It's come to my attention that I need to post more, especially if I would like to continue breathing. I don't doubt that the individuals who almost got Reagan would have no problem shooting at and merely wounding me, thus giving me a severe case of Alzheimer's disease and ruining my career as a professional gold digger. It would not do me well to forget exactly how much money Kelly Clarkson is worth. The often I ask, the more suspicious she becomes...
That said, my corporate contacts have brought to my attention that everyone on the Interweb is a criminal who is out to steal my intellectual property for their own vile uses. I Stole Your Lunch is a powerful piece of Americana which, in the wrong hands, could be used to generate trillions of dollars that may never get the opportunity to nestle in the soothing warmth of Scott Colby's wallet beside the 3x5 color glossy of the Best Toaster Ever, and that would just be a downright shame.
But you villains shall not succeed! I have been informed by my buddies at the top of Corporate America that there is one and only one sure fire way to protect that which is rightfully mine, even from dastardly old ladies, fiendish children, and murderous puppy dogs. Feast your beady criminal eyes upon the I Stole Your Lunch End User License Agreement!
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I Stole Your Lunch is Copyright 2005 me. All Rights Reserved, bitch. This blog may not, in whole or in any part, be copied, reproduced, transmitted, translated, teleported, eaten, painted, glued, breathed on, ported to Java, read as a bedtime story, or used as a wiping apparatus for any body part without the expression written consent, in writing, from me, and don't hold your breath for that to happen.
You are granted a limited license to use this crummy blog. The blog may be used or copied in accordance with the terms of that license as described in the following paragraphs, which apparently are not legally binding unless they are typed in all caps.
I. YOU MAY READ THIS BLOG, BUT ONLY WHEN YOU ARE CONNECTED TO THE INTERWEB. FAILURE TO CONNECT TO SAID INTERWEB BEFORE READING SAID BLOG WILL RESULT IN YOUR RIGHT TO READ THIS BLOG BEING REVOKED UNTIL YOU RECONNECT TO SAID INTERWEB.
II. THIS BLOG MAY OCCASIONALLY INVITE YOU TO PULL SCOTT COLBY'S FINGER, KISS SCOTT COLBY'S ASS, OR LICK THE FLOOR AT SCOTT COLBY'S FEET. NONCOMPLIANCE LEADS TO AN IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF THAT GMAIL ACCOUNT YOU SIGNED UP FOR BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT WAS COOL THAT YOU'VE NEVER ACTUALLY USED.
III. ANYTIME THIS BLOG BECOMES INCREDIBLY STUPID, SUCH AS DURING END USER LICENSE AGREEMENTS, THE READER IS REQUIRED TO ACCEPT THE FACT THAT HE OR SHE BROUGHT THIS ON HIMSELF BY ENCOURAGING THE MORON RESPONSIBLE.
IV. THE WORD MOIST MUST NEVER BE USED TO DESCRIBE THIS BLOG. DOING SO MAY LEAD TO AN EXTREME CASE OF LEAKAGE.
V. BY READING THIS BLOG, THE READER ACKNOWLEDGES THAT HE HAS NOTHING BETTER TO DO, PROBABLY NEVER WILL HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO, AND DESPERATELY NEEDS TO FIND A HOBBY (I STOLE YOUR LUNCH RECOMMENDS MACRAME OR PLAYING CHICKEN WITH THE T) OR ACQUIRING A SPOUSE, THROUGH THE MAIL IF NECESSARY (I STOLE YOUR LUNCH RECOMMENDS BULGARIANS).
VI. EXFOLIATION OF ANY KIND IS PROHIBITED WHILE READING THIS BLOG.
VII. IF YOU AIN'T NO PUNK, HOLLA WE WANT PRENUP. IF YOU IS A PUNK, GET YO WHACK ASS TO THE FOGGY GOGGLE WHERE IT BELONGS.
VIII. I STOLE YOUR LUNCH AND ITS SUBSIDIARIES ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURIES, PHYSICAL OR OTHERWISE, CAUSED BY EXCESSIVE USE OF BULLETED LISTS.
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That's it. Click here to accept the agreement and donate $5000 of your grandmother's money to the Buy Scott Colby a Chateau fund. And no, that's not DRM you see installing in the background; that's the I Stole Your Lunch consumer protection system. It's good for you. It makes your computer happy. Don't even think about trying to get rid of it.
Stupid criminals. I hope you all rot in prison.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Sunday, November 27, 2005
More Stupid Red Sox
The resignation of GM Theo Epstein has left Red Sox Nation feeling a bit verklempt. Take a casual stroll through downtown Boston and you'll undoubtedly see dozens of jersey clad morons standing out on their window ledge, contemplating the jump that will end the pain of Theo's departure.
I Stole Your Lunch is here to assure you that everything is going to be all right. Come down off the ledge...unless you have a mullet and/or a two-strand combover, then you may feel free to jump. In fact, it's encouraged. And aim for the sidewalk, not the dumpster.
Guess what, boys - Theo was good, but he wasn't great. Look at this way: Ramirez, Lowe, Pedro, Varitek, Trot, Damon, Mirabelli, and Wakefied were all added to the team by Dan Duquette. Theo brought in Schilling, Foulke, Papi, Billy Mueller, Millar, and Cabrera. Anyone really think Duquette wasn't a shrewd enough operator to have signed at least four out of those six in Theo's place?
Now look at it this way: Pedro, Cabrera, Dave Roberts, and Lowe, some of the team's biggest influences last postseason, wound up in different uniforms. Granted Lowe pitched like he never made it out of tee ball, but Pedro was absolute filth, Cabrera was a spark for a strong Angels team, and Roberts was replaced as the fourth outfielder/pinch runner extraordinaire by the dynamic Adams, Stern and Hyzdu.
Add to that this previous season's "big" acquisitions. Edgar Renteria couldn't hit his own body weight or make a play on a ball that wasn't hit right at him, and even that was a bit of an iffy proposition. Boomer pitched ok, but not great, mostly because the bars close three hours earlier in Boston than they do in New York and thus he was unable to consistently meet his daily alcohol requirements. And one of the Devil Rays clunked Clement so hard he thought he was pitching for the Cubs again and thus was supposed to do stupid things, like lose. This year's team was a slight downgrade from last year's.
So what does all that mean? Bring back Dan Duquette? Wrong answer.
Bear with me for a second as I launch into a rant that at first glance has nothing to do with the open GM job. Trust me, I'm going somewhere.
It all boils down to luck. Any moron with a $130 million payroll can build a team good enough to get to the playoffs. Because the season is so long, statistical analysis can accurately predict a player's usefulness 95% of the time, barring injuries, roids, or a surprise appearance by Steve Ballmer's pit stains. However, because of the relative abruptness of the postseason, and the heightened pressure that comes with it, statistics and probability go out the proverbial window like Raphael Palmeiro's awesome fake mustache in a strong breeze.
This theory can be summed up in two words: the Braves.
The Braves have won about 30 bazillion regular season games dating back to the early nineties, and they've got only one championship to show for it. The Braves consistently win their division, yet several teams with weaker regular season records and three teams who finished in second place in their division but were better than all the other losers in their league have won the Fall Classic.
The postseason does not make sense. The playoffs are to the regular season what quantum theory is to relativity.
To win a championship, a team needs to be constructed to win the playoffs, not compile the most victories over the course of 162 games.
And to win a championship in today's expanded playoff format, a team needs a little something extra. It needs a scrappy manager. It needs a bunch of underrated kids coming seemingly out of nowhere. It needs a group of veterans who can't not win. It needs a bloody sock, and an asshole who would plunk the Babe, a man who doesn't know how to screw up a game changing opportunity, and an ancient curse that has foiled all who've tried to end it.
That's why the other Sox won the World Series and ours didn't. Chicago had Crazy Ozzie; a pair of angry Cubans out to prove they were just as good as they'd been billed when the Coast Guard rescued them from their respective rafts despite being jettisoned by the Empire; an underrated first baseman in a contract year looking to make his mark and thus his fortune on the national stage; a whackjob who refuses to let his kids watch the Flintstones because dinosaurs are blasphemy; and the backing of a whole city tortured by over two hundred years of ineptitude (don't tell me Cubs fans didn't just give up and start rooting for the White Sox).
What did the Red Sox have? Big Papi and a whiny baby who wanted to take his bat and his MP3 player sunglasses somewhere with fewer talk radio shows. They didn't have attitude, and they didn't have heart.
My point is that championships are won by players, not numbers. Sure, Theo's sabermetric wheeling and dealing happened to be a part of a championship team, but strip that team of its personalities, and it doesn't make it out of the first round. Theo's team won because of a lucky biproduct of his approach, not because of his approach itself.
Which is a thing the next GM needs to understand if the Sox are to win again. A team needs leaders, it needs characters, and it needs personalities. Otherwise no one cares, not even the players themselves.
I Stole Your Lunch is here to assure you that everything is going to be all right. Come down off the ledge...unless you have a mullet and/or a two-strand combover, then you may feel free to jump. In fact, it's encouraged. And aim for the sidewalk, not the dumpster.
Guess what, boys - Theo was good, but he wasn't great. Look at this way: Ramirez, Lowe, Pedro, Varitek, Trot, Damon, Mirabelli, and Wakefied were all added to the team by Dan Duquette. Theo brought in Schilling, Foulke, Papi, Billy Mueller, Millar, and Cabrera. Anyone really think Duquette wasn't a shrewd enough operator to have signed at least four out of those six in Theo's place?
Now look at it this way: Pedro, Cabrera, Dave Roberts, and Lowe, some of the team's biggest influences last postseason, wound up in different uniforms. Granted Lowe pitched like he never made it out of tee ball, but Pedro was absolute filth, Cabrera was a spark for a strong Angels team, and Roberts was replaced as the fourth outfielder/pinch runner extraordinaire by the dynamic Adams, Stern and Hyzdu.
Add to that this previous season's "big" acquisitions. Edgar Renteria couldn't hit his own body weight or make a play on a ball that wasn't hit right at him, and even that was a bit of an iffy proposition. Boomer pitched ok, but not great, mostly because the bars close three hours earlier in Boston than they do in New York and thus he was unable to consistently meet his daily alcohol requirements. And one of the Devil Rays clunked Clement so hard he thought he was pitching for the Cubs again and thus was supposed to do stupid things, like lose. This year's team was a slight downgrade from last year's.
So what does all that mean? Bring back Dan Duquette? Wrong answer.
Bear with me for a second as I launch into a rant that at first glance has nothing to do with the open GM job. Trust me, I'm going somewhere.
It all boils down to luck. Any moron with a $130 million payroll can build a team good enough to get to the playoffs. Because the season is so long, statistical analysis can accurately predict a player's usefulness 95% of the time, barring injuries, roids, or a surprise appearance by Steve Ballmer's pit stains. However, because of the relative abruptness of the postseason, and the heightened pressure that comes with it, statistics and probability go out the proverbial window like Raphael Palmeiro's awesome fake mustache in a strong breeze.
This theory can be summed up in two words: the Braves.
The Braves have won about 30 bazillion regular season games dating back to the early nineties, and they've got only one championship to show for it. The Braves consistently win their division, yet several teams with weaker regular season records and three teams who finished in second place in their division but were better than all the other losers in their league have won the Fall Classic.
The postseason does not make sense. The playoffs are to the regular season what quantum theory is to relativity.
To win a championship, a team needs to be constructed to win the playoffs, not compile the most victories over the course of 162 games.
And to win a championship in today's expanded playoff format, a team needs a little something extra. It needs a scrappy manager. It needs a bunch of underrated kids coming seemingly out of nowhere. It needs a group of veterans who can't not win. It needs a bloody sock, and an asshole who would plunk the Babe, a man who doesn't know how to screw up a game changing opportunity, and an ancient curse that has foiled all who've tried to end it.
That's why the other Sox won the World Series and ours didn't. Chicago had Crazy Ozzie; a pair of angry Cubans out to prove they were just as good as they'd been billed when the Coast Guard rescued them from their respective rafts despite being jettisoned by the Empire; an underrated first baseman in a contract year looking to make his mark and thus his fortune on the national stage; a whackjob who refuses to let his kids watch the Flintstones because dinosaurs are blasphemy; and the backing of a whole city tortured by over two hundred years of ineptitude (don't tell me Cubs fans didn't just give up and start rooting for the White Sox).
What did the Red Sox have? Big Papi and a whiny baby who wanted to take his bat and his MP3 player sunglasses somewhere with fewer talk radio shows. They didn't have attitude, and they didn't have heart.
My point is that championships are won by players, not numbers. Sure, Theo's sabermetric wheeling and dealing happened to be a part of a championship team, but strip that team of its personalities, and it doesn't make it out of the first round. Theo's team won because of a lucky biproduct of his approach, not because of his approach itself.
Which is a thing the next GM needs to understand if the Sox are to win again. A team needs leaders, it needs characters, and it needs personalities. Otherwise no one cares, not even the players themselves.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Scott Colby for President of the Internet!!!
Those of you who try to escape the dreary repulsiveness of the fact that you still live in your mama's basement by spending the majority of your time browsing the Intarweb know by now that there is a fierce battle over who will control the future of said Intarweb.
For those of you who spend your time pursuing more "productive" activities, like watching television or making lifesize paper mache models of Roy Orbison, hear this: there is a fierce battle over who will control the future of the blue e on your screen that creates the magic tunnel that takes your computer machine to www.foxwoods.com so you can see how many wampum points you have and when the next monster truck pull is.
The combatants: ICANN, a US government agency that's controlled the delegation of domain names since Al Gore invented the Internet; and the United Nations, that rascally bunch of nations with visions of world domination (but in a happy way).
So who gets control over the domain names? The United States, which is rapidly denigrating into a nation of fat ass yahoos with more "morales" than guns and more guns than brains? Or the United Nations, which couldn't Google its way out of a paper bag?
Neither!
What the Internet needs is an independent third party leader, free of the strangling bureaucracy, cronyism, and general not-so-fresh feeling of those two bloated organizations, a leader with the vision and the courage to strap a saddle to the bucking bronc that is the Internet and ride it until it has to be shot and carted off to the glue factory.
That leader would be none other than Scott Colby. Go ahead, he dares you to come up with someone better. Can't do it, can you? Kelly Clarkson is disappointed in you for even trying, you ungrateful loser. Look at all the (semi)quality entertainment Scott Colby has provided you with on his stupid blog. Shame on you!
Regardless, this entry's required bulleted list will outline Scott Colby's campaign platform to become President of the Internet:
For those of you who spend your time pursuing more "productive" activities, like watching television or making lifesize paper mache models of Roy Orbison, hear this: there is a fierce battle over who will control the future of the blue e on your screen that creates the magic tunnel that takes your computer machine to www.foxwoods.com so you can see how many wampum points you have and when the next monster truck pull is.
The combatants: ICANN, a US government agency that's controlled the delegation of domain names since Al Gore invented the Internet; and the United Nations, that rascally bunch of nations with visions of world domination (but in a happy way).
So who gets control over the domain names? The United States, which is rapidly denigrating into a nation of fat ass yahoos with more "morales" than guns and more guns than brains? Or the United Nations, which couldn't Google its way out of a paper bag?
Neither!
What the Internet needs is an independent third party leader, free of the strangling bureaucracy, cronyism, and general not-so-fresh feeling of those two bloated organizations, a leader with the vision and the courage to strap a saddle to the bucking bronc that is the Internet and ride it until it has to be shot and carted off to the glue factory.
That leader would be none other than Scott Colby. Go ahead, he dares you to come up with someone better. Can't do it, can you? Kelly Clarkson is disappointed in you for even trying, you ungrateful loser. Look at all the (semi)quality entertainment Scott Colby has provided you with on his stupid blog. Shame on you!
Regardless, this entry's required bulleted list will outline Scott Colby's campaign platform to become President of the Internet:
- Scott Colby will create a new 12 step program for recovering users of Internet Explorer.
- pr0n, warez, and sploits for everybody! omg, teh w00tness!
- Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer will no longer be able to use his AOL account (yes, he got sucked in by that shiny disc they sent him in the mail, and even this guy's not dumb enough to use Hotmail) simply by entering his password. Instead, his computer will require him to recreate his infamous "Dance, Monkeyboy!" performance (http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3446931931514285011) every time he wants to log in.
- Al Gore will finally be enshrined in the Internet Hall of Fame.
- Anyone with a mullet who applies for a domain name will be granted a site in the new ".walmartian" top level domain.
- Bulleted lists will become illegal.
- Mr T and his van will be dispatched to deal with any spammers by dumping several metric tons of real canned spam on said spammer's front lawn. By the way, T also works birthday parties and bar mitzvahs. Cheap.
- This will be your new homepage.
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