Sunday, November 4, 2012

Scrubs? I Love Scrubs!

The scene was set October of 2007; I know this because it was around the same time I lost my mind over Matt Holliday not touching the goddamn plate. Anyway, one of my brother's friends was going to work on a gal in my brother's room one day and I decided I was going to lay a block because A) that's what guys do? B) she was seriously going to regret it because C) fuck that guy. Anyway, I burst through the (locked) door and, noticing that they were watching one of my season 2 DVDs, exclaimed "Scrubs? I LOVE SCRUBS!" as I dove in the middle of the bed between them. We watched a few episodes; he glared at me the whole time and she has since thanked me.

Monday, July 2, 2012

'Scar Tissue' by Anthony Kiedis: A P'n'E Book Review

I had no idea this was going to be a fucking romance novel for 45 year old housewives, although the fact that there was a dude with flowing hair and his shirt off on the cover should have tipped me off. Seriously, once he hits 12 years old it's just a bunch of bangin' left and right. Before that he bitched for a chapter or two about not being able to decide which of his two loving parents he wanted to live with; poor kid. But, yeah, around 12 he decided to live with his Sunset strip scumbag father and from there it's just about 400 pages of him banging ladies and banging dope. It's pretty fucking sleazebag because he goes into way too much personal detail about individual girls and what they're good at- you get the picture. So now, for the rest of these women's lives, anyone who meets them is apt to be thinking "Where do I know that name from? Hmmm... oh, yeah! Page 347! She sucks dick CRAZY good!" I really can't stress enough how much this book is just a cycle of anecdotes following the pattern of "met this girl, I love her, shoot some cocaine for three days, shoot some heroin, eff some other lady but I totes still love that underage girl..." Yeah, I didn't mention that yet. High school  girls, dude. He gets older, they stay the same age. He gets clean a couple times in the book and he supposedly is when it was written but who knows, really... apparently somewhere in there he was in a really awesome band; it gets touched on to a certain degree but not as much as I would have liked. I feel like if he cut out about 300 pages of "her soft, young breasts glistened in the moonlight" or what the fuck ever and added a few more stories about Flea and the boys it would have been salvagable. Actually, I don't think so. The thing that got to me was his attitude and there's no fixing that no matter how many pages of tits and syringes you edit out. He was an entitled little brat who never had any rules, grew up with that same sense of arrogance and never shook it. Even though he talks about being clean and all that shit, the way he glorifies shit from his past just tells me he's a cocky prick who feels like he got away with something. And, hey, maybe he did.

Thursday, March 15, 2012


Deceased grandparents
I had three before Wednesday
Today I have four

Friday, September 3, 2010

The Supreme Idiocy That Is "FML"

You wanna know what I really can't stand? Sure you do; you wouldn't be here if you didn't. I thoroughly loathe when people use "FML". You'll notice that it's always used after something that is, in the big picture, incredibly trivial.
"OMG; I have to write this paper tonight. FML" Seriously? Fuck your life because you have to- nay, get to- do an assignment as a part of something that is bettering your life and will open up opportunities that others will never have? Really?
"I have to get up and go to work. FML" You know how many people would do nearly anything to have that job, you spoiled little brat? Yeah, fuck your life because you have a means to pay for food and shelter. Poor thing.
This world is full of people with legitimate reasons for despair. There are millions of homeless people, those dying an AIDS related death and addicts who are compelled beyond their own power to do the one thing they hate above all others day in and day out. I could understand it if these people said "fuck my life". But not you.
Later this morning, my aunt is going in to get a mastectomy. Do you know what that is? That's when they cut off your cancerous breast. She already has no hair or energy- you know how many times she's said "fuck my life"? Zero. That's because she's an adult and she has perspective. She has a life and knows it's a precious thing.
Maybe people just don't think about these sorts of things before they start being crybabies and showing off their disgusting sense of entitlement. Maybe they don't care. But I do know that every time I see or hear "FML" I think "Yeah, fuck your life. Seriously. Fuck you."

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The Old Man And The Punk

Living in West Virginia, the vast majority of strangers I encounter regard me with great disdain. They take one look at me and decide I'm the scum of the earth. For this reason, I make it a point, when in public, to conduct myself with the utmost kindness and politeness so that maybe the next time they see some guy with blue hair, a bunch of tattoos or anything else of the sort they might think twice before writing them off. That, and it's just the right thing to do; pausing a moment to hold a door for someone or picking up something they dropped only takes a second or two of my time but it could make the difference between them having a good day or a crappy one- it really is all about the small things. About an hour or so ago I walked to the store to get a coffee and spotted an elderly man struggling to change his tire. As I approached him he snapped "I don't have any change!" "No, sir," I replied, "I was wondering if you could use a little help with that." He eyed me suspiciously before muttering "alright" and I commenced to make quick work of what would have been quite arduous for him. After I finished, he offered to pay me and I declined- this really caught him off guard. "You know, buddy, I had you wrong" he said and we shook greasy hands. It felt very satisfying not only to help somebody out but also to hopefully put a dent in decades of prejudice.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Blanks Walks Off And So Do I

My favorite moment of this season so far is still Li'l Tony's pinch-hit walk and subsequent winning run on the day we acquired him (all of which happened while I was on mushrooms, I should probably add), but each of the past two games are definitely in the top-five. I watched Blanksy's walkoff job Monday night on the front porch since I was out there smoking when the rally started and I wasn't about to get out of my seat and eff it up. When KB parked that ball out in left, I went friggin' nuts; there's a good possibility I may have woke a neighbor or two up. One neighbor who was still awake without my assistance shouted across the street "What you wilin' out about, nigga?" so I tossed my computer inside and went over there to explain myself and do a little socializing. This, my friends, is where it gets really bizarre. A few neighbors and some skanktastic girl I'd never seen before were holding it down, doing pretty much the same thing as me at that point which was drinking crappy beer. So far, not weird at all. Then he starts telling me how he's gonna start a strip club/ brothel out of his house "but only on the weekends" to which another neighbor responded that "nah, you neeed to have them hoes up in here on a Sunday cuz that's when my old lady's out of town". He then asked the skanky girl to "let me see how you do" and she queried "You got any bills?" His response was "No, but I got some pills" and without even asking what kind of pills they were, she immediately began walking inside. I was speechless and disgusted although not one bit surprised. I remained outside, talking to my next-door neighbor who is surprisingly a semi-decent human being- surprisingly because of the company he keeps- and getting hammered. And by hammered, I mean full-on Drama goes to DC hammered. Not too much later- or hell, maybe a lot later for all I know- pimp guy calls up another skankariffic girl with the intentof her and the other one "putting on a show". As soon as she got there and it was clear that everyone was going inside to participate in the degrading of women, I excused myself. I was then asked "What, you gay, nigga?" Since there's no point in explaining my stance to someone who's enthusiastic about exploiting human beings and treating women like a combination of product and garbage, I just said I was tired. All in all, it was pretty effed up and I know where I'm not gonna be hanging out ever again.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

P'n'E Book Review: "The Code" Is A Load

Dear God, what a horrible book. This steaming pile is proof positive that you can get anything published as long as you know the right people. The premise of the book is baseball's unwritten "code" as far as retaliation, brushbacks, respect, hard slides, so on and so forth. Good idea, terrible execution. The "author" of this excuse for literature simply cobbled together quotes from a few current and a lot of former players, the vast majority of which were Minnesota Twins. What you wind up with is a million variations of "yeah, sometimes you gotta drill a guy- but you never go for his head". It's broken down into chapters including Excessive Celebration, Showing Up Hitters, Sliding Hard, et cetera yet every subject concludes with "if somebody does that, you gotta drill him- but you never go for his head". I always wished they'd make a book version of "Groundhog Day", now I realize they did. Jeez. Another thing about this hardbound colostomy bag that really grinds my gears is the insistence to awkwardly tack the phrase "the code" into nearly every insipid quote. I could go on and on about every shortcoming this literary equivilant of herpes has but I really don't want to think about it anymore.

Monday, July 13, 2009

For one moment last night, everything was perfect.

I never remember my dreams. Never.

This one was different. When I woke up today, every vivid detail was painted on my brain. I feel it's my duty to warn you that what you're about to read is one of the cheesiest, most insipid loads of misty-eyed garbage you'll ever waste your time reading. I'm not even sure why I'm documenting this because to do so is to surely invite derision and good-natured ridicule but I feel strangely compelled. That being said, it's time I set the scene.

I can still smell the air. An ocean breeze brushed wafts of beer and garlic fries past our faces, a smell I've encountered only at PETCO Park. I was sitting next to a beautiful young gal I know, one who in reality is mercifully oblivious to the slight-but-none-the-less-pathetic silly schoolboy crush I vaguely harbor; our seats were a couple rows behind the first base dugout, close enough to see Li'l T's smile in the on-deck circle before he strode to the plate. I don't know who we were playing or who was on base. I do know that when TGJ dropped the first pitch into shallow left-center, somebody scored and the place went nuts- except for two people. We sat there calmly as Buck-O-Nine blared from the PA, the most genuine smile across each of our faces and clicked the necks of our Dos Equis bottles against the other's. End scene.

I'm certainly no psychologist so I don't know what to make of it. It was simply to me a respite from a world where the Padres always lose and I'm like a fourteen year old for someone way outta my league. For one moment, life was perfect... and I'm just happy I got that one moment, no matter how unreal it really is.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Know Your Enemy: Colorado Rockies Edition

I've come to rely on the fact that every single day, when I finally roll off the couch in the afternoon, I'll be greeted by a bright, shiny, brand-spankin' new volume of the world-renowned "SLPiH", which Winfields Ghost and Drama do such a spectacular job of researching while never missing a deadline. I thought, "hey, why should they get to have all of the fun?" so I decided I'd break out my very own regular feature, a little something I like to call "Know Your Enemy", which is basically exactly what it sounds like- a roundup of pertinent links about our upcoming opponents. While occasionally giving respect where respect is due and relevant statistical analysis and breakdown, I can only imagine that it will consist mostly of ridicule and derision of the d-bags that play for other teams. Let's give it a go, shall we?

We kick off our three game series vs. the reigning N.L. champion Colorado Rockies at the greatest park around at precisely 7:05 pm PST Tuesday, the same time as Wednesday and Thursday's games.

Much like we did, Colorado just concluded a road series against a hated division rival with a win one day after recieving a brutal thrashing. Doing most of the damage were Clint Barmes (subbing for the slumping Troy Tulowitzki), who homered and drove in four, and Matt Holliday and Garrett Atkins, who each went yard and drove in three.

Ubaldo Jimenez will be going up against The Wolf. Jimenez won his last start against Atlanta, giving up three earned over six in a 4-3 nailbiter at Coors. He wasn't as successful his first time out, earning the loss in St. Louis, giving up three earned in five innings of work, a game in which "super-sub" Jeff Baker got his only hit thusfar in eleven AB/PAs. Baker is 3-for-18 with 7 Ks in seven career games versus the Padres.

San Diego native Mark Redman gets the nod for Wednesday's game, going up against Justino Hermano. Like Jimenez, Redman beat the Braves in Colorado his last time out, giving up three runs (two earned)on seven hits in five innings of work after getting knocked around for a loss in his first start of the season, giving up five runs (four earned) on nine hits and three walks in less than six innings against the reviled D-Bags. Also like Jimenez (1-0 in two starts), Redman hasn't faced the Padres much, losing his only decision of four games (three starts).

Thursday's finale matches Jeff Francis against Philip Rivers Jake Peavy. Francis is currently 0-2 after getting rocked in both of his starts against Arizona after getting a rain reprieve from his first horrendous start against the Cardinals. In 16 career starts against the Padres, Francis has been far from successful, wearing a 4-10 record and an ERA of 5.83. Khalil, Kouz, and Bard have had their way with him. Not so much Jim Ed, though (1-for-12; ouch!).

Don't feel bad, Corey, this guy's mailbag gets filled with some pretty insipid questions, too. What kind of idiot with the entire internets at his disposal asks what happened to a free agent? Two clicks and you can realize for yourself that not only is Kazuo Matsui a member of the Astros now, but also that he has been unable to play due to anal fissures for quite some time now. Jesus, people; give the Brocks and Rencks of the world some credit and wait until you have a legitimate question.

Colorado is currently 14th in the N.L. in BA (Padres are 2nd), 15th in hits (we're #1!), and 14th in runs and RBI (15th!). Maybe if we watch them closely, we'll pick up a few tips on how to not leave 'em stranded...

Well, I hope you guys learned something about the state of our adversary. Have a great day and don't do anything I wouldn't do. Later...

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Trevor's Still Alive (but don't ask ESPN)

[This entry is a verbatim copy-and-paste of a diary, er, I mean fanpost I put up over at the almighty Gaslamp Ball. My BAC is elevated enough to merit this its very own PnE spot- like anyone's gonna notice.]

All day yesterday, the only thing I heard on both ESPN and Fox Sports was the same tired shid about Trevor needing to retire or be demoted. Today he tosses a perfect fuggin' inning and not a word is to be heard. I don't understand the rabid minds that demand this sort of knee-jerk sensationalism. In today's media the only triumphs that are documented are the ones that have a nice, even number attached... or happen in New York or even farther north. It's the same old bitchfest that we have all been crying for years but I just needed to vent on the unadulterated absurdity of a time-old quandry.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

'08 in the N.L.

N.L. East
1. NY Meth
2. Illadelphia Phallus
3. Atlanta Racists
4. Washington Generals
5. Florida Firesales
This division is the most cut-and-dry. Santana will come in third in the Cy Young voting to the one-two punch that is Jake Peavy and Chris Young.

N.L. Central
1. NorthSide #1 Threats
2. Cincinnati Style Chili
3. Milwaukee Favre-Missers
4. St. Louis El Caminos
5. Houston Padre Offcasts
6. Piss-burgh Bream-Haters
I’m going out on a limb by picking Cincy to finish second but I stand by it.

N.L. West
2. Arid-zona D-Bags
3. Filthy Fuckin’ Dodgers
4. Denver Luckies
5. The Bottom of the Bay
Good pitching beats good hitting. Luckily, the Pads have great pitching and everyone else in the division has good hitting at best. This year they have an offense that can actually score a few runs per game and that’s all it’ll take. World Fuckin’ Champions!

Bring on your best arguments. The A.L. edition will follow soon enough.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Scott Rad

Maybe I came off a bit cold in my assessment of Scott Speizio the other day. I'm not trying to bury him; I've always liked the guy, what with him being in a metal band and having the blood red soul patch/ wisdom patch/ ball tickler/ whatever they're calling it these days thingie. The Qualified Substance Abuse Professional in me is sure he can get his shit together. Maybe we'll need a stretch-run utilityman and he can dye his gine-duster navy blue... Anyway, writing about him made me think I should write something about the greatest ballplayer/ musician/ skater/ entrepreneur of all time, Scott Mo'fuggin Radinsky.

Nevermind that he was a filthy Dodger for a few years, dude's a badass. Not only has he pitched in more Major League games than any other Jewish man, kicked cancer's ass, founded a landmark skatepark and museum, he's the lead singer of Pulley- one of the finest pop-punk bands in all of the lands. Breathe in the goodness: