Do yourself a favor and read this term paper (click on the image to zoom in).
Among the things I did not know:
- Oedipus’ mother aborted a kitten in a Denver Denny’s toilet
- Oedipus had a ‘benzo’ and enjoyed busting caps in ‘flagrants of the under city’
- Oedipus loved the New York Yankees
Remember: revisionist history does have its place among the learned elite. And this may be the most epic retelling of Oedipus’ torturous life EVER.
Let us hope that the sacred annals of time are corrected accordingly.
Hate me ‘cuz I fight for the truth, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Special thanks to Skull Swap for the lead)
“We feel at home Both leaders roundly denounced US “imperialism,” and Chavez also called Israel “a murderous arm of the Yankee empire.” Was anyone else consumed by the heebie-jeebies while reading that little clip? Okay, good. Glad it’s not just me. This odd world political pairing is akin to Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger teaming up on a spooky Friday night while unsuspecting horny high school kids party in a remote campground nearby. In other words, it’s gonna get messy. And here I thought the only ‘murderous arm of the Yankee empire’ belonged to a big portly fella by the name of Sabathia, backed by a pair of oversized pinstriped pants for an oversized caboose insured for around $161 million. Yes, dear readers, I think it is safe to say that Ahmadinejad and Chavez are secret members of the Red Sox Nation. Hate me ‘cuz I expose the truth, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right. Peace, Jeff
here and among our brothers … we’re going to be together until the
end,” Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad told his Venezuelan
counterpart Hugo Chavez during a visit to Latin America on Wednesday.
“We feel at home
Both leaders roundly denounced US “imperialism,” and Chavez also called Israel “a murderous arm of the Yankee empire.”
Was anyone else consumed by the heebie-jeebies while reading that little clip? Okay, good. Glad it’s not just me.
This odd world political pairing is akin to Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger teaming up on a spooky Friday night while unsuspecting horny high school kids party in a remote campground nearby.
In other words, it’s gonna get messy.
And here I thought the only ‘murderous arm of the Yankee empire’ belonged to a big portly fella by the name of Sabathia, backed by a pair of oversized pinstriped pants for an oversized caboose insured for around $161 million.
Yes, dear readers, I think it is safe to say that Ahmadinejad and Chavez are secret members of the Red Sox Nation.
Hate me ‘cuz I expose the truth, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Just because the Thanksgiving holiday is officially over doesn’t mean we should stop giving thanks; and today, dear readers, I am thankful that my family got to spend these precious sunny days off with me in my home.
I’ve written about the blessings of my nephew Caleb before. I’ve also mentioned the potential baseball family divide inherent in his parenting (his mom/my sister is a Cardinals fan, his dad a Cubs fan). But when it comes to raising a fine young boy, I don’t doubt those two’s combined credentials at all — even if one day he does decide to don a blue cap with a red “C” on it.
But y’all know me. And I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t try to persuade this youth to the best of my abilities now, while I have the chance. That’s why the second his daddy stepped out of the house, I immediately began preaching to Caleb the wondrous merits of one Yadier Molina. So impressed was Caleb that he decided he’d like to take it a step further. So we did:
Like I thought, once he put on that jersey and that interlocking “STL”, the kid was just beside himself. He couldn’t stop dancing for joy! He moved so much that my camera couldn’t get a solid, non-blurry picture of him, but still, you get the point.
Hate me ‘cuz I lobby for the Redbirds on impressionable youth, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Has anyone seen Officer Lincecum?
Hate me, y’all!
In honor of Albert Pujols’ second consecutive MVP award, RSBS wanted to congratulate him and his self-proclaimed biggest fan. And when faced by such a daunting task we turn, as we often do, to poetry.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving and all over the net,
Writers were scurrying to finish posts and then get.
Jeff sat at home, quietly nursing a beer,
Mourning the end of yet one more year.
Leafing through catalogues and picking out faves,
Hinting at presents that could sure make him rave.
When out in the blogsphere the bloggers set a-chatter
And Jeff knew immediately what was the matter.
His eyes both lit up like a bulb in a fixture,
Then swiveled then focused on a framed Pujols picture.
Picking up Albert and dancing around,
Weeping tears of joy as he fell to the ground,
He toasted himself and thought “This truly is living!
More hardware for Albert, what a happy Thanksgiving!”
Preparations for the holiday season begin (for me) in June, when my epic 180 consecutive days of beer consumption starts to strengthen my tolerance for… eh… other people. Crowds. Yule tide blah blah blah.
But it never really feels like the holidays until my annual MLB.com catalogue arrives in the mail. Just look at how happy it makes me!
Of course, there are a few things that seem a bit odd, a bit off, inside its pristine pages, so before I place it next to the toilet for future browsing, I would like to point out some of the highlights.
One of this year’s most interesting offerings is this official team patch by the Baltimore Orioles (p. 24):
Wait, did I say Baltimore Orioles? I think I meant Baltimore Ravens. But it says “Orioles”. I don’t know. Forget it. I ain’t buyin’ it anyway.
Next, we focus on one of those must-have holiday treats! Indeed, this thing will come in handy to shoo away all those annoying neighbor kids who keep lighting dog doo-doo on fire and ringing your doorbell. Beware, the official MLB licensed “Forest Face” (p. 21):
Dear readers, not every publication is perfect. Typos, misnomers, glitches… these things are pretty common when producing such a large body of work. Like this picture, which is just all wrong (p. 5):
And just in case baby Jesus, Mom, Dad, Barack, Santa and the Easter Bunny are reading this, let me point out my own personal holy grail of a gift idea (p. 22):
I’m sure we can find a stocking big enough for this to fit. Or just give me a couple hundred bucks and I’ll buy the damn thing myself!
So that should be enough to get you in the holiday spirit, y’all! Don’t hate me for that! And don’t hate me ‘cuz I bear the curse of always being right.
As the health care bill moves to debate on the senate floor, partisans on both sides are gearing up for what is expected to be an epic battle. The conservatives, exhorted onward to ever greater paroxysms of religious (and irreligious) indignation by Glenn Beck and his ilk, decry the very thought of doing away with the current system that has failed so miserably. Meanwhile the liberals turn every which way but loose making a perfect hash out of what should have been the easiest sell in the history of sales pitches. And who suffers? Just the millions of Americans without coverage.
However, we here at RSBS may have come up with a perfectly libertarian solution which even our friend Jonestein could be proud of. Take a look at this video and pay special attention to the chorus:
There, did you catch it? “Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire.” It’s the answer to everything. What we need right now is for all the wealthy people in our country, be they entertainers, moguls, crime lords or even baseball players, to have babies by other women so they can then pay their doctor bills. It’s foolproof!
I understand that some people will have a problem with this solution, especially the people who have to get the ugly girls pregnant. But the United States was built on sacrifice. Besides, that’s what we have ugly guys like Vincente Padilla and Bud Selig for. And they need to get on it now. Trust me Bud, it’s going to be just as bad for the girl who’s stuck with you as you think it is for yourself.
Now, we could also follow the more difficult but ultimately more sustainable path described by David Goldhill recently in The Atlantic. But, let’s be honest. Americans are incapable of that much patience and this idea would require a rationality that is light years beyond our elected representatives. And that’s why we come back to 50 Cent. He let us know that it was all right to party like it’s our birthday and now he’s solving the health care problem. If only “Candy Shop” offered some sort of solution to global warming.
When you have the right cards and you know you are going to win the hand, it’s natural to hold out and sweeten the pot the best you can, while you can. The concept is as ancient as it is common: supply and demand; buy low, sell high… all those stock economic catchphrases.
We see this in sports all the time — in baseball in particular — most notably with the high profile clients of Scott Boras.
Sure, we were all initially excited about the Matt Holliday show in St. Louis last July; but we also knew that despite its quaint, warm appeal, it would ultimately end like this:
Naturally, our nation’s elected leaders are not immune from similar Boras-like tactics.
You want that health care reform bill to pass the senate? Give my home state of Louisiana an extra $300 million in federal dough. Credit Sen. Mary Landrieu with that walk-off homerun to end the game (but not the series).
Or senators could just vote according to their constituents.
Now there’s a thought.
Somehow, considering how much money is involved in motivating people to do… well… anything, I still feel like I must be doing something wrong.
I am skilled. I am intelligent. I have good ideas and I perform well.
But I only have about $345 of liquid assets to hold me over until payday and there’s a lot of beer that must be consumed before then.
I wonder if Boras would be interested in representing a linguist.
Hate me ‘cuz I am willing to sell out, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The awards are all in here at RSBS and it would be hard to find a more deserving bunch of winners. However, we have to wait to hear who Major League Baseball determined to be the most valuable players and we like a little diversion during these times. So, since it’s a Saturday and since Michigan just got beat like a red-headed step-child, we turn to Celebrity Jeopardy:
SNL with Will Ferrell, the gift that keep on giving (unlike that punk, Rich Rodriguez).
With Major League Baseball and various publications handing out their end of the season awards, RSBS has
decided to follow suit. Sure, our prizes may not come with any
financial reward and they may not trigger any clauses in the affected
players’ contracts. But, it is our civic duty. So, without further ado,
we present Part II of our two part Postseason Awards Show. Jeff, take it away.
Most Prolific Snub:
Come now. No Cy Young Award for the anchoring, go-getting horse of the Cardinals pitching staff? Oh. Okay. Look, I get it. Lincecum is good. He’s really good. But in 2009, Wainwright was better. If you don’t agree with me, well, go get high, eat some Doritos and listen to Beck.
Most Alarming Faux Accusation:
That I had anything to do with the Erin Andrews peep-show tape
Ha ha ha, y’all. Very funny. As soon as news broke that some dude took nudey video of Ms. Andrews while she undressed in front of her hotel boudoir, my phone blew up with texts, tweets, calls and restraining orders. It wasn’t me. I swear. I wish it was… sorta.
Most Consistent Whiner:
Oh, waa-waa-waa, the Tigers blew the season; waa-waa-waa the Lions are awful; waa-waa-waa I don’t like hockey and Bill Laimbeer slept with my girlfriend. Whatever, dude. Be like those who used to live in Detroit and just leave it… and its sports teams. And know that you’ll never live up to Bill Laimbeer. Don’t you remember that gimp mask?
Most Laughable Pre-Season Prediction:
That the Cubs would win the World Series
Up until early August of this year, I was still hearing the precocious murmurings of this being the year for the Cubs. Those individuals would say something in defense now but they can’t because their heads are stuck deep in the sand. Milton Bradley. Carlos Zambrano. Alfonso Soriano. One has the mentality of a child. One saves his best game for the Gatorade cooler. One can’t lay off sliders in the dirt. Get over it.
We at RSBS are at least grateful that we don’t have to deal directly with Chip Caray and his fisting fetish. Well, let me say that I am grateful. I cannot speak for Al on this subject.
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.