Friday Fotoshop Funnies - Sarah Palin and a Baby

SACRAMENTO (Reuters) - Sarah Palin will sign a small, Asian child instead of a book if the price is right.

Just best selling author Sarah Palin and
a bunch of regular folks torturing a baby.

Sarah's hatred of Asians was well documented in an
article in the New Yorker (New Yorker, December 12, 2009)
and Sharpies have a silly name because they are not sharp. Can
you be more funny? Leave a comment or e-mail me.

Elio Chacon of Caracas, Venezuela somehow got this
through Homeland Security. I hate Glenn Beck and I hate
Sarah Palin but I do like titties.

RonTheMasochistHuntMan has a long name but
sent in a very funny caption. Unfortunately, we all know that
Sarah would quit long before she connected all those flowers!


Life is funny FelixTheCat but you aren't. Recycling my
Sharpie comment will not cut it. What is the deal with
that baby? Asleep? Dead? Ecstasy?

William Randolph of South Carolina sent in this winner.
Even the devil is scared of a Sarah Palin that is writing
something. What if he has to read it!?!

More Friday Fotoshop Funnies Fun
Bristol Palin and Levi Getting Married
Flat Sarah Palin
Sarah Palin and Henry Kissinger in Love

Can't Get Enough of this Crap? During the last election I created the site AndtheOtherisaDog.com (voted by Moveon.org as the leftist comedy site most likely to be mispelled).

Good Christian Team Mascots Not Un-American Demon Mascots

I believe that we are truely blessed that a man like Pastor Donald Crosby is brave enough to protect our children (unfortunately, the only photo I could find of Pastor Crosby is from those heathens at CollegeHumor.com). Over in Georgia, Pastor Crosby has been arrested by the Warner Robins police for the crime of Protesting While Christian! The entire, heartbreaking story is here.

The school administration at Warner Robins High School is secretly turning our children into worshippers of Satan by holding up the demon as a false idol. Nightly crowds of impressionable children cheer for the Demons when they should be embracing Our Savior Jesus Christ.

Look at the guns on Our Lord! Is He saving souls or posing for the cover of a romance novel? Both. Is there a better mascot for a football or basketball team than Our own Rough and Tumble Savior? If you are the Lubbock Lambs, that image might not put the fear of God into you, but the Duke Blue Devils will be cowering in their locker room of sin.

Wake up, Christians!!! Back in biblical times, when God blessed America, He envisioned a time in the far future when 228 million of His Christian Soldiers would rise up against their oppressors in Washington, D.C.

That time is upon U.S.

I did extensive research on the internet for five minutes and discovered that some Courageous Christian schools have adopted acceptable mascots for their teams. Let's follow their blessed example and march forth with Pastor Crosby as Good Christian Crusaders for Our America. Sometimes it is Right and Righteous to be Followers!!!

The Good folks at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia have named their team after their founder, Right Reverend Jerry Fallwell. Here's a photograph of the mascot of the Liberty Fightin' Fallwells, Jerry Falls Well!

That ain't right. That's just an actual photo of the Right Reverend Jerry Fallwell.

That's better. Sinners beware! The Fightin' Fallwells will smash that line!

College of the Holy Cross in TaxandJewsetts is a Catholic institution. I know that as far as Christians go, Catholics are not much better than the Jew or the Hindu, yet, these are the sort of Christians that are daring enough to name their team the Holy Cross Papists.



That's Beatic Benny flagellating the masses into a frenzy.

While researching this article I came across this strange photograph of the Pope at last year's All Hallows Eve Ball.

Are we sure that Catholics are Christians?

Perhaps the most famous date in religious mascot history is November 31, 2009. The day the Southwest Nazarene Fightin' Jesuses of Idaho met the Baruch College Chosen Ones of New York City.



Holy Moses, that was a massacre! Baruch's offensive line parted like the Red Sea resulting in 24 sacks of their quarterback, Marty "The Mensch" Markowitz. Final score? Christians 78, Jews 0.

Props to Ironicus Maximus and Seeing Eye Chick for the inspiration.

Cougar Smackdown - Michaele vs. Danielle: Ripped from the Headlines

Can you imagine two more different readerships than those of the Huffington Post and the New York Post?

Let's see what the Top 5 most popular stories are today at these shockingly dissimilar news outlets.

1.Yankees take beanball battle; Damon rips Gardner

2. Zac Efron wants to be in 'Memphis' movie

3. IRS files lien against Naomi Campbell

4. Internet thorn in porn world

5. Salahi 'charity' raises zero at premiere party

1. New Jersey 'Housewife' FIRED?

2. Birther Queen Orly Taitz Smacked Down By Supreme Court
3. Kim Kardashian On 'Humiliating' Sex Tape, Her Hairless Body

4. Why We Should Actually Thank Dr. Laura for Her N-Word Rant

5. The Hidden Health Benefits of Alcohol?

Can you tell them apart? I color coded them to help you. The Yankees story is probably the biggest giveaway or maybe the 'Birther Queen' AP report which is not about Octo-Mom but about a dentist that is sueing somebody because Barrack Obama is not a U.S. citizen.

I had to look up Sahali. It refers to those attention whores that crashed a party at the White House. The wife, Michaele Sahali is the latest real houseslut of reality television.

Point is, nobody cares about real news.

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

Because according to Google, you are demanding it, my first ever repost.

Can ESPN be less credible? Every second of ESPN is about access. They will report anything as long as it assures access to a star player or a league. Actual journalism is left to the other guys. Brett Favre is returning because those three guys knocked on his door, because he misses the guys in the locker room, because he owes it to the VIkes, because he loves football? REX YOU! I'll give you 20,000,001 real reasons Bret Favre is NOT retiring AGAIN, $20,000,000 for 16 games and he because he retired doesn't have to work out like every other player in the league. Honorable, old white guys retire; evil, young black cornerbacks holdout.

Don't Cry for Me, Brett Favre! You were supposed to be immortal... (first posted exactly one year ago, August 19, 2009.)

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.

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.

More Funny Brett Favre Retirement Ranting - includes hot pictures of Brett Favre's hot wife, Deanna.

More Wall Street Journal Humor - The Death of Comedy

Another Post Courtesy of the Wall Street Journal - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

The Wall Street Journal has a daily cartoon called Pepper... and Salt that I really, really don't like. Apparently, rich Wall Street scumbags have their own unique form of humor that is not funny. Here's today's cartoon.

Death has finally updated his technology to deal with the increase in workload caused by the Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld metrics. Wait, this is the Wall Street Journal. What's the angle? No angle. No laughs. Isn't the whole beauty of a Swiss Army knife in the ability to fold away the various tools so that they are not in the way? If Death's not careful when tries to use that scissor, he's going to take his eye out with the awl.

On a positive note, this is the best drawn Pepper... and Salt I have ever seen -- except for that Estes model rocket. The guy takes all that time to render a killer corkscrew then gives us a Phillip's head screwdriver that looks like crap.

When you first read these cartoons you think, oh no, they're just like the cartoons in the New Yorker, I'm just too stupid to understand them. But after weeks of analysis, I've come to the conclusion that we're smart enough, they just suck, and they almost never have anything to do with business, or the right wing agenda of the Wall Street Journal.

This is the part of the post where I attempt to write funnier captions. Don't forget, this is a "business" comic for Wall Street Journal readers that is officially housed in the collections of the Harvard Business School Library assuring that future generations of MBA assholes will have no sense of humor. If you are the president of a major university and want to house a collection of my work, e-mail me, we'll talk.

And today's winner so far.

As always, I will continue to add captions to this post all day until I think of something funny. You are invited to help but you won't because leaving a comment is too much damn effort, bitch.

Even More Wall Street Journal Humor

Unemployment is Funny
Clone Wars
St. Patrick's Day, No Irish Jokes, Please
Global Warming Wine-ing
Diversity in the Workplace
Dying Polar Bears are Funny
No Child Left Behind
Dog Day Afternoon
Health Care Reform is Funny
Heaven Can't Wait
Bitter Libations
Map Folding Fun
Wall Street Journal Humor is a Bitch

Gone Walking

Me and my pack will be traipsing somewhere in Europe for the next week or so.

No internet, no updates, no Sarah or Bristol Palin, no N.Y. Post, no morning cameltoe, no morning camel toe, no Sandra Bullock butt, no C.C. Sabathia's big pants, no inside jokes.

To my six loyal readers (you know who you guys are, I sure don't -- but the server statistics do not lie, you guys are out there), thanks! See you sometime in August.

For those of you that accidently stumble in here, I offer a few links to some better than average posts currently buried deep within the archival anarchy of blogspot:

My Thoughts on Patrick Swayze's Passing (with my dick) - Wherein my dick makes its first appearance on this blog -- as a guest writer.

Another Great Moment in Photoshopping History - Wherein I once again brag about my superior photoshopping skills. If you visit only one humorous post about William Howard Taft today, make it this post.

Our Trip to Latkeland and A George W. Bush Christmas Carol - Wherein I bravely make fun of all the major American religions that won't put out a fatwah on me.

My Dick Discusses Avatar 3D: The Nexus of Religion, Spiritualism and Boinking Aliens - Wherein my dick writes a post with a ridiculously long title.

My Dick Discusses the Winter Olympics - Wherein my dick begins my month long obsession with Women's curling and specifically the Dupont sisters of Team Denmark.

More Wall Street Journal Humor - St. Patrick's Day, Leprechaums, But No Irish Jokes Please - A good example of my life-long hatred of the Wall Street Journal and my ability to poke gentle fun at the Irish.

It appears that my dick has written most of the good posts on this blog. Not that surprising given that I have been accused of thinking with my dick more often than my brain likes to admit.

36 Hours in Nantucket: A Travel Guide*

*Not associated with the series of New York Times articles that pissed me off.

Last week, when the editors at George Magazine pitched this assignment, I jumped at it. With the exception of Houston, Texas, there are not too many places in the world I won't visit as long as I'm paid well and get to expense everything. I borrowed a crisp white shirt with lots of buttons, a pair of Nantucket Reds, and a blue blazer from my obnoxious neighbor Spaulding, and headed for the ferry.

Nantucket is like Martha's Vineyard without the annoying black dog. With a name easier to pronounce than the nearby islands of Tuckernuck or Muskecunt, it is also far more popular. Nantucket is Algongouin for "in the midst of old money," if you ever visit, you literally have to bring a boatload of cash -- not a Boston Whaler, we're talking at least a 41-footer.


Friday 5 PM

Take a stroll down Main Street and stare at people that all look like the grandparents of those precious Lands' End models. It will make you feel good to rudely bump into all these rich assholes that some how manage to spend the whole summer on an island not working, so do it.

Stop in at the revered Mitchell's Book Nook. This store was recently saved from being turned into a Juicy Girl Couture Outlet by the wife of Google Founder, Willoughby C. Googlebinder. Talk about throwing heaps of new money after old. I bought a book of Robert Frost poems set in New England (57 dollars). I plan on sprinkling poems throughout this article in order to haughty it up a bit. Don't worry, they are in the public domain.




Friday 8 PM

The coolest new restaurant in Nantucket is called Dune. Way sweeter than Hard Rock or Mars 2112, you'll be greeted by young Paul Atreides, the heir apparent to Duke Leto Atreides and the scion of House Atreides. Order the tasty Melange-Spiced Duck with a side order of Duncan Idaho potatos (74 dollars) from your lovely blue-eyed waitress.

Good Food in a Fun Setting By Robert Frost

There once was a bistro named Dune
I went there for lunch just past noon
The waitress was hot
A tube collected her snot
When she tossed my salad, I finished too soon.

Friday 10 PM

Have a drink with the young (on Nantucket that's anyone under 62) crowd that gathers down by the water at the Weathered Beam. Try a Boston College Coed on the Beach (28 dollars), that's made with aged rum, Nantucket Nectar Pomegranate Pear Cocktail with a squeeze of an old man's sack. Now try a breathing Boston College coed on one of the sofas that are scattered on the actual beach.

A Girl from Nantucket by Robert Frost

There once was a girl from Nantucket
With a cunt so small no one could fuck it
She said with a grin
As it failed to go in
If you want, I can bend down and suck it.



Saturday 10 AM

Stroll through the Nantucket Farmer's and Artisans Market, two whole blocks containing 65 booths filled with every imaginable piece of crap made out of blueberries or driftwood.

Saturday 1 PM

Get a beach permit for $150 because what are you going to do with that kind of chump change anyway, buy another necktie? Rent a big, gas guzzling SUV (200 dollars for 3 hours) and head out west to Eel Point for the Seal and Turf Special (137 dollars for two). Back in the good old days, Nantucket was famous for more than rich, old people and dirty poems, whales and seals fueled the local economy and the local's gastrointestinal tracts. The tender baby seal breasts sauteed in whale oil partnered with broiled Black Lab tenderloins harken back to a simpler time.

Saturday 8 PM

Put on a pair of Nantucket Reds (70 dollars at Murray's Toggery Shop) or a pair of almost identical looking and way more comfortable pink khakis (27 dollars at Lands' End) and sneak into the Nantucket Yacht Club for whatever lame event they have scheduled. Rub elbows with the kind of WASPs you used to watch on TV. Try to get lucky with a visiting niece or hump a dowdy dowager. You could get really lucky and get to spend your summers in a beautiful place, doing absolutely nothing that betters the lives of anyone but yourself.

Love Lost by Robert Frost

There once was a dawk from New Yawk
Who needed a rich bitch to powk
Struck out at the Club
So he started to rub
And sprayed jizz from Nantucket to Montauk

Sunday 11 AM

After waking up alone, with the realization that tomorrow you have to go back to your crappy apartment and your vitality-enviscerating job, visit the Nantucket Shipwreck & Lifesaving Museum (suggested donation, 40 dollars). Sure your life sucks worse than Karl Rove with a mouthful of broken glass, but at least you haven't drowned in an angry, bone-chilling sea, yet.

Sunday 12 PM

There's just one more chance to overpay for a pretentious meal so head over to celebrity chef Todd English's latest excuse to make barges of money, The Summerhouse Restaurant. Sample classic dishes that have been civilized so that they can be easily gummed and pooped into a pair of Depends. Crab cake with corn salsa and Portugese orphan kidneys (57 dollars) is simply a ramped up standard. Warm lobster salad with ramps and poached Kennedy jowls (64 dollars) is another dish that requires the use of a with and an and.

Sunday 2 PM

While taking a final stroll through the dunes at Bluff Walk, marvel that the many mansions covered with weathered and worn wooden shingles could have been spared this indiginity with the prophylactic use of affordable vinyl siding (1.60 dollars per square foot). As your sunburned legs brush past the poison ivy that the billionaire owners plant along the boardwalk to discourage scum like you, leave Nantucket content with the knowledge that the Lyme Disease that the tick burrowed deep in your pubes is injecting into your bloodstream disables those with blue blood just as effectively as regular red-blooded Americans.

Cheap Shot at the Kennedys by Robert Frost

ol' Kennedy was at a place on the Cape
Where he drank and he drank to escape
He once killed a daughter
But it wasn't manslaughter
And his nephew got away with a rape.

Other Wasted Weekends
36 Hours in Uhstan, Kazakhstan
36 Hours in Phuket, Thailand
36 Hours in Mexico City
36 Hours in Rajasthan, India
36 Hours in Zagreb, Croatia

Next Blog>> Tuesday

At 12:30 PM on Tuesday, July 20, 2010, I clicked on the Next Blog>> button and got these two blogs. BloggerGoogle claims that these blogs are similar to mine. Let's see how they did.


Blog Number 1: allen. stefanie. & paislee.

First blog up is a nice, young family that doesn't like initial caps or commas but loves Jesus! and periods.

You guessed it. Blonde, smiling, Mormons. I've been to Utah and most Mormons do not look like the Osmonds, they look like these guys. This blog consists of 800 billion photos of their cute, little daughter and their blonde, Mormon friends and family.

Blog Highlights

Please fo not feed the Mormons. I would so do every one of these Mormons and so would you.

After my eyes adjusted to the retina piercing colors, I smiled. That baby better start smiling or they'll ship her to Wyoming. Just kidding, just kidding. I kind of assumed that Mormons would not celebrate Halloween because of Satan and stuff, so, this blog is fun and educational.

Dad after a few too many Grape Fantas.

Mom giving us the obligatory tongue.

I'm giving this blog ***** out of*****. If you want a family blog with a cute baby and a lot of smiles, this is the blog for you. After reading this blog, I kind of wish I was born a Mormon, married this cute, blonde woman and made a baby. Not really, but I have decided to smile more often.

Why is this Blog like Mine?

I'm a half-Jew, atheist from New York City that writes a blog full of raunchy, political humor. The only thing I can think of is that I do take the Lord's name in vain a lot. Does anybody see any similarities?

Blog Number 2: Danice is a scrapbooker!

Great title. I've been singing it to The Ramones' Sheena ia a Punk Rocker for the past 5 minutes. I really like the exclamation mark. You can tell that Danice is a scrapbooker and damn proud of it!

This blog is about Danice's art and her life in New Zealand. It is full of cool, close-up photos of scrapbooking paraphernalia. It is well-written and sincere.

Blog Highlights

On her birthday, her friend made her this cake. Yes, made her this cake. Scrapbookers are multi-talented and seem to be incredibly useful.

And they are hot! Would I do a scrapbooker? Yes, three times!


Kangaroos lounging in the shade. Apparently if you live in New Zealand you can take like a subway to Australia which is better than going to the Bronx.

I'm giving this blog ***** out of *****. This is by far the best scrapbooking blog I've ever visited. I would now like to go to Danice's house, eat cake, fondle her and her friends, and scrapbook -- and that's pretty high praise for a blog.

Why is this Blog like Mine?

I'm the anti-scrapbooker. I let stuff pile up for months then I throw it out without sorting it, or glueing it or covering it with sparkles and bows. I would never be able to organize a book of stuff or even sit still and concentrate for more than 5 minutes. I already stopped humming The Ramones and started singing Fat Bottom Girls by Queen because there was a Brian May look-alike on the site and it totally fascinates me that the lead guitarist of Queen went back to school and got his doctorate in astronomy.

I may have used the words "scrap" and "book" over the past year. I live in New York and Danice lives in New Zealand. I breathe a combination of gases consisting of 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen with traces of other stuff and so does she.

Summary

The Next Blog>> button sucks.

Friday Fotoshop Funnies - Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston Getting Married Edition

Friday Fotoshop Funny No. 3: Sarah Palin discusses her Southern Strategy with a Teaparty lawyer. The ethics of this strategy have come into question after the NAACP declared it racist.

Yikes! Scary and sexy. If I was that guy,
I'd be sporting wood and wetting my pants at the same time.

I go topical, incestuous, short, the trifecta
of internet comedy. Can you be more funny?
Leave a comment or e-mail me.

rashburn1927 sent in this oldtimey classic.
If I could hypnotize Sarah Palin, I would tell her to act like a moose
and hope that Todd or Dick Cheney, well, you know...

Thomas Agee of Mobile, Alabama asks the eternal question,
pain or pleasure? Sarah Palin in thigh-high boots, leather corset
and a dog sled whip? Whatever gets you through the night.

NailsNYM4 threw off the chains of political correctness with
this tardy submission. Before you babies all start complaining,
let me assure you that Nails is both mentally and physically challenged
from years of steroid abuse.

Brian McRae of Bradenton, Florida makes it personal.
I like to think that Sarah Palin would get a laugh from my stuff.
Then we would hold hands, get down on our knees and pray to
Jesus for my forgiveness and redemption. After I accept Jesus
as my personal savior, we'd get busy making Christian babies while
Todd watches helplessly, his external gentitals left ruined
by years of snowmobiling.

More Friday Fotoshop Funnies Fun
Flat Sarah Palin
Sarah Palin and Henry Kissinger in Love

Can't Get Enough of this Crap?
During the last election I created the site AndtheOtherisaDog.com (voted by Moveon.org as the leftist comedy site most likely to be mispelled).

The Best George Steinbrenner Stories - Helping the Little People, A Tampa Bellhop Remembers The Boss

Bobby Melonosky, Bellhop

When I was in college, I worked nights and weekends in a Tampa Hotel owned by Mr. George Steinbrenner. I was a bellhop -- little hat, little velour jacket, I looked just like a monkey. Mr. Steinbrenner had a huge apartment that occupied the entire 9th floor of the hotel. You had to have a special key to open the elevator at that floor.

Funny thing, his wife didn't have a key. Years later, I found out that they had a similar rule at Yankee Stadium. She was not allowed on the floor where Mr. Steinbrenner had his office. It was explained to me by the hotel manager that Mr. Steinbrenner did not like to mix business with his personal life.

One late night in December I was told to go up to the 9th floor right away -- there was an emergency. I hated going up there because I dreaded that I might do some little thing wrong that would upset The Boss. It was great gig for a college kid and I didn't want to lose it. Lots of money for almost no work and I could do a lot of studying between room service calls.

When I got up there, Mr. Steinbrenner was in the shower. I found a big, fat hooker on his bed. She was dead. It was well known that The Boss liked a lady with some meat on her bones. This one looked like a side of beef. I went to the supply closet in the hallway and got an enormous plastic bag that housekeeping used to use to collect the linens.

After a bit of a struggle, I had the poor woman safely in the bag and was dragging her slowly across the bedroom floor when a dripping George Steinbrenner came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.

What a scene! George Steinbrenner sees me lugging a huge bag of dead whore and you know what he does? He asks if he can help!

"You need help with that, son?" he says.

I was totally freaking out. This guy fired you if your shoe laces were tied crooked and now he was watching my every move. I told him that I could handle the load and then The Boss opened up a drawer, pulled out his wallet and gave me a $100 bill. He said it was my tip!

Two weeks later, I made a repeat visit to the 9th floor -- only this time Mr. Steinbrenner and former President Gerald Ford were both in the shower and there were three dead hookers on the bed. Now, I knew why I never heard about any of this stuff on the news!

He never paid for my college education but the tips were real good.

Even More Best George Steinbrenner Stories Ever

It Happened in an Elevator - John Sterling
Derek Jeter, Gulf Coast League Rookie
Mickey Mantle, Billy Martin and a Cow

The Best George Steinbrenner Stories - It Happened in an Elevator

John Sterling, Yankee radio play-by-play announcer Told during an Emmy Award winning episode of Yankeeography on the YES Network.

Back in 1989, I was in the elevator at old Yankee Stadium heading up to the free buffet when I heard that unforgettable voice bellow, "Hold the door, dammit!"

I was in the elevator with George Steinbrenner III.

"Thank you, John," he said.

George Steinbrenner knew my name. Me, John Sterling, a simple 41 year old kid right off the bus from Baltimore, Maryland.

"We all think you are doing a fine job with the broadcasts," he said, "but..."

I thought I was fired.

He continued, "Can you come up with a way to make them more appealing to those idiots that used to like Rizutto?"

I immediately said, "I have this idea that I can embellish my home run calls by making them personal while invoking important, pop culture catch phrases."

He looked at his watch and pressed the Close Door button.

"Sir, I was thinking about something like, 'Tear down that wall, Mr. Pagliarulo!!! Pags goes deep again!!!' or 'Rocky VIII!!! That's the 8th home run of the year for Steve Balboooooni!!!' or maybe, 'Jesse Baaaaaaarfield drives Miss Daisy over the fence!!!"

He looked up from his watch and said, "That sounds interesting. Make sure Mr. Richman okays everything before you say it on the air."

The elevator opened up at the next floor and a horribly disfigured leper dragged herself in with the help of a skinny, male wog. I pressed into the farthest corner filled with dread, but incredibly, Mr. Steinbrenner embraced the women. "Aparajita, it's great to see you!" he cried.

The woman smiled broadly causing a large chunk of her upper lip to crack off and fall to the floor. "Can you believe Mr. Steinbrenner remembers my name? Calcutta seems so far away."

George turned to the youth and asked, "Son, you're in your third year at Florida State, right? How's that accounting degree coming along?"

In broken english the wog replied, "Very good, Sir. Thank you."

The elevator opened at the next floor and the pathetic pair got off. After the doors closed, George turned to me, "I spend a couple of months every year working with the lepers in India but not a word of this to anyone or you're fired and your dog disappears."

"Did you pay for her son's college education?" I asked.

"Yes," he said sheepishly. "Karmjit is a fine young man. They're sitting in my box tonight"

"You're a complicated man, Mr. Steinbrenner," I said.

"Stop kissing my ass, Sterling," he replied. "How about you join me over the All Star break and we help build some houses in East St. Louis for the less fortunate?"

I said yes, and we did.