funny.

Another Great Moment in Photoshopping History

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Great Moments in Photoshopping History

Moment Number 1

Start with a photo of a guy that is so taken with his blue tongue that he felt compelled to post it on the internet.
Combine it with a photo of a dog with a grotesquely long tongue that was probably photoshopped by somebody else.

And end up with a guy that is ready to satisfy any woman.

I used this image in How to Eat Pussy*or Everything You Need to Know About Cunnilingus But You Were Too Busy Picking the Hairs Out of Your Teeth to Ask.

Afterword

The only downside to this Great Moment is that everyone seems to think that the guy is me. That guy is not me, and that photo up there on the right of the blog is not me either. It's Yankee GM Brian Cashman with a NY Met hat photoshopped on his head (btw, not a great moment). The day my actual photo shows up on the internet I will be sure to notify you.

Old School GI Joe

This is a shameless plug for an OLD SCHOOL GI JOE bit at CircusAfterDark.com.


A while back, I was planting a bush in my mother's backyard. It was a nice schrubbery, not too large, maybe a yew. The first foot, or so, there was nothing special, dirt, stones, roots, the usual things you find while digging. Then, to my surprise, I unearthed an aluminum can pull top.

It was old, real old. The kind that popped off the can. The kind that littered our highways and cut our feet open at Jones Beach. Finally, I owned something that I could bring to the Antiques Roadshow. I slipped it in my pocket while my mom was busy weeding the azaleas and kept on digging.

The next artifact was plastic. No analysis of the teeth marks was necessary. My old man went through a longer than normal tiparillos phase. He was a White Owl man, though despite the claims in the television ads, this never resulted in him getting groped by Joey Heatherton. There was nothing he didn't smoke, sequentially, cigarettes, cigars, a ridiculous Hugh Hefner pipe, skinny cigars with plastic mouthpieces, *INSIDE JOKE WARNING* he even snuck a fag now and then, we figured this out when we saw Pete slipping out his bathroom window*INSIDE JOKE OVER* The tiparillo tip did not go in my pocket because that would be gross but it was a certain indicator of great things to come.

I had reached what we amateur archeologists call a landscape within my dig. A landscape, or horizon if you will, that most probably carbon dated back to the 1970's. I asked my mother to fetch a brush so that I could more carefully reveal my next find. She ignored me. I asked for a lemonade. She just continued weeding. My hole was now big enough for the ball of the yew. Stop snickering. The ball of the yew was the burlap wrapped roots of the bush not it's external genitalia. The yew, being a vascular plant, used pistols and stamens for sexual reproduction not balls and stems.


The sweat on my brow felt good and so I pushed on. A few inches deeper and I found this.

An abandoned bayonet from a little plastic M1. GI Joe. A 12 inch GI Joe. Sweet merciful crap! The Olduvai Man of action figures. My dream of owning a Wii was within my grasp. I dug quicker.

A Russian anti-tank grenade! How did I know this was a Russian anti-tank grenade? Well, it wasn't an American "pineapple" grenade and me and my brother were sort of Jewish, so playing with dolls dressed up like Nazis was considered verboten back in the day. But a nice, Cold War Ruskie caught sneaking across the Czechoslovakian border was considered the perfect enemy.

Now I was excited. Screw the accessories! I knew that there had to be dozens of GI Joes scattered throughout the rolling hills of Dix. My shovel flew -- and than I saw the pale flesh of a Joe rising up out of the soil. A trigger hand! An articulated arm with outrageously complicated metal hinges -- clearly first generation action figure design.

And nothing else. No torso. No legs. No head. No left arm. What horrors had befallen this Joe? The Viet Cong, the dog, the girl next door, me? I dug holes like Sigourney Weaver and nothing. The End.

Come on, if I had cashed in a 12 inch GI Joe for a Wii would I be wasting my time blogging? If you got the Sigourney Weaver reference, I'm buying. If you want more GI Joe humor with MUCH LESS REQUIRED READING, go to CafterD.

That Was No First Lady, That Was My Wife! (rim shot, please)

President Obama is funny, edgy, dark and pretty damn funny. Who knew? I found this in the New York Times Magazine on Sunday, Funny Obama.

Just before he said that those stupid cops in Boston acted "stupidly," he told this joke.

President Obama standing in the White House tried to put himself in Henry Louis Gates position: "I mean, if I was trying to jigger into — well, I guess this is my house now, so it probably wouldn’t happen," then he flashed a mischievous grin and added, “Here I’d get shot.”

Wow! or perhaps even lol. The first black president makes a joke about the Secret Service accidentally shooting him at the White House door because he's black. I always thought I would be able to hang with President Obama. Now, I know I can.

Wih respect to the Henry Louis Gates incident. I like to imagine Albert Einstein locking himself out of his little house down in Princeton. Do you think the cops down there would have assumed the old guy was a burgler and handcuffed the gray-haired professor or do you think they would have treated him with respect? Nuffsaid. Henry Louis Gates is pretty famous. Even I know what he looks like and I'm a dumbass.

David Ortiz, a Fallen Hero and a No More Christmas in August

That's the top of my dresser and that's a fallen Little David Ortiz -- and I refuse to pick him up and stick him back into his base. I've picked Little David Ortiz up about a million times since the summer of 2004 but not today, not anymore.



Yeah, I'm a grown man with vintage South Park stuffies on his dresser. You got a problem with that?



So, now you know a not-so-well kept secret, I'm a Boston Red Sox fan. I'm a Mets fan and a Sox fan. It's possible. It's allowed. And its fairly common. It's a natural progression for a born and bred Yankee hater. Especially for a kid in 1975 that got to watch the most amazing World Series ever. When a bunch of regular guys with names like Doyle, Tiant, Carbo, Evans, Burleson and Lee took on the Big Red Machine.

That's a bar stool with the faces of many of the perfectly tooled cogs of the Machine. Bill Simmons found it at a convention. Lots of great stuff. Go!

Later in 1978, I was in a room at a party, wearing my red, Red Sox hat adrift in a sea of angry, dark blue Yankee fans, watching TV, when Bucky Dent did what he did and, even more memorably, Yaz ( a fellow Long Islander) didn't do what he might have.

That's why I bought Little David Ortiz back in the late summer of 2004 and set him up in the kitchen. When the Sox lost a game, everyone who cared found something to put on Little David Ortiz before the next game. When the Sox won, there was much rejoicing and our Little David Ortiz shrine got partial credit. When the Sox won it all, well, Little David Ortiz became a legend.

Now, its a late summer tradition, moving Little David Ortiz from my dresser to the kitchen, dusting him off and removing last seasons collection of talismans. The kids looked forward to it. It was like getting to bring down the big box of Christmas stuff in August.

It's getting to be that time of year and I don't know what to do.

John Hughes and My Vagina

John Hughes had a major influence on me. Not through his movies, although I liked a bunch of them, but with his writing at National Lampoon.

My Vagina published in April 1979 was the funniest damn thing I had ever read. It was about a typical teenage guy that wakes up one morning to find that his penis has been replaced with a vagina. Not only was it very funny, it was also the kind of thing I wanted to write.

Vacation '58 was great, when the aunt dies, shit! It was way better than the movie.

I never realized it before today, but I have been ripping off his Engagement Guide for the past 10 years. An excerpt:

Question: "What is at the core of our current problems with Mexico?"

If she answers: "I just love this song, turn it up! Oooo, I love the nightlife!" She is a dumbass.

If she answers: "You haven't phrased the question very well. Are you referring to the natural-gas pricing debacle or the general ill feeling toward the Yanqui?" She is a smartass.

If she answers: "We're not very nice to them; let's fuck, then I'll make you dinner and vacuum out your car." Don't wait for the wedding. Elope and buy her anything she wants.

I found a pirated version of My Vagina on a transgender site! Enjoy.

David "Rip Van" Wright or That Just Might Be One Very, Very, Long Beard

After their satisfying five game winning streak, many Mets swore not to shave until they reached the .500 mark. Oops. After a tough weekend against the Arizona Diamondbacks, one of the few teams with a worse record than themselves, this ZZ Top photo of David Wright was required photoshopping.

If the Mets never get to .500 this year, and they are not a bunch of liars, then they will have to grow their beards until opening day 2010 when their official record will 0-0 or .500.

Let's give a big round of applause to your 2010 New York Mets!!!