Thursday, March 31, 2005
Well, seeing as how that tart, Sassy, claims she's "too busy" to talk to you losers, I thought I would continue my campaign of cat conversion. You see, eventually you will all agree with me that (and excuse the repetition here) dogs suck. They are truly stupid. For example (as if you needed further evidence) look at the following article:
Playdough's Point Proven in Parade
Exhibit 1 (Oh yeah...that's real cute).
I mean, exactly how low does your self-esteem have to be to allow humans to dress you up and put you in an Easter Parade? And hundreds of the mentally-challenged man-friends showed up to this mess! It's a travesty, a sham, a mockery....well, you know the rest.
We, the dignified members of the Cat Nation, would never, ever, participate in such a degrading debacle.
You know what? I simply can't continue. That pathetic photo says it all and sadly, there are plenty more where that one came from.
Members of the jury, I present to you, Exhibit 2.
Exhibit 2 (Does this dog actually think those are his ears?)
And the self-imposed doggy degradation doesn't end there, oh no. Please look, if you can, at Exhibit 3.
Exhibit 3 (Dog dementia doesn't discriminate).
And finally, ladies and members of the jury, I ask you to consider the following:
Exhibit 4 (I rest my case).
Our trip to Barbados was awesome and I've got lots to tell. In the interim, a quick "shout out" to the newest members of our family: Tony, Priscilla, Corey, Cox, Justin, Kwame, Shelly, and Mia. We can't wait to see you guys again, real soon! Mom says to come by any Saturday for cou-cou and souse! (And yes, sorrel in March, Shelly....)
Cheers! (And tables, and benches!)
Thursday, March 24, 2005
St. James, Barbados....Sassy's Sanctuary
Seriously, I've added it up and in the last 4 days, I have had a grand total of 7.3 hours sleep. Hearings, and meetings, and briefings, oh my!
So, in line with the title of this Blog, Sassy's traveling. The Cap'n will do some windsurfing, and I will do some sandsurfing. I am an Expert Master Level 1 sandsurfer. Oh - you laugh, do you? You think sandsurfing is easy? Well, you're wrong. It takes a lifetime to learn and even then it's very easy to make a wrong move. You could roll over onto your belly without realizing your bikini bottom is wedged up your hiney; or you could move your arm too quickly and accidentally knock over your rum punch. So, scoff not, you scofflaws! You wish you had my skills.
The only other Expert Master Level 1 sandsurfer in the world is Miss Lala. She knows important things like how many minutes you can safely allow to elapse between banana daiquiris. Anyway, if any of you are interested in taking our Beginners Sandsurfing course, feel free to email Sassy.
So - off we go into the wild, blue yonder. Fear not, fearless reader! Sassy will be back and full of vigor, mom's cooking, and, of course, rum. I will also probably have some sand stuck up my crack...but - that's not your problem.
Ciao for now,
P.S. A special prize to the reader who first correctly identifies the name and singer of both songs referenced to in this post.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Dude - there's one pissed off crack dealer out there somewhere....
See what happens when we lie to kids? Instead of telling him the truth, that the little white rocks were a highly addictive and very illegal drug, his parents told him that it was candy. And being a well-mannered, generous little dude, he decided to share it with his friends at school.
Is that what they mean by "curiously strong"?
Lies are dangerous.
It's just like the time I walked in on my parents having sex (I was about nine) and they told me they were just playing....I can't begin to tell you the trouble that lie got me into. I mean, I always followed the rules. And, being a lawyer-in-the-making, I was well aware of the rules applicable to me with regard to playing. For example, I knew I was allowed to play as long as my homework was done. And I wasn't allowed to play loudly in the house. I couldn't play late on school nights. I also knew I was expected to at least wash my hands when I got done playing. Mommy said I was to play nice and play with everyone; and just because the toy was mine didn't mean I shouldn't share.
So...I followed those rules.
The better approach would have been to tell me: "We are having sex, which can lead to pregnancy, which leads to stretch marks, saggy tits, and screaming toddlers; but only after you endure the most horrifying pain of delivering an eight pound human being through your hoo-hoo." Yep. That would have been the better approach.
And adults have this nasty habit of following up one lie with another. I mean, when the teachers realized what happened, they told the other students that what little dude gave them was "poison". Just tell them the truth, white people! They're gonna find out anyway. Like when they get home, and their parents are all staring at their clogged-up crack-pipes going, "Damn - I thought this shit smelled kinda minty! La'Kweesha, why'd you give little dude that shit back, girl?! Get over here! You are so grounded! No - you can not go outside and play!"
Oh well. You know - all I used to get at recess was crackers and milk....well, and some...ahem...play time.
Signed - Swinging Sassy
I know I have been remiss these past couple of days in not communicating my rambling rants and reflections to you. However, fear not! It will be worth the wait, I promise. (Don't hold me to that....)
Anyway, I have been consumed with preparations for today's oral argument in the Circuit Court but as soon as that is over, Sassy will return!
Ciao for now,
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Man Mates With Best Friend
Did I ever mention that dogs are retarded?
I'm pretty sure I did.
Ironically, and in light of their ridiculous so-called loyalty to man, I have often suggested this very act to canines I have the misfortune of meeting. Of course, taking into account the limited vocabulary of your average dog, I usually reduce my suggestion to simple terms, like: "Get lost"; or "Shut up"; or "So how much do you really enjoy copulating with a human? Sucks to be you."
In any event, we, the members of the Cat Nation, would never permit such preposterous perversion. I would like to see some fool try. Suffice it to say, they would never be able to make enough Band-Aids for the perv's pathetic private parts.
Signed - Playdough
Ed. NOTE: We at Sassy Travels would like to remind Playdough that the dogs are victims here. This is not a topic to be taken lightly, especially in this day and age of.......ah....who am I kidding? The cat is right on this one. That dude is one sick em-effer.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
The scene is a German post office. There are several officials standing around a brown box. Said box is vibrating ominously. They call in the bomb squad. And then, the owner of the package....Crisis averted.
You just have to love this dude. He tells the worried workers that he was simply trying to return the sex doll to the manufacturer because "it kept turning itself on at the wrong moment." You know, it's always the same with you men. I mean, my ex-husband used to accuse me of the same thing. So I just stopped getting turned on at all. Then I traded his sorry ass in for a way better model. My new boy toy comes with actual feelings. (Er....read that however you choose. We're all grown ups here.)
Kinda makes you wonder though....why does my mailman always have that odd grin on his face.
I mean, I always remember to remove the batteries first.....
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Da Cardinal Condemns Da Code
Ok. [Sassy pushes up her sleeves, rolls her shoulders, and cracks her knuckles]. For those of you out there who don't actually know me in person, I submit the following by way of background: I am the daughter of a priest. Yep. You heard me. The Bishop is my daddy. So, now that you know that about me, let me ask you (and if you're an old school SNL fan, you will understand this question): Me vs. Da Cardinal, who wins? I think you know the answer. Da Bitch.
Lordy, lordy, lordy. That dude did not just tell Catholics not to read a book, did he? Holy ignorance, Mass Man!
My favorite part is where he says that "The Da Vinci Code" is full of anti-Catholic prejudice. Yeah - unlike the New Testament, which is sooooo complimentary of Jews and women.
Oh, oh, oh! And then he says that the book is full of falsehoods. Um - I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, so is [aaaaannnd we have lift off for Blasphemy in 4, 3, 2, 1...] Da Bible! Do you know who taught me that? Da Bishop! That's right. My daddy reminds me (very often) that the Bible is simply a compilation of certain individuals' recollections of historical events. As such, not all of it is accurate. That's why some chapters are referred to as "The Gospel According To..." (emphasis added). I mean, I don't wanna be all lawyerly here but, "according to" is what we call a qualifier. In other words, it means: "This is Matthew's (or Mark's, or Luke's, or John's) Version of How The Shit Went Down." (At least Dan Brown pomotes his book as a work of fiction. I guess King James wasn't required to abide by truth in advertising laws?)
Oh no....I feel a rant coming on. [Sassy pauses, sips her cocktail, and takes a deep breath].
Look, I'm glad Da Dude told Cathies not to read the damned book because this way there will be more copies left over for me to buy. I intend to give them as Christmas gifts.....(get it?).
For the rest of you literate people out there, who don't actually have to be told what you are allowed to read, suffice it to say that "The Da Vinci Code" is a wonderful piece of work and, God forbid, it makes you think.
P.S. Why is it, by the way, that the Cardinal is so up in robes about a story depicting Jesus as a heterosexual dude who married some chick and fathered children? Things that make you go "Hmmmmmm...."
Sassy's List Of Other Books Catholics Shouldn't Read:
1. "Angels and Demons" - Um, it's by Dan Brown so you should probably stay away from everything he's ever written. Plus, it promotes the idea of angels and what not. Can't have that, right? I mean, next thing you know, you'll believe that regular folks can become saints..... (For you other rebels out there, it's a kickass book and possibly better than "The Da Vinci Code").
2. "Deception Point" - Um, also by Da Dan Man, so...you know.... The title says it all.
3. "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" - This book suggests that birds are philosophical and can think and talk and stuff. Catholics, beware! It is highly unlikely that seagulls even speak English.
4. "Watership Down" - This book suggests that rabbits, unlike Catholics, have free will.
5. "Animal Farm" - Look, don't ask me why writers keep on suggesting that animals are smarter than...um....[Sassy nods pointedly in the direction of Rome].... some people. Just don't read the book, OK?
Oh, and by all means, DO NOT READ anything by Janet Evanovich. You might get so engrossed you miss Mass. And, you might laugh out loud.
Ok - my drink is low. And I could go on about this for hours. But, you guys know the drill: I have nothing further. I'm too annoyed.
Signed - Da Rev (Oh yes, fearless readers. It's true.)
Tags: da vinci code; dan brown; catholic; angels and demons; janet evanovich
Monday, March 14, 2005
Readers: this story is so well-written by David Royse of the Associated Press that I shall add nothing, except this: Only in Florida.
Hey - do you think a toilet paper tax would have deterred a prison guard from pranking a teenaged inmate by giving him laxatives instead of the cold medicine he requested? What an asshole.
Ok - you guys know the drill. "I have nothing further. I'm too annoyed."
Seriously. Between mouthwash and cough syrup, who needs to go to the liquor store anymore? I just fixed myself a scotch and water, and now I am thinking I should have just done Nyquil body shots on Ben instead. You know, Nyquil: the night time, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, pass out so you feel nothing medicine. Cherry is my fave.
Friday, March 11, 2005
See, I learned from Youvegottalovesports.com that a Y'inzer is a Pittsburgh native. And one thing I know about those damn Y'inzers (aside from the fact that they are all nuts) - they LOVE their frigging Steelers!! This story proves it.
"I want my two tickets!"
You know, I suppose when you've got nothing to do during the off season but dry your tears, wipe off your snot, shovel snow, and load up on Primanti Bros, you could as well sit down and draft a lawsuit against your dad. Not for nothin', but, unless sonny can prove he forked over the cash, he's gonna get the shaft on those tickets. (Shaft - get it? It's a coal mining joke...Um...Never mind).
Anyway, I say, "Go, you Y'inzer!" Because the truth is that if my dear old Granny was holding out on me, I would drop kick her ass in a heartbeat for a couple of good Eagles tickets. (I am not saying I condone violence or litigation, I'm just saying I understand....)
Signed - Sympathetic To Steelers Fans, Sassy
P.S. For those of you who don't know, our dear friend, Jazzy, is a Y'inzer....
>>>BREAKING NEWS ALERT<<<
The Eagles just sent a contract over to Plaxico Burress.....oh...please, please please! Readers: I've gotta go! There's some serious praying to the Football Gods I've gotta do. (That and some sewing....Now let's see....what would a Bill Cowher doll look like?)
(Oh - the fights Jazzy and I will have! I can't WAIT for Football season!)
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Great. Just when I thought I'd seen the last of this guy. Alright, fine. I will try to be gracious but I don't wanna hear any more whining about how tough his personal life is. How much more fricking money does he need?
Dude - Spend the time with your wife, for cripe's sake! I don't care if she says she wants you to play...that's what women do when they love someone, they make sacrifices. Isn't it time you grow up?
Oh - and one other thing - make up your mind already: beard or clean shaven? That "in between" crap you sport on your mug is getting on my nerves.
Sorry, readers, but as many of you know, I hate the frigging Packers....
Ed. NOTE: I know some of my loyal readers thought this post was going to be about someone else when they read the title. Ha! Sometimes, you have to read between the lines.
Tampa Man's Road Rage Triggered By Bush-Cheney Bumper Sticker
Ah yes. Florida drivers strike again.
I know many of you have had to listen to me rant about the perils of driving down here. (See, e.g. Fort Lauderdale or Bust, wherein I state: "...[D]on't get me started on the drivers! Turn signals are apparently optional equipment on most cars and the lanes are only marked as a suggested route...you are free to drive in the middle of the road...slowly...while talking on your phone...and stopping randomly to fix your makeup.") So the article cited above shouldn't come as a surprise to most of you. I mean, for the most part I think Florida drivers simply seek out opportunities to pull stupid maneuvers on the roads. And if that means chasing down some lady and her kids for miles, while honking the horn and pointing at some pitiful placard, hey - so be it. Just another day in Paradise.
Of course, the real problems with this story aren't so obvious to the untrained eye. Most will only see the crazy dude chasing after a mother driving her two small children to the ball field. But, as usual, I see something else:
1. Mommy probably shouldn't flip the bird at crazy men. Seriously, if some retard is yelling at you and pointing at a sign about murder and war, don't antagonize him. For real. (And for those of you living in Florida, the fact that you don't speak English is no excuse. Assume the crazy man is...well...crazy...even if you don't know what the hell he is screaming about.) Especially when your kids are in the car. I mean, what kind of example are you setting with your rude hand gestures? Why are you putting your kids in jeopardy?
2. Mommy is a registered Democrat, who voted for Bush. Alright, Sybil. Make up your mind(s) already.
3. Dude drives a Nissan sedan. While I applaud crazy dude's attempt to buy a fuel-efficient car (although, if he is really concerned about the war in Iraq, maybe he shouldn't waste gas chasing Republicans...I mean, well, I thought the war had something to do with oil....or maybe that's just what some Democrat told me, I forget...but I digress), perhaps the next time dude decides he's gonna be fast and furious, he might want to consider the ramifications of getting rammed by a Ford Explorer like the one Mommy was driving (or, a Hummer, for that matter, as that increasingly seems to be the soccer mom's vehicle of choice around here). Suffice it to say, there aren't enough airbags, my friend.
Anyway, I'm gonna go peel off my SpongeBob sticker. I mean, just to be on the safe side. After all, we already know that certain people have issues with Spongie....
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
As loyal readers (and really bored people who actually delve into the voluminous archives of this Blog) know, a certain 3/8" ratchet has been missing ever since the installation of the Nizzle's Whipple Supercharger on his SS truck. Well, we are happy to report:
The ratchet has been located, and appears to be in good health.
While it is true that our Silver (as opposed to "Amber") Alert procedures are not yet state-of-the-art, our dedication and commitment to the safe recovery and relocation of this wayward wrench...well, I don't want to get all misty but....we left no stone unturned. I mean, we searched every doghouse, henhouse, outhouse....our house....Apparently, the only place we didn't really look too good was the...um... tool box. But, hey....we found the ratchet, so get off our backs, OK?
Anyway, thanks to all the volunteers, who spent countless hours scouring the neighborhood and I-95. Ratchey is safe, resting comfortably, and still stainless.
Oh - And a special shout-out to Nizzle, who actually discovered the tool at the bottom of the tool box tonight. Um....I have checked with our insurers and they inform me that you, Nizzle, are not eligible for the previously advertised reward of $500,000 because you are either a) an employee, or b) family, or some such other legal disclaimer shit....Sorry, dude.
Dog Subpoenaed As Witness In Murder Case
Excuse me....but, do I really need to say this again? Fine, ok then - here you go: Lawyers are idiots and dogs suck.
"And I'm a sexy bastard...."
I know that Sassy (the so-called "editor" of this ridiculous rag) thinks my anti-attorney and contra-canine commentary is loathesome and rife with discriminatory invective. But, then again, she's a lawyer. And she seems to like the dog that lives at my house. (I believe his name is Sam.) But, people, please, the above-referenced article proves once and for all that, not only are lawyers lazy (and apparently incapable of hiring a private investigator to find out who they are sending subpoenas to), dogs are (and I know I have said this before) a bunch of disloyal dolts. Really, is it any wonder the pounds are full of them awaiting inevitable euthanasia? It's a public service as far as I am concerned.
Let me tell you what I would have done had I been the subject of said subpoena:
First of all, I would have moved to quash the subpoena. Clearly, the court has no personal jurisdiction over a fabulous feline such as myself. What? You don't understand? Oh...I'm sorry...sometimes I forget that many of you are attorneys and, therefore, by definition, don't understand the constitutional requirements of personal jurisdiction. Let me see if I can explain this in a way even you so-called counselors can comprehend:
Um.....I'm a cat. My whole purpose in life is to have ZERO contact with you low-life imbeciles. I am sure even the stupidest lawyer out there knows: No minimun contacts means no personal jurisdiction. And don't try to pull your long-arm statute bullshit on me either. If you can actually cite to a statute that includes felines in its definition of "person" for the purpose of out-of-state jurisdiction, I might entertain your nonsense. However, having done some research of my own, I am happy to report that the one thing your legislators get right is the definition of "person". Oh, don't get me wrong - I've never understood who decided that a "person" could be a corporation (probably the same losers who think a tomato is a vegetable). But at least they are smart enough to realize that classifying cats as "persons" would be an insult likely to incite instant insurrection. (For you lawyers out there, what I am trying to say is: The Cat Nation would rise up and kick your sorry asses if you EVER, and I mean EVER, refer to us as "people".)
In view of the foregoing, I say, "Motion to quash granted."
Secondly, and in the unlikely event my motion to quash was denied, I would refuse to show up at court. Yes, I would probably be held in contempt, but let me repeat...I'm a cat. I am the definition of contempt. So sue me.
Finally, even if some odious human were to actually catch me and carry me to the courthouse, I would refuse to testify. Do you know why? Yes! (I see some of you brighter ones are catching on) I'M A CAT! I don't come when you call, and if I do, I don't play your silly game. And if I play your silly game, I don't let you win. And even if I let you win, I quit before you're ready. (Sigh). Assholes.
At the risk of repetition, but for the sake of the slow, felines are phenomenal. Lawyers are lame. And dogs suck.
Playdough (Pro Se)
Ed. NOTE: We at Sassy Travels would like to just, well...um....The opinions of Playdough.....well, he is diabetic and prone to insulin shock and....um....Just read the "Disclaimer" over there, OK?
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Well, you're wrong.
The "I" in "IT" stands for "Idiots"- as in "Idiots Test" my fricking patience!
Remember the Samsonite commercial?
By the way, Dell, you make a product that can withstand anything! Thanks!
And that's all I have to say on that.
Sassy "I Survived The IT Department And All I Got Was A Fucked Up Computer" Springer
P.S. Thanks to Bill Gates for Windows XP Restore Points. That little utility saved me from a certain ride on Old Sparky.
Ed. NOTE: The above commentary is not intended to impugn the reputation of those fine individuals in IT Departments across the country who actually know what the hell they are doing. I mean, I am sure there are one or two out there.....
What in Veggie Tales is going on in the New Jersey legislature? You mean to tell me they don't have enough on their plates what with the Sopranos, a homosexual ex-governor, and Jazzy's sketchy high roller status at the Borgata?
Oh no. Instead, they spend taxpayers' dollars making sure they're in accordance with some ancient Supreme Court ruling allowing them to define a tomato as a vegetable.
Gov. McGreevey & friend: "But, technically, we're fruits!"
You know what? Having thought about this, I guess I can understand. Maybe New Jersey lawmakers are tired of dealing with fruits. Clearly, they'll spare no expense to convert one to the "appropriate" classification. Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with these people. (No offense, Bernie!)
Signed Sassy Squash
So that happened....
It's almost 2 in the morning and I am getting ready to dive into 4 bankers boxes of documents I brought home today. (I left the remaining 36 at the firm because I think I tore my rotator cuff when I was handling lines on the yacht last week - but, I digress). So, when one is facing a massive document review, one's thoughts naturally turn to our dear friend, Jazzy, of course. What? Yours don't? Well mine do, and I am about to tell you why.
It was the Fall of 2001. The previous law firm I worked at was throwing associates at a document review in New York like a bridesmaid throwing rice. (Actually, that's a great metaphor because one of the partners involved always wore hideous outfits and, as I am sure you all know, associates are very much like rice....)
Friends, if you've never done a document review, count your blessings. It's the bane of every young associate's existence. You are basically tasked with the tedium of thumbing through thousands of "really important" papers, with a view to making sure the "really, really important" ones don't get accidentally turned over to opposing counsel. So you sit in a conference room, surrounded by bankers boxes bursting at the seams, for hours, days, and even weeks. After a while, your entire life is defined by Post-Its, paperclips, and papercuts. And the whole time, you are convinced that you will be the idiot who overlooks the "smoking gun" memo, thereby losing the case (and, of course, your job).
That's a document review in a nutshell. And law firms tend to send neophytes to do them. It really is like an accident waiting to happen.
Anyway, that's how I ended up in Manhattan, with Jazzy and the Reebster, sifting through hundreds of boxes of documents for like an eternity. But, more importantly, that was when J-Jive was born.
As many of you know, J-Jive is the nearly impossible to learn language developed by yours truly and Jazzy. I mean, there are native tongues in the deepest nethers of darkest Africa involving complex tongue-clucking and extended drum solos that are easier to learn than J-Jive. (Seriously. Just ask anyone who has had to suffer through a conversation with me and Jazzy.) It is based on an eccletic mix of philosophical, political, musical, cinematic, and event-driven references. That being said, there are only two native speakers because, well, for some of the idioms, you simply had to be there.
For example, only a native J-Jive speaker would truly understand: Is that a cattle prod? You would've had to have been present late one night at Jazzy's house during a channel surfing extravaganza that produced movies involving John Cusack, horses, soft core porn, and the remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Only then could you really capture the pathos, pity, and sheer panic involved within that utterance.
Then there's: Your waves are lapping at the shore near my sand. Only a native speaker would instantly recognize that phrase as Pigeon J-Jive for: Your waves are hitting my beach. (The Pigeon form of J-Jive is being developed by Ben and Nizzle in their attempts to learn the original language. It's like listening to toddlers utter their first words. They make me so proud sometimes.)
Anyhow, to really speak J-Jive, you would have to embrace such concepts as: Running with scissors. You would have to know who said: Mister, I ain't gonna lie to you. This gun is not the bomb. You would ask yourself: Do ants sleep? You would know that: Puke is my kryptonite. You wouldn't be offended if I called you: Crackwhore or Hooker. And if you wanted to watch Jazzy cringe, you would deftly use the words tripod, printer and lover all in the same sentence.
But most importantly, you would know when to use these phrases. And therein lies the rub. Any fool can repeat J-Jivian, but to truly insert the appropriate J-Jive terminology at the right time, and in the right context....ahhh....only the true masters can do this.
So, while the Official (Unabridged) J-Jive Dictionary is being developed, I just wanted to leave you with the following thought:
Document reviews are totally tragic. If at all possible, try to run away from the circus, or go to Vegas, baby, Vegas. Because remember, somewhere out there, mall security is probably following you. It's true, this place is rigged to kill us. So beware the Axis of Evil.
But, if you're like me, and you play smart and hard, at your next document review you might just get lucky, and get a good thumb condom. Oh, and make a new best friend.
Ed. NOTE: Yes - the title of this post (and a couple others) is J-Jive. And it makes perfect sense......
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Yes. You read that correctly. Someone is about to fork over $650 THOUSAND dollars for the privilege of naming a newly-discovered species of monkey. Now, in fairness, the money goes to a good monkey business - the Bolivian National Park Service - so don't get your knickers in a twist.
Anyway, the new species is a type of Bolivian titi monkey. (Um - is that pronounced the way I think?) Well, I can't help but offer some suggestions. I mean, it's for a good cause and all. And well, what if the winning bidder has writer's block? So here goes:
First of all, I think you should name the newborns "Suckling Titis". Then you can name the young females "Perky Titis". Young males would be "Gofer Titis." Of course, you could call all the mature males "Baboobs." See, then you could refer to older females as "Baboobshkas".
These are merely suggestions. But if you use them, I expect to get paid.
(A mind is a terrible thing to get wasted.)
Friday, March 04, 2005
Noooooooooooooooo! Can someone please help me orchestrate the cancellation of baseball season? I mean, we appear to be safe from the pucking posers, so how 'bout we skip the steroid-swilling sluggers too? Seriously. Is there even any point to it? It's not as if they have any credibility left anyway. (And frankly, I'm still hoping to get rid of that annoying tic I developed when I read about Canseco sticking a needle in McGwire's butt....)
All I have to say is - thank god for the NFL Network.
Just seeing the logo makes me happy.
I love Rich Eisen. And I LOVE the "Tomorrow" video...I watch it over and over. Yeah - it makes me feel better.....
Ciao for now,
Stripper Selling Sillicon Implant on eBay
I mean, seriously, folks. Is there no end to the stupidity? I swear to god, people will buy just about anything! Anyway, I have to go. It's time to collect some more of Ben's belly button lint. Why, you ask? Um - no reason.
"Cats are simply superior."
I mean, did you read this article? Cat Goes For 10-mile Road Trip On Top Of Car. Do you see what I am saying? A dog would never have survived for 10 miles on the roof of an automobile. I would also like to point out that the lady driving the car is an idiot. Is she a lawyer perhaps?
Signed - Playdough
(What? You didn't really think that tart Sassy could stop me from posting on this website, did you? Seriously. It was a simple matter of hacking into her computer while she was passed out on the sofa after her third vodka cocktail this morning.)