Sox honor favorite Yankee with renaming of recent real estate purchase
Boston, MA – In an historic move of good faith, the Boston Red Sox have offered an olive branch of brotherhood to their hated rivals, the New York Yankees, in the form of a popular local hot spot.
In last week's blockbuster mega deal, the team acquired the Fenway area property home to the Ramrod, a favorite destination of men wearing assless chaps. It has been speculated that the ownership group led by John Henry would knock down the building and build a hot dog stand in its place, but today's press conference with chief Henry bootlicker Larry Lucchino revealed a different set of plans.
"The Boston Red Sox have no plans to close the Ramrod," Lucchino announced. "Instead, we're going to use it as a peace offering to end the hostility between Red Sox Nation and the Evil Empire."
The club will be renamed the A-Rod, in honor of everybody's favorite ball slapping Yankees third baseman. "We couldn't think of a single symbol to better represent one of the Bronx Bombers than this particular venue," Lucchino explained. "It was Theo's idea, and Henry and I just loved it."
The Sox GM could be seen snickering in the corner of the press room during Lucchino's announcement, but he declined all requests for interviews.
Reaction amongst the locals, known to be opinionated assholes, has been mixed.
"A-Rod sucks!" exclaimed Ben Affleck, whom many might remember as an out-of-work actor turned professional bandwagon jumper who latched on to the team just in time for their World Series run, similar to how he latched on to Jennifers Lopez and Garner at the beginning of their mainstream popularity.
However, a survey of men shopping in Banana Republic found that the majority of that demographic approves. 85% of those polled favored the name change, many citing the need to further modify and trendify the club while also removing the stigma that could only befall a place named Ramrod.
It remains to be seen how the Bombers will react to this peace offering. A-Rod himself could not be reached for comment, but Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter answered his teammate's phone.
"Jethuth Chritht," Mr. Jeter exclaimed before hanging up.
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This has been an urgent breaking news flash. You may now remove the tinfoil helmet you thought would keep me from stealing your thoughts.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
There's a Bigfuckinhole in the Parking Lot
It looks like fun. I got out my little pink plastic shovel and asked the fat man in the hard hat if I could help dig. He passed wind in my general direction and told me to get my little pansy ass back to Mass Art.
Heart broken, I returned to my dorm room and cried myself to sleep on my SpongeBob bedsheet. I did not go to class the next morning. I hear I missed a riveting lecture in Science Fiction class on why dogs like to roll in smelly shit. Instead I grabbed the telescope I usually use to spy on semi-hot (ok, maybe a step or two above ugly) girls in Baker Hall and aimed it at the bigfuckinhole. Even from that distance, it still looked like fun. I thought I could hear my little pink plastic shovel crying.
I thought to myself, "What would Chuck Norris do?"
But drop kicking the backhoe seemed like a bad idea. So I thought, "What would Scott Colby do?"
And that was the answer. I travelled the depths of 610 to the lair of the buffalo women, where I traded a keg of Twinkie filling for two dozen free passes to the Foggy Goggle. I then distributed those passes to the construction workers. I win.
This is probably the dumbest thing I've ever written. But for half a second there, it kept me entertained.
Heart broken, I returned to my dorm room and cried myself to sleep on my SpongeBob bedsheet. I did not go to class the next morning. I hear I missed a riveting lecture in Science Fiction class on why dogs like to roll in smelly shit. Instead I grabbed the telescope I usually use to spy on semi-hot (ok, maybe a step or two above ugly) girls in Baker Hall and aimed it at the bigfuckinhole. Even from that distance, it still looked like fun. I thought I could hear my little pink plastic shovel crying.
I thought to myself, "What would Chuck Norris do?"
But drop kicking the backhoe seemed like a bad idea. So I thought, "What would Scott Colby do?"
And that was the answer. I travelled the depths of 610 to the lair of the buffalo women, where I traded a keg of Twinkie filling for two dozen free passes to the Foggy Goggle. I then distributed those passes to the construction workers. I win.
This is probably the dumbest thing I've ever written. But for half a second there, it kept me entertained.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
The New Season of I Stole Your Lunch Begins with a Bang!
Hey hey hey! I Stole Your Lunch is stuck in an endless loop of reruns no longer! Untie that noose, put away the sleeping pills, and pull the ten gauge out of your ass...the world is a happy place once more!
Kind of.
I've been in good old West Brookfield for the past week and a half, so I've spent A LOT of time staring at the television. And when I say A LOT, I mean A LOT. I've worked a permanent butt groove into the couch, and I can't quite seem to seperate the remote control from my hand. Makes it a bit difficult to type, but at least I'll never lose the buttons again. To make matters worse, in all that time I haven't seen a single episode of Strange Love. I do believe I'm going through a Flava Flav withdrawal. Instead, they've been showing that stupid, stupid movie where that ugly girl from Saved by the Bell gets naked and sticks out her huge teeth so she looks like a blond donkey suffering from extraordinarily painful hemorhoids. Why, VH1? Why?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
But I digress. In my hours upon hours upon hours upon hours of staring at the boob tube (which is a total misnomer, because there's not enough boob and waaaaaaay too much tube), I've noticed a much more annoying phenomenon.
Every other commercial has something to do with Star Wars.
I'm not talking about commercials that are actually for Revenge of the Sith, and in no way am I hatin on the movie yo. If I wasn't excited to see it, they'd kick me out of computer science. Hmmm, maybe I should start hatin on the movie yo...
The commercials that are bothering me are the endless tie ins, most of which involve Darth Vader. A note to the hardworking (yeah, right) men and women in the advertising community: evil bastards like Darth Vader generally do not make good pitch men. We're not talking about your average evil bastard, either. We're talking about Space Hitler. Darth Vader is not a nice person, and eating anything he tells you to buy should sound like a really, really good way to make that one way trip to the emergency ward you've always dreamed about. If James Earl Jones were dead, he'd be rolling in his grave every time Darth Vader popped on television to sell a slurpy. As it is, my sources tell me he's been a bit gassy lately, and that commercial is probably why (and not because he's been drinking too many slurpies, dumb ass).
And then I made the mistake of flipping the channel to MTV the other day. Good Charlotte was performing what was probably the worst song ever on a Star Wars themed stage set up on the perfectly manicured grounds of George Lucas's Skywalker Ranch. Darth Vader stood behind the retarded drummer, raising his hands whenever the song reached a crescendo, or the closest thing to a crescendo that particular song could've reached. I've never hated television so much in my life, except whenever I see a John Basedow commercial or Pimp My Ride.
You've got to hand it to Lucas's marketing boys, though. Everybody on the planet knows Revenge of the Sith is about to hit theatres. Hell, if Helen Keller were alive, she'd probably be standing in line for tickets, albeit facing the wrong way. Yeah, I'm an ass.
Kind of.
I've been in good old West Brookfield for the past week and a half, so I've spent A LOT of time staring at the television. And when I say A LOT, I mean A LOT. I've worked a permanent butt groove into the couch, and I can't quite seem to seperate the remote control from my hand. Makes it a bit difficult to type, but at least I'll never lose the buttons again. To make matters worse, in all that time I haven't seen a single episode of Strange Love. I do believe I'm going through a Flava Flav withdrawal. Instead, they've been showing that stupid, stupid movie where that ugly girl from Saved by the Bell gets naked and sticks out her huge teeth so she looks like a blond donkey suffering from extraordinarily painful hemorhoids. Why, VH1? Why?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
But I digress. In my hours upon hours upon hours upon hours of staring at the boob tube (which is a total misnomer, because there's not enough boob and waaaaaaay too much tube), I've noticed a much more annoying phenomenon.
Every other commercial has something to do with Star Wars.
I'm not talking about commercials that are actually for Revenge of the Sith, and in no way am I hatin on the movie yo. If I wasn't excited to see it, they'd kick me out of computer science. Hmmm, maybe I should start hatin on the movie yo...
The commercials that are bothering me are the endless tie ins, most of which involve Darth Vader. A note to the hardworking (yeah, right) men and women in the advertising community: evil bastards like Darth Vader generally do not make good pitch men. We're not talking about your average evil bastard, either. We're talking about Space Hitler. Darth Vader is not a nice person, and eating anything he tells you to buy should sound like a really, really good way to make that one way trip to the emergency ward you've always dreamed about. If James Earl Jones were dead, he'd be rolling in his grave every time Darth Vader popped on television to sell a slurpy. As it is, my sources tell me he's been a bit gassy lately, and that commercial is probably why (and not because he's been drinking too many slurpies, dumb ass).
And then I made the mistake of flipping the channel to MTV the other day. Good Charlotte was performing what was probably the worst song ever on a Star Wars themed stage set up on the perfectly manicured grounds of George Lucas's Skywalker Ranch. Darth Vader stood behind the retarded drummer, raising his hands whenever the song reached a crescendo, or the closest thing to a crescendo that particular song could've reached. I've never hated television so much in my life, except whenever I see a John Basedow commercial or Pimp My Ride.
You've got to hand it to Lucas's marketing boys, though. Everybody on the planet knows Revenge of the Sith is about to hit theatres. Hell, if Helen Keller were alive, she'd probably be standing in line for tickets, albeit facing the wrong way. Yeah, I'm an ass.
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