When I Die

When I die, I'd like to have my body put on display for days, similar to the Pope. Of course, I'd want to be wearing nothing but my favorite tshirt and a pair of white cotton socks. And a Sox hat, of course.

My Corduroy Pants

Why I like the button fly: The pants can be torn off w/out needing to worry about safety, if you know what I mean.

Why I don't like the button fly: I always miss a buttonhole, usually realizing the mistake as I sit down.

Yankees Fans

While watching Sunday nite's first Sox game of the year, against the Evil Empire, no less, I struggled to remember why I hate the Yankees and their fans so much. I mean, if it weren't for their ultimate choke job last year, people would still believe in curses.

Then in the third inning, just as I was thinking Kevin Millar was about to come up w/ a big hit, he did! Unfortunately, Hideki "I Need a Smaller Cap" Matsui leaped into the stands to steal the ball away from the next Jeffrey Maier, robbing a home run. I was OK, though, and admitted to myself it was a good play. Then, on the replay, I noticed a Yankees fan holding up both middle fingers after Matsui made the catch. Who does that? I'll tell ya who. Yankee fans (aka people who own a Mets hat and a Yankees hat, choosing to represent whichever team is better that year).

Email of the Week

What w/ the clocks jumping an hour ahead and me being 25 now, I thought today would be the perfect time to unveil the newest installment to the greenest blog you know. I'm sure you receive dozens of emails each week, if not each day. "Thus spawned the title of this program." -- A Tribe Called Quest. Behold, the first ever (pause for effect) Email of the Week. This week's winning entry was sent by one of my friends from home. You've heard stories about him in past posts, including my New Year's recap. We all got together last weekend to celebrate his birthday. I don't remember much after leaving for the bar, other than flaunting my food stamps at the convenience store and getting lost in an alley on my walk home. I received this email two days later:

I meant to call you Saturday nite to make sure you got home okay but I guess I passed out. That was fucking manly downing that whiskey. Maybe that gives you a little insight into what I was going through on New Year's. You should also be very proud of yourself for talking to the two hottest girls in the bar. Two fucking smoking brunnettes. I am pretty sure they went home and masturbated while thinking of you.

Oh and I hope you remember karate kicking the newspaper box in front of the police station while we were all holding open containers. Nice. Much thanks for a thoroughly enjoyable birthday celebration, a hilarious card, and some tasty whiskey.