Wednesday, October 27, 2010

OK, Let's Wrap This The Phuck Up

So, I've had a few days to do my little piss-pants dance and get over the fact that we're not going to be playing tonight. It's fine, really. I've come to rationalize in my head the many reasons why I should not kill myself. I have a wonderful family, my birthday is tomorrow so maybe I'll get something cool, I still haven't seen Social Network...

In a drunken haze I kinda wrote this last column for the Philadelphia Weekly about why you shouldn't be a Debbie-Downer sour-fucking -puss about being eliminated by the corny giants. Yes, it stings to lose to such dick-in-mouth busters but folks, really, let's be honest.They played a better series. I hate to agree with a front office pencil pusher but even Rube was right. The Phils didn't have a single hot player during the entire post season offensively. It was all defensive swinging and hope. Kind of like a those parties my parents used to go to.

Here's the column peppered with a little extra that sure as fuck wouldn't have made it into the Liberal Times of Philadelphia without a roofie for the Editor and a costume change for it's readership. They always take my fucks away. I honestly can't write anymore about this end at the moment. It's still too fresh on the brain and in many respects I'm not a journalist, I'm just a fan with a razor sharp wit and large vocabulary of dicks and sacks. I try to be objective but most times it stings. I still can't not call-out the team for not showing the fuck up, I just do it for considerably less money. Still I offer a slightly tender seasons-end piece.

And just like that it’s over. The Phils lose, life sucks again. My days will be filled with meaningless crapola like raising my son and beating my wife until the sun dawns on the spring. Though, as I sit here all busted up about the loss to San Fran and subsequent elimination, I am filled not with anger, but with bittersweet pride. I cannot look back on this series, or season for that matter, with a sour puss. And yes, I’ve tried.

Sure they pretty much handed the Giants that series and couldn’t do dick with runners in scoring position. Why didn’t fucking Howard just swing the fucking bat? Why didn’t Mike Sweeney get the bat instead of Gload in Game 6? What was up with Utley, was he secretly injured? So many questions and so many dreams flushed down the fucking toilet, but I’m not here to piss and moan about it. Of course I’d like to light AT&T park on fire, piss on the ciders and then shit in that cunt Pat Burrell’s steroids, but that’s just not in the cards. A season of dramatic highs and devastating lows is in our rearview and all I can do is swell.

Who among you could’ve predicted that our boys would’ve taken us into late October nights back in dimal May and June? Not one of us could’ve hoped to be sullenly reading this stupid column right now after watching a weary Jamie Moyer get teed-off on for nine runs in the first two innings of inter-league play at Fenway or Jayson Werth go 104 at-bats without a home run.

None of us could’ve expected a National League Division Series Champs T-shirt to be covering our unfuckable, fat bodies after watching Ross Gload, Wilson Valdez, Juan Castro and Greg Dobbs (well, maybe not) put more men across the plate than our trusties for most of the early summer. When we got shut out for an entire series in Flushing against the worthless Mets did any of you think we’d be punching a hole in our walls over an NLCS defeat?

Consolation is the weakest of prizes but there are a few that can comfort us in this hour of defeat. The Braves—our closest divisional rival ability-wise—bit the dust in a most disgraceful manner as they wished fond farewell to their longtime skipper, Bobby Cox. He'll have plenty of time to beat his wife after retirement to satiate his desire for victory but still don't you think the 'necks wanted to bring him home another title?

Look at the sorry Mets. A billion games back and a billion sad sacks wear those colors. At the season’s end they’re without a manager, general manager and dignity. The next 2 men that step into those roles better bring wear condoms on every appendage.

Out of 162 games we owned 97 of them in a year that saw our top stud, Roy Halladay, pitch two no-hitters. We watched Chase Utley call Jonathan Sanchez a pussy on national television and witnessed a journeyman by the name of Wilson “The Goat” Valdez win the hearts and rotten minds of us all as he played manly substitute for half our beat up infield.

We got to witness Roy Oswalt play left-fucking-field in lieu of Rual Ibanez who was taking over for Howard at first after the Big Guy was ejected for damn near eating the third base umpire’s face off in a 16-inning slog against the Astros.

We saw Shane Victorino stick a grand slam up the ass of Johan Santana, and Carlos Ruiz pretty much demoralize Jonathan Broxton every chance he could, batting .1000 off the big horse and almost single-handedly having him demoted from the Dodgers’ closer role.

We can’t forget the aged heroics of Jamie Moyer, who for the first half of the season seemed to be our most reliable starter. At 47, he became the oldest pitcher in the history of the game to toss a shutout back in May against the Braves. Yeah, sure he also broke Robin Roberts record by giving up his 506th career home run, but that’s an indication of longevity, not poor skill.

Really, anyone pissing up a stink about the shit they’ve gone through this summer might as well move to England and follow that other game that’s like baseball, except you wear skirts and have tea breaks.

No one in their right mind can deny that the Phillies are a team to be reckoned with. My whole childhood was spent feeling like I was part of the losers’ class, like my team was a joke. But now we’ve got a team with the balls to dominate the fucking weak. As a city we are sitting pretty, even as we lick our wounds.

I’d like to thank our boys for the ride. Sadly some of you won’t be back next year. Jayson Werth will most likely be embarrassing that fraud Nick Swisher for the big-bucks in New York, and Mike Sweeney will most likely find a new home on a new team that needs man-hugs. You will be missed. Watching Sweeney cry in the post-game 6 interview broke my calloused heart. I think I may start a petition to have that man in the Phils dugout no matter fucking what next year. Don't worry, Mike. None of us want you to go home either.

The rest of you get your beauty sleep, some good wifey pussy and have your shit together for Clearwater. Good show, men. Good show.

See, I was looking on the bright side. It would've been too easy to draw dicks coming out of Howard's face so I went the drunken, take it on the chin route. As my friend Richie Penetrator--wanted in 3 counties-- put it "You gotta enjoy the highs and suppress the lows of sports." I know that sounds idealistically stoic but he does have a point. I could remain in  my underwear, crying, masturbating, crying but I'd rather just masturbate.

This isn't the end of TBSS either, Followers. I'll be popping back in from time to time with trade rumors and interesting anecdotes to keep you savages laughing. I am, after all, Mr. Funny Man. Thank yous all for reading, F's. Without the 41 of you out there in interbutthole land I would have no reason to get up before 2pm, sexually.

Fuck new york and GO CLIFF LEE!


P.S. Cody Ross is going to be a Phillie next year. I'm not excited either. Probably Jeff Francoeur, too.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Friday, October 22, 2010

NLCS PHI v SF Game 5. Gas Up The Jet, Dickheads!!!!

That's right, motherfuckers! We're bringing the series back to Phucking CItizens Bank Park with big dickin' Roy Oswalt waiting in a tree-stand with his cross hairs ready to be filled with the head of that prick Cody Ross. Weee, a run on sentence. I must be excited. The Phillies Phight behind our big daddy Roy Halladay to defeat Tim Lincecum and live another day. We also get to hear that stupid fucking Kid Rock song for at least one more night. Something, could be my tingling balls, tells me we'll hear that song for a few more nights. Neon Nights.

What did everybody (including fucking me) say before the start of this series? We all said it would go to fucking 7, most said the Phillies would take it and as of now that's still very plausible. The giant wankers land in Philly to face a pitcher that's undefeated at CBP and a crowd ready to rip them limb from smarmy limb. I don't envy anyone on that team, they thought they had the balls in their mouth in sf before last night even began. At least we get a chance to have them on our turf after all their weak fans had a chance to eat the Phils alive. There is blood in the water and this Shark is ready to feast.

Seriously, fuck Pat Burrell. What a cunt. Has anyone else been noticing his vengeful demeanor throughout this series? Like that fruit has anything to be bitter about. We give that cocky shit a ring and all he can do is pull shit like jawing to Halladay after whiffing or making unsportsmanlike gestures towards the Phils any chance he can. That's actually disrespectful and I'm not one to make bones about that sort of namby-pamby horseshit. I want Burrell to fail. His flagrant ostentation's has to be punished and Chollie has to know it. His is among the many egos on that san fran team that needs checking and it's fucking time to kill.

Follower Karen sent me this photo to "modify". This is art, Karen. This is for you.

Tammy Wynette. This is classy. Too good for this D-O-R-K--F-U-C-K. 

I got really nothing to say about this nor do I think that a paint-job would have any lasting effect. Nick fucking Jr, Candyland shit.

How fucking good were Madson and Lidge last night, Followers? For real, Madson was just like "suck my bloated prikc, meat-of-the-order!" Posey, K. Piece of shit Burrell, K. Cody Gloss, FUCKING K. Domination Station. Fuck the Grateful Dead. That's right. Fuck them.

Then bad motherfucker Lidge just comes in and shatters these cunts....MAN. MANLY MAN. With the help of Werth's 9th inning fucking big cock blast Lidge has all the breathing room necessary to paint jizz all over the faces f these sf wine-cooler drinkers.

So Saturday can't come faster for me, F's. I'm really feeling this whole giants are gonna choke theory right now and how could I not? The Phillies are a play-off proven team with the last two match-ups in our favor. Oswalt beat Sanchez in Game 2 and Caine has been more banged up than Courtney Love's veins at CBP. This could be another one of those magical post-season fairy tales that the ESPN film makers cum over for decades to come. Or it could be bad. I'm feeling good, though. Our Phillies are not going down without a large-dicked sword fight with these pricks.

It's Friday, people. Let's get good and liquored up. Tug McGraw used to pitch his best games hung-over. I watch my best games the same.

Fuck new york, sf, Pat Burrell, Cody Ross and kiss your wife or partner on the pussy tonight.


Thursday, October 21, 2010

NLCS PHI v SF Game 4. A Little Bit Of Perspective

When I was 24 I was invited to my first wedding ceremony. I know, how did I manage to sidestep that bullshit for so long. It was an ex-girlfriend's sister who was to be married and the ceremony was in upstate PA near Delaware Water Gap. The wedding party was all booked into a very fancy-schmancy hotel where the reception was to take place.

The night before the wedding a few of us sat at the hotel bar placing bets on who the asshole was going to be; the one who couldn't handle the open bar and the loose morals of the reception atmosphere. Kind of a foreshadowing conversation over a snifter of expensive scotch. I didn't pay for it.

So the next day the boring wedding went off without a hitch. I had a few drinks before the ceremony so it was mildly bearable. After all the bullshit and exchanges of vows we headed back to the hotel for drinks and the stupid reception. On the way back we passed a hip-flask around the car to get things started. 

By the time we actually sat down for all the corny best-man's speeches and first dance happy horseshit my entire table was tanked. My ex, her sister, her sister's boyfriend, 2 lesbians who looked like dirty dishrags, Casey-boy from the Preston and Steve radio show and his wife. This is what I was surrounded by, a table full of potential enemies.

During one of the embarrassing speeches my ex and I start to bicker over something, probably food, and the table started to notice. That's when Casey-boy chimed in to my ex-broad.

"Hey, J, I haven't seen you in a while"

"Yeah, I think it was at your wedding, Case"

"That's right, you spent the whole entire time making out with Sean Stern"

I remember this wedding. I couldn't attend because I was having my pilonidal cyst operated on for the first time. The ex and I had been together for a good month or so, already exchanged the mushy words and were quite settled in as a couple. 

I turned to her as Casey-boy said this while drunkenly doing the math in my head. I said something like "Wait....we were fucking bitch..."

Casey-boy looked genuinely astounded and sorrowful after he saw my expression. He knew he'd blown my ex's secret. His size 8 was in his mouth and he looked ashamed but still smirked like a cock. I would've, too had it been me who'd done the cover-ripping.

Now for some reason, after I called the ex a bitch for cheating on me, the whole table looked at me like I was the asshole. I flipped. I tossed my plate of shitty wedding asparagus food at one of the horse-faced lesbians and stormed out of the reception hall. The ex followed trying to explain but I was having none of it. I was screaming up a fucking nightmare about what a cheating cunt she was. I am very sensitive about infidelity. It's the one thing in the entire world that truly upsets me. That and when the Phillies lose.

All the wedding idiots were guffawing and gawking at us as I was walking off. I think I looked some bridesmaid in the face and called her a linebacker as I left. 

I made it to my car as the ex followed crying and I was still livid. Booze and the bomb-drop does not lend itself to rational thought. I think I'd called the girl every disparaging name in the book before climbing into my car and kicking the turn signal off the steering column, still enraged. 

I pulled the car out and slammed into the side of some limo. As I was about to drive off I decided that getting out of the car to scream at my girlfriend some more. I left the car where it was and followed her back into the reception. We were screaming at each other and it could not be ignored.

My ex's uncle--who looked like a 70 year old Bill Murray-- tried to intervene by attempting to get me in a head-lock but failed. I threw him into a table which collapsed from his weight.

Finally several men who worked for the hotel grabbed me and, just like a movie, tossed me down the flight of stairs that sat at the entrance of the joint. 

As I laid on the ground I couldn't help but laugh. I was the asshole who couldn't handle the open-bar, hahahaha! I was the dickhead that made a scene. I should never bet against myself.

That was a bad night. This game, last night's fucking 5-6 loss to those bay area nerds, wasn't as bad as this night I speak of. It was close but really not as bad. We'll see what happens tonight.

Fuck new york, fuck the dorks, fuck weddings and GO PHILLIES!


Wednesday, October 20, 2010

NLCS PHI v SF Game 3. Take a Phucking Pill

Fuck, I don't even want to talk about yesterday's game. That was just straight up demoralizing. The thought of having to get up this morning and face another fucking day on this earth was just too much for to take so I killed myself.

Just kidding. I still don't want to talk about that fucking embarrassing thing called Game 3. I think I've never felt so ill watching a sporting event than in yesterday's case. All that nut going to waste. It's a shame.

But be still, Followers. It's seriously only 1-2. Take a deep breath and relax. We'll be OK and if not we'll stab out spouses. Until then just chill and listen to Pantera of something. If you want you can read my littel funny column in the PW here. One dude really liked it today.

That's it for today. I'm really in no mood. Moody Editor. I love you all.


Tuesday, October 19, 2010

NLCS PHI v SF Game 2. I Dig The Freedom, Man

Sorry, F's for the delay in your news. Sunday night after The Phillies took game 2 with their big cocks I had to quickly and drunkenly write my Philly Weekly column. I got pretty hateful after switching from the shitty Joe Buck and Tim McCarver Gargle Used Douche Show to ESPN radio only to be inundated with Dave Duncan and that other assholemouth completely belittle every single movement the Phils made.

I got pretty raw but really, I do have to slightly hold back because my real feelings and vocabulary get the editors guillotine more often than not. The good thing is this is America and the internet is here for my colorful jizzings to be drizzled all over this here world fucking wide web.

Roy Oswalt, the man with the large cock who fucks your team up with complete and utter confidence even when he doesn't, had a hell of a game Sunday night but you wouldn't fucking now it if you were a blind man. Of his 9 strike outs I think maybe the 8th one was acknowledged in a positive light and even then it was lazy. The man with the piles of dead dear in his shed got nothing but indifference from Buck and McCarver. I actually fucking remember during an at-bat the cock-and-ball-less twin cut to a fucking reel of Cardinal's player from the fucking 40s. Yes, I understand it was to illustrate that we may be the only other NL team to ever win the pennant 3 consecutive times since the '42-44 red birds but for fucking real, dickhead. I'm surprised one of their taped episodes of fucking Top Chef didn't accidentally flash across the screen for a few seconds as they bumbled through another piss-poor inning of droll and banal banter. How do these men still get paychecks for this "work"? 

It's not like I'm screaming at the wind here, I'm not alone in my feelings. I did a survey of 40,000 internet people and 38,956 of them said that they feel the duo would benefit from a few classes at the Connecticut School of Broadcasting and a hoagie, yo. Maybe they could live on that island with Tim Robbins and that tennis ball, Spalding and collect their thoughts before they speak. 4 years should be enough time for them to come up with something useful.

I kid, I kid, they have families that love them and would miss them but those same family members should let their relatives know they suck the balls of big animals when put in front of a mic.

Then after I get fucking fed up of those two I decide to jam the game on the radio like people did in the 90s only to be bombarded by even larger sperm whales on ESPN radio. You know the guys, whatshisname and dickformouth. I turned to these dismissive cocksmokes just in time for J-Fucking-Roll to bash that 3-run double off the wall only to be told it wasn't his sheer power and talent that scored those runs, it was mental errors by the giants. I was honestly filled with the rage. I probably would've gone to jail if I was in pissing distance of these men at that particular time. I am a very serious man when it comes to J-Roll. He probably is my favorite player still to this day. Fuck all that slump talk, he's the man that keeps the sheets off the kloset-klansmen that sometimes litter out neighborhoods and the glue that keeps that team together. I'll fucking verbally rifle you any day of the week on the merits of Rollins and no not the singer from the Chile' Peppers.

My point? Fuck these people and their flippant and ignorant attitudes toward out Phils is what makes the world a shitty place. Even when we play great they shit on us. Fuck them and the laurels they rode in on. Fightin's rule, OK?

See, I could never say any of that in a liberal fishrag. It feels great to just type with no real thought, just plain rage and beauty. This is why you come to me. Because I hate so much but I really love you all. This is a great time of year and I wish I could be high-5ing every one of you fucking assholes during these games but I can't. I gots ta make the donuts.

I have to go  now because I have a new shitty job which doesn't entail grooming a donkey. The few of you that read this tomorrow should take comfort in the fact that we're experiencing what 26 other cites wish they were but aren't and we've been doing it for 4 years running. Well, 3 years to this point in the play-offs. Go out and slap a dude on the ass, feel good about nature. Whatever.
Fuck new york like I always say and express yourselves creatively. Also fuck Cody Ross, again.


Sunday, October 17, 2010

NLCS PHI v SF Game 1. Year Of The Bitcher


This is not the fucking start we were looking to get out to, huh Followers? What are we, Texans? I wait all fucking week for this shit knowing full well that I'd have to be watching from fucking Baltimore and this is what get jizzed in my lap? Not the fucking pitching fuck-fest we were all hoping for, not one bit. Sure Halladay's NLCS debut was not of the Herculean penis shaft of his previous start and rightfully so. It's not really the fucking pitching that concerns me so much as I sit in my boxer-briefs sadly typing this. The same fucking sentiment just keeps rattling through my fucking superior brain;

The fuck.
Is.....Ryan Howard.
Fuck. is Jimmy.
Rollins doing

Poetry right? Let's not beat around the bush here with talk about band-boxes and woulda and shoulda. There is a clear reason the Phillies walked away losers. Two key motherfuckers aren't showing up for work.

First I'll rant on the Big Piece for a moment. The man with the big lumber and the large berries gets considerable frustrating as soon as the calendar flips into the cooler months of fright and mischief. Aside from his t-shirt inspiring "Get me to the plate, boys" NLDS heroics of last fall, he's done pretty much dogdick with his tool in the post-season. It's almost as if he can't be even be fucked. Why can't he fucking hit the ball in October? What the fuck is going on in this GODDAMNED WORLD!? I wonder if this frustrates him as much as it frustrates me. I sit and watch this shit happen every night of these series and all I get is a pissed and mumbling Howard walking back to the dugout with his dork in his hand. I'm no expert but I at least have pattern recognition. Something in me tells me Howard may be to proud to listen to someone suggesting that a new approach be taken when the chill rolls in. He sure isn't fucking taking one and it's fucking pissing me off!

And what the fuck is going on with J-Roll? Are the rants and raves of the drunken, almost-klansmen-esque fucksticks justified? Has he lost his fucking timing? It sure fucking looks like it and it breaks my fucking heart. Whiff, whiff, whiff, whiff, whiff...what's he fucking doing up there, trying out alternative energy sources to power Justin Beiber's hair with all that air he's cutting? How many more nights am I going to have to sit in front of douche bags in jean short and have to defend your honor, Roll? Every time you fucking step to the plate I just sound like a dickhead running rampant because I can't help myself but to utter "Here it comes, now the fucking damn breaks!!". It doesn't. We both look like assholes. Seriously, for both of us, Jimmy... shit for our kids and our kid's kids just fucking snap out of it. I got this fucking number 11 jersey. It doesn't say Valdez on the back.

All was not a wash in Phillies land, my Follwers. For all the shitty and dickloving long-balls that bald mutant Cody Ross was sending and all the actually retarded umpire's missed-calls-turned-runs I think we faired well against The Freak. I'm a little concerned that the 3 runs we touched him up for were all of the home run variety but I'll still fucking take it. For us to take a few big swats and come up big on a pitcher who proudly boasts a very, very low number (I'm not fucking looking it up) of dingers allowed makes the nuts tingle. Choochie and The Rooster showed the fuck up last night. Maybe others will follow suit.

Another bright testicle was Ryan Madson's performance last night. A very nice, reliable 1-2-3 buttfucking of 8-inning work. Too bad Lights Out doesn't work into a funny little catch-phrase or pun played on his name. Someone oughtta do that.

Also, this Brian Wilson nerd is a fucking clown. Yes, I know giants fans he did strike out some Phillies and he's a good pitcher but just fucking look at this assdick. I think he has the words "DRUG FREE", or something to that effect, tattooed to his wrist. I know a lot of girls with that tattoo. He also looks like a fucking member of Mudvayne. Yes, that is shitty. Google: Mudvayne.

Phuck it, I'm grumpy but still optimistic. It was only Game 1 and somebody told me we got 6 more of these games to play. It's a beautiful Sunday morning, I'm horribly hung-over because the only way I can play music infront of assholes anymore is to drink heavily and Roy Oswalt is getting a second chance to put his penis up the ass of many hitters tonight. I know I sound like a broken retard-record but seriously, if our slumbering lumber decides to set it's alarm we have a good chance of not getting that urge to beat our spouses into the early dawn. All-in-all I say this could be a decent Game 2. Hopefully I don't get arrested for shitting in public of something like that. 

Fuck new york, fuck Cody Ross and his goofy 13 year old face and 60 year old head, fuck Pat Burrell and GO PHUCKING PHILLIES! WAKE 'EM UP, MEN! I want the blood of this wine cooler team.


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

More Phan Mail

You know, Followers, it's really a shame that I don't have 25 hours in the day to answer the piles and piles of Phan Mail that I receive by the truck-load. It really is. You'd figure that being unemployed would lend itself to such luxuries, right?

This was sent to my friends at The Philadelphia Weekly concerning the first of my many columns to come about our fine Phils.

I'm 62YO and have been reading your publication for many, many years. I obviously enjoy it. I'm not a negative person but I felt compelled to write you about your article in the 10/6-10/12 2010 issue by John Sharkey III. I curse as much as anybody but the gratuitous profanity in that piece was utterly ridiculous. It added absolutely nothing and was a huge deterrent. When Tim Whitaker was with you he tried to be too cute with profanity also but it never bothered me enough to correspond. Profanity has it's place when used intelligently but this was against the pale..just terrible.

Well, for a 62 "YO" person you sure have the creepy craigslist lingo conquered so I'll reply in a style in which you're fluent....

28YO SW m4wmt. I'm 5'10" 180 lbs replying to your letter. Looking for readers not offended by childish obscenities, especially those who feel compelled to write letters to the editor of a weekly publication that pays less than you do for sex. I'm 420 friendly, D/D free and deeply sorry you were turned-off by my writing. What I'm really looking for is a versatile readership not upset by metaphors related to anal sex and large male genitalia. This might be asking a lot, I understand hehehe. Sense of humor is a must if you wanna tango with me! Enjoy yourself, it's the play-offs and our Men are kicking ass. Don't worry so much about obsenities as you would the starting rotation. Is Blanton our number 4 guy? Will they start Hamels in game 2 or 3? What about our offense? Do you think Howard's bat will wake up after laying dormant during the last 3 post-seasons? Will Jimmy snap into destructor-mode? These things are much more important to the well-being of our society than postulating over a few poo-poo and pee-pee jokes. Come on, man!!! What kind of grown-ass 62 year old gets upset by obsenities? Get your head out of yer ass and into the game! Party with me! Can host, must send pics with all replies, will reciprocate. GO PHILLIES!!!!!!


Tuesday, October 12, 2010

A Shameful Plug

You see this picture of me chilling with Jesus? Now, you see the shirt I've got on here, Followers? Well, my friends Hershel and Jorge at Mongoloid Tees flowed me today when I was walking home from Whole Foods like a real white person. They have other designs almost more exciting than plain text on a blank shirt for sale here! With fickle player unions having baby-boners over every Tom, Dick and Hymen with a printing press, throwing around terms like "intellectual property" you'd better get on the horse quick. These shitters may be clothing the homeless before those dorks in panda headgear no what hit 'em.



Monday, October 11, 2010

NLDS PHI V CIN Game 3. The Iron Curtain Falls. Get It...Reds!

Sorry for another tardy edition. I had a job interview in Jersey this morning and on my way back some fuckmouth truck driver had rear-ended another truck on the Platt Bridge leaving me and many other hard-working citizens up shit's creek. Worry not, no dickhead truckdrivers were injured in the making of this observation.

Well, Followers, that's one fucking series under our sacks thanks to the fucking cocktacular 5-hit, 9k , zero fucking run performance of King Phucking Cole Hamels that brings the franchise it's first sweep in the post-season and our 3rd striaght trip to the NLCS. I tell you it couldn't have fallen on a reds team more begging to be shat upon. It's been a brief but dramatic ride so let's all revel in this win for a moment before the next fucking dickheads get their play charter to out Phucking house.

I watched most of this game on the phone with my friend Roland who grew up a reds fan in rural Kentucky. He emigrated to our fine city a long, long time ago and has since shaken the ridiculous affliction. He made a great observation. Reds games just look like a fucking Klan rally. Nevermind the fact that Cincinatti is pretty much one lynching away from a $100 gift card at Walmart, it was just the "pureness" of the audience. 45,000 white people waving white towels just waiting to tar-and-feather (sexually) man, dog or spouse that got in their way when the reds lost. Which they did. The Queen City is a crying tonight. The bowel movements will come fast and fierce tomorrow. Add this final blow to the Dusty Baker resume of bizarre failure. I guess he can now get back to the set of Weekend At Bernie's 2 and escape the creepy bastion of fair skin. At least a trip to Atlanta isn't in order.

Still I tip my hat the reds for making to the post-season. This is still baseball and we're all still gentlemen here. Except for Scott Rolen. Fuck him. I'm glad he was the final K of this fucking series. But everyone else, really...kudos! You're a young, healthy team that will probably top yer division next season. Feel good you brought your city back into the picture.

Here's great screen shot stolen from the internet of obviously unphased Roy Oswalt. Looks like the wild 3 earned run "shelling" he received by our mighty vanquished didn't chap his cock in the least bit. This fucking photo is probably on 45 thousand blogs right now but a photo of Brandon Phillips  holding a douche with a tampon string hangin out surely fucking ain't!

Here's a photo of The Best Second Baseman In the Universe crying after the loss last night. I really want to be able to feel bad for this dude because it really fucking hurts to lose like this, just ask anyone of us to recall 2007. I truly hate to wallow in human misery, I even feel bad form Brooks Conrad after his 3 error outing yesterday which cost the braves the game, but Phillips was asking for this. Brash and outlandish boasting gets you nowhere unless your name is Jimmy Fucking Rollins. Still in my heart I feel a sad tug for you, Brandon. Keep it shut next time or shut us up. Still no crying in shit-talking, ya girl.

Here's what love looks like in a truly platonic atmosphere of a men's locker room. Sweeney, baby! Love this man!

Of course the obligatory jizzpagne shot!

The Clog, F's. will lay dormant for the next few days unless any serious issues need to be addressed. We got a week off until one of those ninny team in the other series finally pulls pud. Saturday the Phucking NLCS starts in my fucking town and I couldn't feel more fucking confident for our Men. It's not like we have to go over this shit again. 1-2-3 buttfucking, Chooch, Mad Dog and Lidgey.....If the bats wake up we're fucking blitzkrieg!

Take a few day to yourself, call in sick maybe. Call your mother, perhaps. Do something nice. Help an old woman have an orgasm across the street. Whatever. Just savor this fucking time. Don't go turning smug on me and keep an eye peeled on the street for edition 2 of  The Big Sharkey Show's printed hate-shits in the Philadelphia Weekly. This paid analyst couldn't have done it with out you, my 39 Followers!

Fuck new york and oh yeah....

I still got it.


Saturday, October 9, 2010

NLDS PHI v CIN Game 2. Aroldis Schmaroldis, An Experience Regaled

Since I have a wedding to go in an hour I'm just gonna kinda ramble free-form. You don't come to me for reliability anyway. I was there, though and most of you weren't.

First before I tell you of my experience attending possibly the greatest live sporting event of my 28-and-a-half year (like a fucking 6 year old) I'd like you to take a look at this photo:

This is my fucking dad, JS jr. That's right, Followers, I was born from human seed and all of my years of hard work and fortuitous masturbation have finally culminated in my finest artisitc offering to the world. This photo. This is Philly Phan joy captured forever.

This photo was taken right after Jimmy Rollins sent the fly ball that Jay Bruce would've caught had he not been a cocky shit, telling the crowd an inning previous that they would "see us on Sunday with a 1-1 lead in Cinci!" This photo is what instant Karma looks like in relation to a sporting crowd. You dropped a ball "in the lights"? That's yer excuse? Really? You're a professional baseball player and your dropping fly-balls in the lights. Pairless, you are my friend. That dropped ball lost your team the game. By no means did we not win the game but you certainly tucked in your our teammates to bed a little too early. Your little dingleberry mistake coupled with the best 2nd basemen in the game's equally as cocked-up bobble let Utley and Werth score for basically our dugout. It's teams like the Phillies that will capitalize on the mistakes of those not seasoned for play-off ball. Just be happy you're here, reds.

Nevermind that Roy Oswalt had the heebee-jeebees from pitch one, it happens. Obviously. You've given him trouble all year and we all in the back of our minds kinda saw that coming. It doesn't fucking matter though. The bullpen backed him up. They got paid for getting the motherfucker done.

Chad Durbin picking off Drew Stubbs in the 6th was amazing, by the way. I was chilling with my boy Chuck, having my occasional fag when that shit went down. Hetero-man embrace ensued.

I caught some flack for my Philadelphia Weekly column this week. A random homosexual man named Chuck D. (I'm sure not the Chuck D. from the band Ice Cube) sent me an email stating that I should "cut out the Phobic shit, the Phils have plenty of gay fans, too!"

Look Chuck, I got nothing but love for the LGBT community but where you got the idea that my article was promoting some sort of malice towards alternative lifestyles is beyond me. If it was the fact that I used "hetero-embrace" in a sentence it was because I was trying to illustrate that this is a time when men, who would more likely punch you for enjoying Top Chef, find it appropriate to drop the  whole "you're a fag" shit and get real with his Phillies Brethren.

Whatever, back to my little story. Being in the house last night was pretty special, I must say. Watching Cuban Missile Station, Aroldis Chapman--who's claim to fame is that he throws 100-105 fastballs--get fucking beat around a bit. When he hit Chutley I thought the fucking sky was going to fall. Fucker got his though. He was on the mound for Jay Bruce's little tampon befuddlement. 3 unearned runs for the flame throwing Cubano. Welcome to Philadelphia, Aroldis. Now go fucking rethink a straight fastball with no movement in out house.

I'm surpirsed none of the reds got their fucking heads taken off after 3 of our boys got drilled. You fucking throw at Choochie and at Ben Francisco's head when I'm at the helm and your fucking mothers are getting drilled.

Now the Philles head to fucking Cinci with a 2-0 lead in this fucking series, Jay, and Cole Hamels hasn't been beaten by yous guys....ever!

I can't even speak today because my voice is so roached. I've never felt that way at a sporting event bedfore. I wanted pure war. The entire house did. It was complete and utter unity through bloodlust. Please come and enjoy the Phillies live if you ever have the chance, rest of the world. You'll never think of us the same. Phuck everyone else though, really.

Time to get in my stupid SUV and drive to Washington D.C to watch our friend THE CRIPPLE get married! I got themk a card and drew a walker in the dudes hands on the front of it and wrote the word "HOLE" as in the band on the woman's dress. It's fitting.

Fuck new york and watch your mouth, you could talk shit about our boy Roy Halladay and then get taken out of the next game with an oblique strain in the 2nd inning. More karma.


Thursday, October 7, 2010

NLDS PHI v CIN Game 1. The Biggest Doc On Earth

I think we all know where this edition is headed, Followers.

"If I was Roy Halladay my locker would be cleaned out, I would retire. A post-season no-hitter?... I'm out!" - Mitch Fucking Williams

"The greatest moment in Philadelphia Sports History." - Michael Jack Schmidt

"Roy Halladay had the LARGEST dick in the history of the known universe. We are all lucky to see him use it." - John Sharkey III, paid analyst for the Philadelphia Weekly

What fucking else can you really say about this super-human, sack of ages feat? Every person watching that game last night watched history unfold, pitch-by-pitch. They watched a game they will all remember and one day regale their stupid grandkids with at family get-togethers or in jail. 

9 innings. 28 batters. 104 Pitches 8 K. 1 BB. ZERO FUCKING HITS. Again. ROY. PHUCKING. HALLADAY. Motherfucker even drove in the 2nd run of the game. M.A.N. Shane Victorino's hard-nosed ball-bangers and a few totally shakey innings by reds start Edinson Volquez was all the support necessary. 4-0 would read the board for 7 innings and end that fucking way.

What did I fucking say in my column yesterday, F's? (I am a gloating dick) The fact that Roy wasn't post-season road tested yet meant absolutely jackshit and it certainly means even fucking less now. Motherfucker came to the party with all the necessary ingredients for a rager. If you're waking up today with a clear head or not even the slightest tinge of a hang-over you are a fucking dickhead and I never want to party with you. I feel like a cummed-in sock that's been used to wipe down the beerpong table after a caligula-esque butter-the-bread session. It's wonderful!

How about that fucking little whiny bitch Orlanda Cabrera.

"He and the umpire pitched a no-hitter. He gave him every pitch. We had no chance."

Really, dude? REALLY? Classless. You've just added yourself to the list of whiny little pussies that litter your team's roster alongside the likes of unmissed ex-Phil Scott Rolen. Your boy Johnny Gomes gave Roy props, he knew what the fuck was up. What the fuck is your problem? Even you fucking skipper, Dusty Baker was impressed. You need to really take a look at yourself in the mirror, Mr. Cabrera and realize that if this keeps up, you might have people getting you confused with the biggest asscock on the block, MELKY Cabrera. Take a deep, long look.

Regardless of how butt-hurt some of the reds may you cannot detract from the moment. It was actually historical, not poppycock fat chewing. Everyone alive in Philadelphia that supports the P was a part of it. I know, mushy sentimental crapola from the man you come to for just the opposite. Enjoy it, it doesn't happened often. Just ask Don Larsen, the last large nutter to toss a perfect post-season game back in '52. Breathe it in. Get high like pcp high. Go out and fight 8 fucking cops. It's cool. They watched the fucking game, too. They can tell you it was like watching Metallica record Master Of Puppets. Even better. Yeah, I said it. Even Phucking better.

I wonder how many new goofy t-shirts I'm going to be tempted to buy commemorating this event. Probably 4 or 5 for me, folks. That's just how I roll. I love t-shirts.

Tonight we can sit back and watch some other fucking teams play and not really care too much aside from the knaves/sf outcome. My advice, get sexy tonight with someone you care about or don't care about. Unwind with a bottle of wine, some anal beads and some nitrous poppers. Relax and don't fall asleep concussed. That ends poorly.

Fuck new york and go to Modells and buy something with Halladay's name on it. For our future. The future of Mankind. GO PHILLIES!


Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Followers, I've Fucking Hit

Today, Followers, marks a momentous occasion in this intellectual juggernauts career. The culmination of months of not-very-hard work has finally come to fruition; I'm a paid motherfucking sport writer now.

The folks down at the Philadelphia Weekly have found my superior words and thought worthy of their hallowed pages, amongst the esteemed company of Dan Savage, local sex ads and shitty local band listings. It'll make great wrapping paper come the stupid alternative holiday your college friends invented in lieu of Christmas because your families were ashamed to have you home.

They nipped a little venom from me words but, all-in-all, they remained true to you Editor. Here she is in internet form. Enjoy.

In other news, I'm back from Ireland. Finally. That place is beautiful and rich in history but nobody cares about the Phillies. AT ALL. Next...

On the train to Dublin I saw something that's not very common in Ireland but all too common across the Irish Sea. I watched a little black british man pummel the fuck out a Eastern European. It was this heathen cunt:

 and this woman. He's wearing a yankees jeff-cap. Filth.

Believe me but I was truly too far to do anything about the grievous assault as it took place before the train guards broke in. I was about 8 rows away and surrounded by Irish 90-year-old woman screaming that the man had no manners. Seriously.

Supposedly the woman called the man a monkey and then slapped him but, from where I was sitting, this did not justify him getting on-top of his chair to fully bash her head with his boot while ripping at her hair.

I'm not lying. Check out this top-fucking-notch journalism. Sheesh. What a fucking Pulitzer worthy piece. 

Tonight. Is. The. Phucking. Night. Followers. The roster is set, sorta and the blood is boiling. I had constant dreams last night about this fucking game. I'm actually freaking out. I haven't been so anxious since my first herpes swab. I'm fucking manic. I walked to Wawa at 6am and said "GO PHILS!" to every person I crossed paths with. Brotherhood. NLDS Game 1. 8 Hours away. BOOOOOOOOOOYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

OK, now I'm going to jerk-off to my article. Fuck new york and, Really, Let's go Phils! No time for cryptic bullshit.


Sunday, October 3, 2010

October 3 2010 PHI v ATL Game 3. A Gift, A Choke And The Table Is Set

You fucking know that if Danys Baez hadn't seen the fucking mound in this game we would've walked out of atl with 98 wins on the season. Not that I'm discontented with the 97 heads we've rolled by any means, I just find it funny how Chollie place our arguably worst pitcher in the game when he did. I mean, he really couldn't have gift-wrapped it with less subtlety, my man. If Oswalt had stayed in for 1 more inning the game would have ended with something like a 7-4 outcome in our favor. Silly Bagner giving up 3 runs to Exxon Valdez and Benny Francisco was a decent enough consolation and really, who gives a splat? They have their own hole to dig now.

One thing is for sure. Danys Baez is an over-the-hill lump of poopy-doop. He just ain't got the goods no mo'. If he gets a second of playing time in the post-season you know Chollie wishes suffering upon his great supporters. Baez' contract is basically fucking us into an expensive Cuban paperweight because not a single team will take this man next year. Good golly, Ms. Molly.

But shit, let's not fret. The regular season is over and the PHUCKING PHIGHTIN'S have the best record n the competition, the first time in franchise history! I know that seem retarded but, yeah, it's true. Just another black mark smudged off the permanent record. Pride-filled me.

The NL play-offs were finally fucking delineated thanks to the weak padres tanking it to sf in the final hours of need. This pits the knaves and giants together in a series that no-one really gives a shit about because that series will be and easy walk-over for the master's of the microbrew. That's just my prediction, though, F's. The giants have enough trouble scoring runs on their own without me jinxing them. Meanwhile, we have the dickbags from the Queen City to contend with. Apt.

                                                 (Taken from the blog I linked below. I give it a B-)

I see no good coming to the red in the post-season if not only for karma. Boastful second basemen and dirty, bitch-fighting starting pitchers litter their line-up card like the fucking streets of Camden. Maybe Joe Morgan will at least be walking around naked in the locker room challenging anyone within swinging distance to a (flaccid) sword fight.

I'm in Dublin today and then back to the fucking U.S. of A. Thank God..... I'm getting sick of strangers and new things. I'm sick of broadening my fucking horizons, I didn't just graduate college. I want fucking baseball, my house, bud lite, Imperial Pizza and proper English for the next 6 months. I will not tolerate culture.

I have a little secret, Followers OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!! It will be waiting for you all in the pages of the Philadelphia weekly this Wednesday. Are you excited to read you're fearless and sexy Editor's words splashed across pages usually filled will articles about community gardens, vegan tampon alternatives and 3rd tier independent hip-hop? Get horny cause here it fucking comes!

Fuck new york and enjoy the next few days. This shit hits it on Wednesday night.


October 2 2010 PHI v ATL Game 2. A Tardy Smart-Ass & A Shitty Opponent

Seriously, this sucks to be fucking writing this thing as the next day's game is beginning but I'm on fuckng vacation. Blow me. I'm busy saying goodbye to 30 new relatives for 15 minutes at a time.

Instead of realy talking about thePhillies 7-fuckng-0 walk over of the for-some-reason-hopeful-wc-bound braves I will post pictures of a castle. We know the Phillies rule, OK? Vance Worley for 5th spot 2011! Get ready for a really fucking phoned-in post.

Me and Jesus

A cast member of the movie Puppet Master retired in this castle.

Irish rec center circa 1500 A.D.

The internet in Ireland works as well as spanish fly. Fuck it, I'm gonna stream the game and enjoy my vacation. John Mayberry just told atl to go fuck themselves. See you fucksticks tomorrow. Fuck new york and "say hello to my little buddy!"


Saturday, October 2, 2010

October 1 2010 PHI v ATL Game 1. Salami Of Sexual Proportions

I read a few funny quips pertaining to last night's game. The first one is from contributor Chuck Meehate and it made me smile.

"Pounding these chumps even when they don't have to!"

The next one come's from my friend JT. It made me smile and also made my penis shrivel the way a truly awful should. It was delivered just seconds ago via his Bring You A's Game facebook account.

"Beating the braves is just, um, BEACHY!"

What an asshole, right? I kid, I kid, Followers. JT may need to work on his word play but his sentiments are Phucking echoed in my macho brain as are Chucks. Beating the braves is fucking awesome and don't let anyone else fucking tell you different. Especially when Kyle Kendrick is on the mound. It's even more insulting.

He did Phucking great by the way, F's. Maybe it was the no-pressure situations of facing a team clinging to a wc play-off berth while we have our minds on bigger twerps. If it weren't for The Polish Chef: Mike Zagurski and his half-assed Nate Robertson impersonation, Kyle's fruits would've gone unfettered. Still, 11-5 ain't fiddle sticks, laddy.

You know after J-roll bashed the dick off of Mike Dunn's little butter-ball I was expecting to turn to facebook for a flurry of wildly sexual exclamations and nuptial offerings thrown Jimmy's way. Not shit, nothing. If you internet warriors are gonna sleep on this awesome cockular feat we certainly are fucking not!

James, you are now the first motherfucking Phillie to be honored with the soon-to-be-dubious-and-revered SALAMI OF SEX award. If you were in bed with a woman you would be called a cocksman. Here you are simply the man. Tip o' the hat to ya.

OK, F's, I have to go. I don't think I have to explain with shit like this littering the countryside:

Tonight Vance Worley gets the start. Should a bloody bewdy. Fuck new york and I enjoyed Beaches, starring Bette Midler.