WTF: Fantasy Sports Edition

ITEM: Me and Sweaty are playing for the championship of our Yahoo! Fantasy League. My Billy Ray Valentine squad is 10-3. Sweaty's Sweaty Irishman squad is a torrid 7-6.

WTF? I started Willie F'in Parker against the St. Louis D over Clinton Portis against the Minnesota D. Sweaty has LT and Brady. I am the champion of the world second place team in an 8 team league.

I don't care if Mrs. Jewbacca is a die hard Stiller fan, I HATE WILLIE F'IN PARKER!

[UPDATE: Sweaty did indeed beat me for the champeenship of our Yahoo! League. I left enough points on the bench to win. That's what stings the most.]

WTF: Religion Edition

Good morning Friendly Friends. I've made a few observations, just this morning, that truly made me say, WTF?

ITEM: The Vatican is wasting its time publishing editorials against The Golden Compass, calling it "devoid of any particular emotion apart from a great chill." And I know someone whose kids received missives from their Catholic school telling parents to boycott and avoid this film like a Biblical plague.

WTF? I thought the Bible had a lot of that "turn the other cheek" and "live and let live" stuff in it. If people are true believers can't they decide for themselves without help from Rome? I think my mother-in-law would sum it up most succinctly: "Let go, Let God."

ITEM: Apparently, since the Bible verse Isaiah 35:8 states: "And a highway will be there; it will be called the Way of Holiness, there's a nationwide movement afoot to God up the country, using I-35 as a homebase:

Lujan conducted a five-week 24-hour prayer vigil and organized what he called a "purity siege" along Austin's famed Sixth Street. The sieges are part of the I-35 project, a nationwide movement to save those at bars, gay clubs and abortion clinics in cities along the interstate.

"If you just draw a line right down the middle of the nation, and go to these strategic cities along the way and just cry out holiness and purity, we believe there's going to be a referendum, a change, a radical change in our nation," Lujan said.

WTF? Seriously? Does Isaiah 76:East state "and yea, verily, thy shall not arrivest in thy workplace until well nigh after 9 am"? Can't these people find a Vrigin Mary corn chip to worship?

ITEM: This morning, and a few other times over the past weeks, I saw a new Caddy in front of me with a very interesting VANITY license plate. It reads:

SIN FREE

WTF? Isn't PRIDE one of the Seven Deadly Sins? And wouldn't a VANITY license plate BRAGGING about being "Sin Free" be a sin in and of itself?

I'm open to discussion.

Thanks to the always delicious Fark.com for the links.

The Definitive 1000

We are going to be counting down the Definitive 1000 things. Why are they Definitive? Because The Friendly Friends have deemed them as such.

#978- Boba Fett

I'm not Friendly and I'm not your Friend.

What?!? You don’t like Boba Fett? Kiss my black ass then because you just don’t know. Who got the drop on a Jedi like Luke? Fett did. Who was the only guy to get sassy with Vader and survive? Fett. Who survived the Sarlacc? Fett did.

Fett is as Jedi/Sith as you can be without that lame midi-chlorian bullshit. In fact, Fett is like every good general contractor or landscaper I know. No matter who the customer is, that customer is at the mercy of the guy doing the job and sometimes you just have to accept that. Vader knew he was getting charged for municipal mulch in his flowerbeds but paid premium anyway.

Don’t stand in the way of the man while he’s working.

His favorite weapon? Everything.

His favorite music? Credits and heads smacking together.

His antiperspirant? None. I said everything is a weapon.

Vader, Donna. Donna, Vader. Thanks for sending Fett over, my lawn looks great and COBRAAA!!! Sorry, my Turette's there. Anyway...

If you can’t tell by now, Boba Fett is a McDLT of cool side Spagetti Western ala Clint Eastwood and hot action like Run Run Shaw beat-ass chumpies.

For that, Fett chooses to take and hold the #978 spot on the Definitive 1000… until he has no more use for it.

Wha?!? Yeah, Fett is my idol... listen, can we do this later?!? I'm a little busy...

The Definitive 1000

We are going to be counting down the Definitive 1000 things. Why are they Definitive? Because The Friendly Friends have deemed them as such.

#979 - The Amazing Triangular Manhole Cover of Nashua, NH

"Hey Frankie."

"Yeah Vinnie."

"Know somethin'? Know what shape is vastly underrepresented in forged-iron utility grates, coverings and such?"

"No Vin, what shape would that be?"

"The triangle."

"So make some triangular manhole covers. We'll sell 'em up in New England somewheres."

And they did Friendly Friends. They sold them to Nashua, NH.



I almost got run over three times taking pictures of the coolest manhole cover in the known universe. It was worth it.

Celebrities that Probably Smell

In this segment we propose that celebrities stink... and how.

He might smell like what a bad touch would feel like.

What might you smell when you throw a pillowcase full of dead canaries, window glazing compound and moldy coffee into a vaporizer and turn it on? This guy. Just don’t tell him I said so. Me afraid… no, us afraid, us all afraid… of Carrot Top.

The juice I just created in your mind seems just perfect as a stench that Carrot Top would issue. That enough? Too bad. Let me take it a step further for you, and bring it all home.

Kitty litter. With kitty litter, dead canaries, rotting cloth, sickly-sweet moldy coffee and actinic window glaze I just described the smell of a typical corpse from your average funeral home.

And with that, I leave you to drop everything and get to minimum safe distance from a makeup-less party clown that has to smell as dead as the links to a Ralph Nader in ’04 website, a Celebrity… that Probably Smells.

The Definitive 1000

We are going to be counting down the Definitive 1000 things. Why are they Definitive? Because The Friendly Friends have deemed them as such.

#980 - Reese's Peanut Butter Cups


To complete the Halloween Hat Trick I hereby enter the best candy ever made, the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, into the Definitive 1000.

Mr. Scampers, Ph.D., in heaven.

And I know, I know. Back-to-back peanut butter entries in the D-1000. I gotta call 'em like I see 'em.

I'm sitting here, alternating between handing out candy to little panhandlers and watching old Treehouse of Horrors (some of the best Simpsons episodes ever), and it occurs to me:

I'm hoping the kids don't take the PB Cups because I will have to break their hands and take them back. Or lie in wait in the bushes around the corner and steal them back.

I got the Soul-Crushing Massive Amounts of Everything Store-sized assorted Hershey product bag. There are only a few Reese's Cups in there.

Look the whole gang stopped by!

I need to do something about this. I can't deal with the idea that some ungrateful little punks will be eating my Peanut Butter Cups. That sweet, sweet Hershey's chocolate smothering that sweet yet salty peanut butter. They won't understand that you're supposed to freeze them and then bite off the chocolate edges and then eat the middle. They won't savor them the way I....uh....sorry.

Problem solved. I just put them all in the freezer. Now I just need to keep Mrs. Jewbacca away from them.

Due to their awesomeness, I hereby make Reese's Peanut Butter Cups #980 in the Definitive 1000.

These two just knocked on my door. THEY didn't even get Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Mom Mom's Ghost vs. The Friendly Friends

Since it is Halloween and all that, here's another true scary story, much like the one with poor Mr. Scampers, Ph.D.

FFJewbacca: So. I don’t really believe in ghosts.

But since it’s Halloween, allow me and my fellow Friendly Friends to throw down The Official Ghost Story ™ of the Friendly Friends.

It’s a late summer night approaching 15 years ago and FFMatt is watching his parents’ house in suburban Philly while they’re at the Shore. The house is located on a green leafy, quiet suburban street. FFMatt is living in the city at the time, but was staying there to keep an eye on things.

Sweaty and I are bored.

FFSweaty: Incredibly bored.

FFJewbacca: We decide it would be a wonderful idea to head over to FFMatt’s parents’ house and wait for him to get back from work.

Me and Sweaty get there and we shoot hoops in the driveway for a little while. Since we’re both large, unathletic white men it’s not pretty and we tire of it quickly.

We realize at this point that there is no electricity in the neighborhood, due to a prior storm. It’s getting dark so we do what only true Friendly Friends would do:

Sweaty had a key to FFMatt’s parents’ house so we went in to lie in wait in the dark for his arrival.

As darkness had completely set in by this point we feel our way through the house and decide to sit on the sofa in the living room. Of course we didn’t bother to grab flashlights or anything like that. We sit in the dark. Me, Sweaty and Peeper the Cat. It was so dark so quiet and so hot. You could hear Sweaty audibly sweating. It was the most unsettling noise we had ever heard to that point, more on that later. We sit there, giggling at the devious duplicitous and divinely juvenile plan in store for FFMatt.

As a brief aside, FFMatt is almost a ninja. In real life. He knows a lot about killing people with his bare hands and has taken a lot of ju-jitsu and kung-fu and some other Asian sounding stuff. If not for his cowardice and oafish stupidity Sweaty would have died at his hand many different times growing up.

This fact is important, because as the sitting on the couch in the dark, waiting to scare the living crap out of FFMatt drags on, me and Sweaty start to debate the sanity of scaring a trained ninja assassin on his entry into a pitch black house. Images of one of us looking at their beating heart while the other stammers an excuse start to fill our heads. Another possibility we considered was that FFMatt would deftly launch the closest thing available to him (most likely the cat) at the sound of our childish attempt at a good-natured scare and in the same motion leap himself towards the sound of danger. He would then meet the cat in midair; high five it, and then turn their attention to the two idiots cackling in the darkness. This possibility was enhanced by the fact that the cat was freaking us out. To paraphrase Brian Fellows, That cat had devil eyes!

So me and Sweaty sit there a bit longer, describing in great detail how FFMatt would probably make us ex-Friendly Friends (and we were calling ourselves that 15 years ago so it works...ong story for another time) when we hear it.

It being: BANG (pause) BANG (pause) BANG.

FFSweaty: From the room directly above the living room in which we were sitting.

FFJewbacca: To reset, me and Sweaty and Peepers the cat all in the living room of an electricity-free, pitch black house, waiting for the next coming of Bruce Lee to get home and give us what-for. We both wondered what the noise was and almost simultaneously come to the conclusion that it was Peeper who must have gone up stairs. Sensing our lame attempt to sooth our nerves, Peeper promptly meows at our feet in an “It wasn’t me bitches!” kind of tone.

Then there it is again.

BANG (pause) BANG (pause) BANG.

Exactly the same as before.

I could actually see Sweaty turn pale in the darkness. He said “Get up. Follow me. We need to get out of here NOW.”

I figure this is another Sweaty joke (like the time he sent me for aspirin for his asthma or when he grabbed the lighter out of my car to “show that Trooper” why he shouldn’t write me a ticket) and I just kind of laugh and say “Ok. And by the way, what was that sound?”

We actually run out of the front door of the house, leaving a very bewildered Peeper sitting there.

I keep asking what’s the matter. We get in the car, Sweaty won’t answer. We get about two miles from the house, Sweaty shaking and visibly upset. He finally turns and says:

“That banging was coming from the room where my grandmother died. She used to bang her cane on the floor three times when she wanted someone to come up and get her something.”

I don’t think we spoke again that night.

So there you have it Friends. A true story. My only encounter with a ghost.

FFMatt: So I had a long night running a synagogue (true, no lie) and I headed to my parents house to feed my awesome cat Peeper. I noted that the power is out in the neighborhood again. Peeper is cool with that, he kicked ass and fears no darkness. I pull in the driveway, come in through the back door…

… memories are memorable when an emotional charge burns what you experience with your senses into that monkey brain you rent. Here’s what I felt:

I remember a bank of moonlight coming through the back kitchen window into my face and against the wall. I remember seeing dust motes swimming through that moonlight, glowing against the blue-black interior rooms behind it like a bedsheet rippling on black water. I remember my inner monologue parsing things like, “stirred air” and “something not Peeper here.” Also, the lack of the cat coming to greet me… well, that was it. In that one second of time I ran over eleventy seven scenarios that all involved "somebody not a cat in the house" or "somebody had just been there." I still had my hand on the half-open door. I was standing still in mid-step. Unblinking, I calmly but urgently backed out of the door, drove to the end of the driveway and watched the dark house for a few minutes.

Pure instinct. I drove home to Philly. WTF.

I think it was two days later Sweaty got ahold of me and once he said he was at the house that night we barked over each other to say what happened next.

I think I knew somebody was just in the place and I reacted well enough but when Sweaty and Jewbacca added the wrinkle about Mom Mom and her cane I lost it.

I was there when she died, when she came home to die in our care with loved ones. I got her ice when she banged her cane on the floor because she had stroked and couldn’t speak anymore.

Hearing that of all things broke something inside me for good.

Peeper was fine.

The Terrible Ghost of Mr. Scampers, PhD.

Some close to me know the terrible secret of what happened in my basement last year and what gave rise to the terror that roams my house at night. In the spirirt of Halloween, the guilt I carry ala The Telltale Heart or from paying full admission to Highlander 2, I give you the strange happenings in my house that brought forth a hellish spectre that haunts me to this day… may God have mercy on my soul.

... One chilly Fall Saturday morning saw me in the basement, doing laundry before my afternoon class. I heard a strange noise behind me and inwardly moaned because I had already guessed what it was. Something was in the ductwork. This happened before with bugs in the summer, they fall down the chimney and breed in the flue dump at the bottom of the chimney. Sneaking close and listening at the exhaust duct that runs to the chimney I heard quiet grunting noises. Tapping the duct started a cacophony of screeching and banging. It wasn't a bird. Too big.

I then realized urine was dripping from the ductwork onto the floor. About that time the heater ticked on and more frenzied banging began as the thing tried to get away from the red-hot blower dumping scorching air and carbon monoxide out the flue. It occurred to me I heard noises the night before but I thought it was air coming down the chimney.

While considering making calls to our heater repair and exterminator I witnessed a squirrel's face peeking out from the cone shaped flue over the top of the hot water heater, the duct being an artery off the main exhaust duct going to the chimney. It was too small an opening to get out but it could breathe and not get baked alive down the ductwork the way it's excrement was.

So much for doing it myself. Visions of scorched animal clamped to face did the dialing for me.
But making the calls was pointless since it was now noon Saturday and hearing the agitated animal was heart-rending. It had probably been in there for at least a day and alternating between roasting and freezing the whole time.

Finally a call came back from the "humane" exterminator and he was on his way, five minutes out.

2 hours later, after the basement was completely destroyed by the squirrel escaping into the basement and not into the net and the subsequent clearing of objects it can hide in and spray with urine/feces, I cornered it with a net... and then the exterminator brutally beat it to death on my floor with my painter's pole. Not his. Mine. The exterminator was obviously in the midst of an amygdala hijacking and working out some demons as he "humanely" and expertly beat it about 30 times to put it out of it's misery. Who would put me out of mine? I called him because he was supposed to be humane. Now I have literally have sh!t to show for it. On everything.

I could've done all of that for free.

The squirrel was now in better shape than my ductwork. BTW, the furnace has now been off for hours at this point so the house was freezing with windows open in case it felt like just running out the open windows.

After 6 hours in the basement, after disassembling the ductwork to clean the excrement out of it and reassemble, adjust pitch and foil tape it all back together and make sure the house doesn't immolate from it all I went out and bought carbon monoxide alarms for the house.

75 dollars for the hit out on the squirrel.
75 dollars for the new screen for my chimney cap.
100 dollars for the alarms.
Remembering a tiny animal cowering in your corner crying from fear/wounds... priceless.

(To satiate and sooth the spectral squirrel (or spectuirrel) I named him Mr. Scampers and used the power as an administrator at a large university to bestow an honary doctorate upon him, to make up for the road not traveled and hopefully put him to rest.)

Happy Halloween and sleep tight... or try.

The Definitive 1000

We are going to be counting down the Definitive 1000 things. Why are they Definitive? Because The Friendly Friends have deemed them as such.

#981 - The Argument Over Which Peanut Butter is Better

Friends, we've run into a little bit of a roadblock in our odyssey to name the Definitive 1000 things out there.

We wanted to make Peanut Butter #981 but have run into the age old debate.

Which debate is that?

Is it crunchy vs. smooth?

Nope.

Is it Peanut Butter on the top slice vs. Peanut Butter on the bottom slice?

Nope.

Is it on an apple vs. on celery?

Nope.

The big debate...

The age-old quandary....

Skippy vs. Jif

The Friendly Friends are nothing if not loyal. And this loyalty extends to peanut butter. Who knew?

We break down thusly: Jewbacca and FFMatt are true Jif lovers, while Sweaty swears by Skippy.

This debate has been going on now for days, via email and angry telephone calls.

Here is the tale of the tape for you, broken down into easy to digest (unlike Skippy) categories:

How do you know God hates Jif?

#1 city for the consumption of Jif - New Orleans.

#1 city for the production of Jif - San Francisco

#1 over seas consumers of Jif - Indonesia

#1 overseas producers of Jif - Pompeii

#1 Airline to serve Jif - Value Jet

#1 on the stock market in October 1929 - Jif

#1 College to serve Jif - Marshall

#1 Celebrity endorser of Jif - Britney Spears

#1 TV show with Jif product placement? Full House

#1 word associated with Jif according to a recent poll? Botulism

#1 film with Jif product placement? Birth of a Nation

#1 French lover of Jif - Maximilien Robespierre, who's reign of terror was more about his choice of peanut butter.

#1 Monster supporter of Jif - Nosferatu.

I heart Jif!!!

How Do We Know God Hates Skippy?

#1 Reich for the consumption of Skippy - The Third One

#1 Italian Spokesman for Skippy - Mussolini

#1 US Mountain to Serve Skippy in its Mountaintop Restaurant - Mt. St. Helens

#1 Salesman for Skippy, Midwest Region - Jeffrey Dahmer

#1 Salesman for Skippy, Eastern Region (tie) - Uncle Eddie Savitz and Gary Heidnik

#1 Movie with Skippy Product Placement - Ishtar

#1 TV Show with Skippy Product Placement - Cop Rock

#1 PB served at Columbine High School on 4/20/99 - Skippy

No one said life was fair! The case against Jif:

Is Jif being forced fed to prisoners of war in North Vietnam fair?

Is Jif being used as an at home abortion kit fair?

Is it fair that Jif single handedly brought about racism in America?

Is it fair that Jif was used to train Michael Vick's dogs?

Is it fair that early German U-boats who preyed on innocent passenger vessels in the early 20th century were fueled by Jif and liquid evil, which is almost redundant?

Is it fair that one drop of Jif illegally smuggled into Ireland by the tyrannical British caused the potato famine?

Is it fair that Jif ate through the hull of the USS Indianapolis causing it to sink and aiding in the eating of hundreds of brave sailors by hungry sharks, whom showed no interest in the Jif.

Is it fair that the gaseous build up inside a jar of Jif cause a railroad spike to shoot into and through Finneus Cage's frontal lobe?

Is it fair that the AIDS epidemic can be traced back to one jar of Jif peanut butter?

Is it fair that Jif is responsible for Patrick Swayze?

Is it fair that Barry Bonds has rubbed Jif all over his torso for the past 11 years?

Life certainly was not fair to Mr. Gage. If only he had eaten Skippy instead...

No one said life was fair! The case against Skippy:

Is it fair that in homes with Skippy, children are more likely to have
monsters under their beds?

Is it fair that Skippy caused the death of beloved cartoonist Charles Schultz?

Is it fair that Skippy causes all of the mining disasters around the world?

Is it fair that opening a jar of Skippy causes Gozer to arise and eat
the hearts of the pure?

Is it fair that Skippy consumption caused the Omegas to not admit
Mohammed, Jugdish, Sidney ans Clayton into their fraternity?

Is it fair that Johnny Tremaine's fingers were fused together when a
jar of Skippy spilled on his hand?

Is it fair that the Red Sox are in the World Series because they
slipped Skippy into the Indians' lockerroom?

Is it fair that the Indians are all on reservations due to several
political and religious leaders coming down with brain fever in the
1800's all traced back to a can of Skippy Peanut Butter?

Is it fair that the Flyers lost the Stanley Cup in 1980 because Leon
Stickle had the same brain fever caused by Skippy and missed the
obvious offsides call?

Is it fair that a spilled jar of Skippy disintegrated the maps and
charts aboard the SS Minnow turning a three-hour tour into a three
year odyssey of heartbreak and terror...and inexplicable visits from
the Harlem Globetrotters?

If only Johnny had a choosier mom, none of this would have happened...

Facts*, Historical and Otherwise That Everyone Knows About Jif:

What was found in Al Capone's vault? Jif

How was Archduke Franz Ferdinand assassinated? Jar of Jif to the temple.

Official Hockey Team of Jif? New Jersey Devils

Although an excellent flame retardant, Jif is deemed too dangerous so asbestos is used instead.

The substance oozing it's way to the surface in the Love Canal scandal? Jif.

A NASA jokester slips a jar of Jif onto the Apollo 13 spacecraft. This crucial fact is left out of Ron Howard's hit film due to several injunctions levied upon the movie studio by an underground evil empire which may or may not include Mark Wahlberg, Tupac and Margaret Thatcher.

Japanese code word for the attack on Pearl Harbor? Jif.

In his final days George Washington Carver, in an act of repentance tries but fails to infiltrate the JIF factory and destroy all means of production. He is shot in the back by the founder of Jif. His final words are thought to be..."Vivat Skippy."

JIF originally named Big Top Peanut Butter, and owned by a Southern Aristocratic race horse owner was primarily made up of the grindings of aging circus animals.

Rwanda genocide? Jif

Wounded Knee? Jif

In the 1980's, USA for Africa and Band Aid collected 20,000 jars of Jif to send to Ethiopia. Ethiopia sent it all back with a note that read "Thanks, but we'd rather starve, and yes, we do know it's Christmas."

Jif kidnapped the Lindbergh baby.

Jif was what was served for dinner to the Eagles prior to the 1980 & 2004 Super Bowls.

Pelle Lindbergh was on his way to buy some Jif on November 10, 1985.

Jif was the peanut butter of choice for Adolph Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Josef Stalin, Francisco Franco, Emperor Hirohito, John Street and Ben Kingsley.

Jif is owned and manufactured by an anti-Semitic corporation who got its start making the Star of David patches distributed amongst the Jewish population in Eastern Europe.

Jif is used to cauterize wounds.

They have to call the crunchy style version of Jif "Extra Crunchy" because the smooth style is still crunchier than most industrial waste.

1985 - Ramona Africa demands Jif to be delivered to her house. The city firebombs an entire city block...using Jif.

Who made these guys Archdukes? And when were they assassinated?

Facts*, Historical and Otherwise That Everyone Knows About Skippy:

Three Mile Island? A technician in the control room dropped his Skippy-bearing PB&J on the board causing the meltdown.

Amelia Earhart was eaten by savages when she landed her plane due to an emergency thanks to the fumes coming from her jar of Skippy.

Disgraced PA State Senator Fumo eats Skippy.

Rush Limbaugh eats Skippy.

Andy Reid eats Skippy.

In the 1970's the Great Lakes caught fire. This was due to an unreported Skippy tanker running aground and covering the surface of the water with a thick layer of suck.

S-K-I-P-P-Y is an anagram for T-E-R-R-I-B-L-E

The Teapot Dome Scandal occurred when Congress realized Teapot Dome was filled with cans of Skippy instead of Jif.

The Gadsden Purchase only happened to give the US a vast desert wasteland in which to store Skippy away from humans.

The Johnstown Floods (yes all of them) occurred shortly after stores ran out of Jif and resorted to selling Skippy. This led to persons unknown blowing up the dams in an effort to literally cleanse their town of all traces of Skippy. Heroes all of them.

The Titanic crashed because the lookout and pilot were both logy and on the toilet from Skippy consumption.

The Hindenburg burned thanks to a fire in the pantry area of the great airship that broke out when someone opened a jar of Skippy and it reacted with the oxygen in that part of the ship.

The Scopes Monkey trial's lesser known legal precedent is that only monkeys are dumb enough to eat Skippy. And then just the ones that can't get jobs as actors.

Jimmy Hoffa's body has never been recovered because it was packed in a fifty gallon drum of Skippy, leading to his remains, the drum itself, and a 7 square mile area of the New Jersey Pinelands being dissolved by the offending peanut butter. This is also what finally did in the Jersey Devil, after nearly 400 years of haunting.

Skippy makes babies cry.

Skippy is the cause of the wildfires in California.

Skippy was on the grassy knoll.

Skippy singlehandedly brought down the World Trade Center.

Skippy can be used to remove rust, lime stains and calcium deposits from sinks and drains.

Skippy is used to induce vomiting more often than syrup of Ipecac.

Every jar of Skippy is now mandated by law to have the Mr. Yuk sticker in at least 7 places on the label.

Frederick Fleet. Titanic lookout, iceberg spotter, Skippy addict.

FFMatt Weighs in:

Jif mocks Skippy. Skippy has a cowlick and smells of Tarnex. Jif has a pack of Kools rolled up in his sleeve and is one the Most Wanted list for what he does to peanuts

Jif murders peanuts 24/7 and bathes in the entrails, a Jifrey Dahmer if you will. And he is always picked first in dodgeball. You have to respect that.

I can't believe Santa got my letter

One Last Retort From Sweaty:

Skippy Banged this..I win.




And there you have it folks. The case for Skippy and the case for Jif. It's a tie from where we stand. Feel free to vote in the upper right corner over there.

UPDATE! Jif 14 Skippy 11. Jif is clearly the best.

The one thing the Friendly Friends agree on?

PETER PAN SUCKS!!

The Only Thing Peanut Butter Related the Friendly Friends Can Agree On...

*"Facts" presented aren't necessarily facts...per se.

New York is Full of Actors

Yes, jerk-ass, it's to scale.

Leaving the Javits Center in Manhattan last night I caught a cab to Penn for the train back to Philly. What I hailed was unbelievable.

When you stand far away from the herd of hailers you usually get a cab first as it is easier for cabbies to pick up the guy farther away and get away again before other cabs block you in with picking up fares from the crowd on the sidewalk.

So out of the churning taxi pack pops a vintage taxi right to me and not of the newer but still filthy breed. “Wow.” I thought. Just like Taxi.

I get in. Cab takes off. No meter. No license info. No id of any kind. Folded cash paper clipped to the visor. Dude has a cycling cap on.

The cabbie was super cool… he said he’d been a cabbie for 60 years. He told me about the “brownies” or unarmed NYPD traffic cops. He laughed as a cop pulled a “damned” SUV over. He bitched about the new buildings. He complained about West Side Highway. He asked me about my family.

He drove on the sidewalk.

Penn station, in all it’s multicultural confusion and odor, was at my feet in minutes. When I asked him what the damage was he said, “Whatever you want to give me. One million, two million.”

I gave him a 20 and asked for a 10, payment for the character. He handed me back two fives already paper clipped together.

I avail to the Big Apple Friendly Friends... is this a daily thing?

Bill:"You ruined this cab bit, I'll have to make up for it in a future movie." David:"Freemasons are listening to everything we are thinking. Here's a shiv to defend yourself."

Signs of the Apocalypse: I and II

As I shake off the effects of a very busy weekend involving yaks, a Great Space Coaster reunion party and several butternut squashes please enjoy the following signs that the world is indeed coming to an end:

1. Temple University Has More Wins in D-1 (or whatever they're calling it these days) Football than Notre Dame.

2. The Sweaty Irishman is reporting that he is cold.

Thanks to The 700 Level for bringing the Temple > Notre Dame factoid to my attention. And for those of you who don't know Sweaty, for him to be cold is like the Ocean saying it is suddenly dry. Seriously.

In an effort to warm Sweaty back up to his natural body temp of 107 degrees, I hereby present the lovely Juliane who is Temple U's entry in the CollegeHumor.com America's Hottest College Girl contest.

Possibly the Greatest Name for a Band....ever.

Ladies and Gentlemen, as of 8:43 pm Eastern Daylight Time, there is a new perfect name for a band. That name is:

WEREWOLF BAR MITZVAH

We can thank the amazing writing staff of 30 Rock for this epiphany.

Since this amazing "novelty party" song is not available yet, enjoy these words of wisdom instead:

A Very Happy Birthday to a Very Dear Childhood Friend

When Jewbacca was just a wee lad, Papa Jewbacca decided to get in on the craze that was sweeping the nation.

He bought one of these:



This childhood friend is turning 30 this month and I would be remiss if I did not take some time to mention it.

Since the Friendly Friends are all children of the late 70's and 80's, we have been through all of the various game systems. We've tried to figure out the point of ET for the Atari. We've puzzled over the Intelivision's controller. We've beaten Donkey Kong, entered the 30-man code for Contra and been there for Mario during all of his various adventures. Since my gaming career came to a screeching halt with the PS One, I'll let the experts fill in more games and characters.

But the Atari 2600 and I were close. Saturday mornings were for three things: Starstuff, Candy Apple News Company and Atari. Me and the Mighty Malagan were allowed to play with the volume off so as not to wake the parents.

Getting a new game was like Christmas morning (or how I imagine it to be) every time. We had to go to an actual electronics store, the kind that sold early computers and Atari stuff, about 20 minutes from our house. We got to test it out on the store's set-up. And then when we got it home, it was time to marvel over the amazing graphics and colors coming form the 19 inch Zenith (with actual dials and rabbit ears).

I was the master of many games: Breakout, River Raid, Yar's Revenge, Baseball (not the crappy Atari version that made any hit directly up the middle over 2nd base a home run) and Chopper Command to name a few.

In fact, I was a Chopper Commando. I still am a Chopper Commando. I hit some crazy amount of points, Pop took a picture of the screen and mailed it to Activision and 6-8 weeks later I got a patch and a newsletter. Papa Jewbacca was a Laser Blaster.

If I could get back 1/8 of the time I spent playing Atari back and put that toward more constructive pursuits I could probably speak several languages. But such is life. Instead of being multi-lingual, I can kick your sorry ass at several rudimentary video games.

Just don't make me play anything that has two small joysticks that control which way you look and which way you walk. Bad things happen. Bad things.

The Definitive 1000

We are going to be counting down the Definitive 1000 things. Why are they Definitive? Because The Friendly Friends have deemed them as such.

#982a - It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia
#982b - Charlie

If you do not cap off your Thursday nights with possibly the finest comedy on television right now, your life is probably a vast, empty wasteland of vast emptiness.

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia is a comedic tour de force. It is probably one of the best written shows on TV right now, and since it's on FX they can pretty much get away with anything.

Case in point:



But the true standout in this show is Charlie.

Witness:

Charlie Writes a Script for Dennis

Charlie Shares a Touching Moment

Charlie's Gay?

Charlie is Green Man

And still my personal favorite: ROCK, FLAG, EAGLE!

I love these posts where the presented material speaks for itself...

Watch It's Always Sunny, Thursdays on FX at 10 pm.

Postcards from Tulsa...

Yee-Haw! Just wanted to drop in and send ya an E-lek-tronic message from deep inside the compound, 40 feet below the earth.

You really should visit. It's lovely weather on the surface I've heard perhaps.

Pennsylvania Ninjas to World: Menthol Crane style beats Sunoco Lotus style

Fed up with Pennsylvania Ninjas and trained by Halo 3, local store owners draw the line.

Pennsylvania Ninjas shock the world as they confirm their existance with daring raid on fuel giant Sunoco: http://www.thepittsburghchannel.com/news/14181828/detail.html?taf=pit

FFMatt and guest commentator Angus McCloud postulate on ninja modus operandi...

Angus McCloud: The cash and cigarettes I can understand. A ninja’s gotta get his (her) smoke on. But I don’t think they went in there for lottery tickets. Here’s how I think it went down:

Ninja 1: Dis lobbely!
Clerk: Huh?
Ninja 2: Lobbely! Lobbely!
Clerk: Lottery?
Ninja 1: Yeah, lobbely!
Clerk: Pick 6 or scratch off?

FF Matt: Totally. Ninjas adapt and take risks...

Angus McCloud: I’m still trying to piece together the would-be ninjas mindset leading up to the lobbely:

Ninja 1: What you want to do?
Ninja 2: Scale wall with bare hands?
Ninja 1: No.
Ninja 2: Battle to death with skilled opponent?
Ninja 1: Uh-uh.
Ninja 2: Well, what you want to do?
Ninja 1: Need smoke while think about it. Get sword. Come with me.
Ninja Mom: You stay out trouble! You home by ereven!


FFMatt: Spot on. I'd love to see Ninjas cashing in lottery tickets too:

Ninja 1: Dish winnah?
Clerk: No
Ninja 2: Dish?
Clerk: Nope.
Ninja 1: Dish one winnah.
Clerk: No it's not.
Ninja 2: Hm?
Clerk: That's not a winner either.
Ninja 1 (posing): aaaaAAAAAWWWWW! DISH ONE!?!
Clerk: You won a dollar.
Ninja 2: How much new ticket?!?
Clerk: A dollar.
Ninja 1: We take.
Ninja 2: That one winnah?
Clerk: Sigh
Ninja 1: No... not winnah
Clerk (walking away): I'm going on break.
Ninja 2: You have smoke bomb?
Ninja 1: Yes but he alwidy gone.
Ninja 2: For camera shtupid. Got transpass?
Ninja 1: I fought you did?!?
Ninja 2: Sigh. Take token. Pay back. (smoke bomb goes off, camera view goes grey, door dings)

If you see a Pennsylvania Ninja DO NOT APPROACH IT as it is considered fur-bearing and trapping one requires a permit.

Search Ninja plus women = a crapload of Hentai and this chick. So brains here gets the nod. Big ups to Motorcycleusa.com

100th POST SUPER-SPECTACULAR!!!

SCENE: Red curtain across large stage. Three caricatures attached to the fabric, all illuminated by spotlights. The caricatures are those of Matt, Sweaty and Jewbacca. A murmur goes through the SRO crowd.

Announcer: [accompanied by tympani roll] Ladies and Gentlemen…welcome to the Friendly Friends 100th Post Super-Spectacular.

[loud applause, curtain rises, three awesomely handsome figures stride across the stage to overstuffed, leather Lazy Boys recliners. They meet the gaze of their adoring public, causing Sweaty to immediately drown the first two rows of tarp-covered fans]

Jewbacca: Thank you. Thank you. We would not be here if it weren’t for you. And by “you” I mean Google’s Blogspot. And all of those who shaped our worldviews. And by “worldviews” I mean unbelievably strange senses of humor. We’d like to share some of our favorite moments from the last 100 posts.

FFMatt: I'm not wearing pants tonight... you're welcome.

Sweaty Irishman: (Teary eyed and standing silently while holding a blistering hot dish of Buffalo Chicken dip, and of course...sweating)

Jewbacca: But first, a moment of silence please. Today we also mourn the loss of the_undercover-pissah who may or may not have just actually been a Buffalo-Chicken Dip fueled figment of our collective imagination.

Sweaty Irishman: I am pretty sure he was real. I did after all send him a check for $10,000. He said it was for some sort of hair regrowth system that involved a burlap sack, some maple syrup and a wolverine.

[The Friendly Friends pour out some of their 40’s of Miller High Life]

Pissah, we'll mourn ya til we join ya

Pissah, wherever you are, you’re certainly there. And also, a quick get well to Shamalama who apparently only files reports when he’s come down from his free-based Twinkie-filling high. We’re pulling for you bro.

Sweaty Irishman: I actually heard that he has started a new religous cult. They apparently stole that Tiger Bus monster truck and have taken up shelter on a small Island off the coast of Tulsa, OK. They eat only leafy greens and peanut chews and spend 9 hours a day in an intense ritual worshiping former mediocre baseball player, Vance Law.

FFMatt, punching the air: Don't you all just hate pants?!? Man!

Jewbacca: So without further ado….THE FRIENDLY FRIENDS’ 100th POST SUPER-SPECTACULAR!!!
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“That's A Mascot???? I Thought I Saw Him On To Catch a Predator.”

Jewbacca says: This post really captures all that is beneficent of my chosen craft as one who crafts a web-log. It is sensed in all capillaries of my being, my very earthy core, my beating-living-breathing heart that this particular outpouring of my soul is verily the finest example of my craft. I strive mightily ‘ere long to bring forth my true self and pour it liberally upon the cathode ray tubes of the universe. And I believe in every fiber of my very being that this is one of those times.

FFMatt says: Jewie-Jew Jew knocked it out of the park with this one. Nobody uncovers the dirty underbelly of mascots better than him. That sounded really gay but it stands.

Sweaty Irishman: This particular entry cut me deep. Beautifully written and a chilling story. I think it also may have brought to the foreground some surpressed childhood memories of the Philly Phanatic. All I see is a Veterans Stadium bathroom stall and a furious barage of green fuzzy felt and that pop out tongue. My god the tongue!

Steely McBeam's former place of employment...

The Entire Definitive 1000

Jewbacca says:

Awesome idea/
Three guys decide what is cool/
These things are Da Bomb

FFMatt: It’s about the road, not the destination and suka blogs trying to front are the roadkill.

Sweaty Irishman: I would like to thank the people for making The Definitive 1000 possible. You are what make it all worth while and you will be number 24 on our list. You or Shirley Hemphill...it's a toss up.

“Sweaty Irishman Thoughts: The exact moment I knew I was out of my element.”

Jewbacca says: What ho! And such fine salutations to you as well, kind sir. I see that Jove has smiled upon thee, to-day!

Well, that is correct good sir. Our beloved Queen Victoria has blest the company vis-à-vis the India rubber contracting, which shall be carried through J.R.F. Robbins & Sons, Co. Ltd., merely the finest dry-good purveyors in all of East Anglia.

Now, this telegram which I received just this noontime was verily a surprise. I must admit my astonishment that you would have boarded the steam-ship to the wilds of America and had such a frightful run-in with the native fauna. Reminds one of the savages we faced with our musketry and cannon in the darkest reaches of Siam, does it not? Remember those moist nights when the coyotes would a-howl all eve, and I would nestle you to my bosom in a gesture of brotherhood and protection? Excelsior!

FFMatt: this is probably one of the best descriptions of self-awareness I’ve read. I’d add that at any time I was only really worried for Sweaty because if there was ever a baby that could take on a mountain lion then it’d have to be Sweaty Jr., who I can just see riding one out of the treeline, bareback and laughing, atop a frothing cougar, fistful of fur and skree skittering.

Sweaty Irishman: I left one part out of this story. I actually did encounter a mountain lion. I remembered the wise words of Sam Neil who said "Its vision is based on movement." I stood still with my infant son for 7 hours staring directly into the eyes of the mighty beast. Turned out to be an illegal immigrant. He stole my hubcaps and my dignity.

Donnie, too, was out of his element...

“Dead Humans Can't Find This Funny”

Jewbacca says: Matt’s funny.

Sweaty Irishman: My cousin Matt is STILL funny. Come and meet him.

"...Costner was a total douche but I was in Sneakers which was great... HEY! You aren't listening to me!!!"

“Who really runs things in Florida...”

Jewbacca says: This post keeps my bases filled like the New York Mets. It brought the funky singin’ like Miss Vinia Mojica. It raised the levels of the boom inside the ear. Just like Ringling Brothers it dazed and astounded, it captivated the masses cause the prose is profound. It’s prominent like Shakespeare. It floats like gravity, never had a cavity and its got more rhymes than the one’s got family. Excuse me if I’m chillin’ hey what, say what?

FFMatt: Back in the days when I was a teenager, before I had status and before I had a pager, you could find the Abstract listen’ to hip hop, my pops used to say it reminded him of be-bop… well simple daddy don’t you know things go in cycles the way that Bobby Brown’s just ampin’ like Michael… white porcelain.

Sweaty Irishman: I am writing a movie about this guy. The working title is White Porcelain/Black Heart

Washercat is impressed by white porcelain.

Definitive 1000- “Box the Robot”

FF Matt says: The Definitive 1000 been mentioned already by Jewbacca but I’d like to point out that Box the Robot, our inaugural # 1000, has completely haunted us. Roscoe Lee Brown, aka clunky silver weirdo, died shortly after the post went up about his performance in Logan’s Run. At no time will it be made any clearer as to the power we wield through the Internets… this was a shot across your bow.

Is that shiny freak still behind me??

“Celebrities That Probably Smell: Kris Kristofferson and Barbra Streisand”

Jewbacca says: It’s like I’m there. Don’t be alarmed dear reader, but I think Matt has perfected time travel somehow and regularly returns to the 70’s to ascertain what celebrities smelled like. He scares me and at the same time….I am drawn inexplicably to him. I cannot resist.

FFMatt: This will be the year that you won’t want to inhale, this I promise.

Sweaty Irishman: We will spend the rest of our Blogging Lives trying to top the untoppable first entry in Celebrities That Probably Smell. Well Done FFMatt. The contact high I got even from looking at a picture of Babs' perm made me dizzy for 3 days.

A gay steel mill AND Barbra? Yeesh.

“A Brief Glimpse Into the Distant Past”

FFMatt says: I think this is the talkies version of what we do here and nothing will ever be truer outside of the image of three tapirs snorting over some dusty berries on the ground.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Jewbacca: Thank you for being here, ladies and gentlemen. Drive safely and we look forward to bringing you the next 100 posts.

The moment you've all been waiting for...a pointless picture of hot chicks. Although, not really all that pointless when you consider it came from a GIS for "Super-Spectacular"

Congratulations Mr. Goodell...YOU BLEW IT.

Today, I have one question that is bugging the hell out of me:

If NFL players get suspended for actions detrimental to the game when they commit acts off the field, how are Bill Belichick's actions in spying on the Jets less detrimental to the game?

The NFL and more directly, Roger Goodell dropped the ball in a very big way on this one. How does an NFL head coach who gets caught cheating (let's call it what it is) not get suspended? Any player who runs afoul of the law off the field seems to get some length of suspension under the guise of protecting the integrity of the game.

Then why should the head coach of arguably one of the most marketable and recognizable teams in the league get off with paying a fine and losing a draft pick for an action on the field that directly attacks the integrity of the game? How could he not be facing a lengthy suspension? Arguably his actions have harmed the integrity of the game far more severely than any of the off-the-field actions of PacMan Jones, Tank Johnson, almost the whole Cincinnati Bengals and even Michael Vick. We're talking cheating that very likely affected the outcomes of games including various Super Bowls.

(As an aside, I am an Eagles fan. I would like to go on record saying that the Fat Walrus and our QB were the reasons the Eagles lost the Super Bowl. NOT cheating by Belichick)

And I will not buy the argument that that punishment outweighs the crime since he is the leader of the team and the chief decision maker, whereas a player is just a cog in the machine. If a head coach is cheating, then he does not deserve to be involved with any team activities for the length of a suspension. If a head coach decides to rely on cheating to win games, then he cannot be allowed to have any involvement with his team. How can the league maintain any semblance of fairness otherwise?

And for getting to the end of this post....CHEERLEADERS!!!!

"Cheating soooo changes the game. Uck, sha? No it sooo doesn't. Uh, yeah-ah, it sooo does..."

Where I Was When it Happened

I worked at Duron Paints in Center City, Philadelphia. It was a factory of sorts and Howard Stern was a morning norm. I was busy working on a grumpy tinting machine in the back when I heard them doing a bit about a plane hitting the WTC.

WTF?

And what seemed now to be painfully slow, but in retrospect felt pretty quick, Stern confirmed that it actually happened… and said so. Just a few minutes and it was all real.

Sorta.

I brought out a small black and white TV, put it on the front counter and turned it on. Sweaty contractors were still coming in for their morning orders and we were all in the midst of deciding what was going on. Within minutes of watching and sweating silently together the second plane hit. We all thought it was a replay of the first until it was pointed out the other tower was already burning.

When the towers came down some contractors were crying. Work stopped. People looked at each other and we all felt it. And stopped talking.

We stood dumbstruck; furious, helpless, speechless and numb by what was happening to others and so to us all. The whole city was shut down by the mayor and everyone fled with an eye on the tallest buildings in the center of the city as if it they would wake up and lay down on us all in a reverse A-bomb of rocks and dust.

I rode my bike in that day and when I left (after the traffic storm) I rode up the River Drive and it was like a still life. Little cars or people around, even the Schuylkill River seemed still and mute to let you imagine you can feel the rumble from Manhatten.

My daughter was a few weeks old and my sister was still in the air, flying back from an overseas rowing meet in Taiwan. My wife’s brother was down in Cherry Point, out of Marine boot and ready for his first float overseas… he was embarking on the ship when the planes hit. The in-laws, having dropped him off the day before and then leaving the motel that morning, were on the beltway when the Pentagon was hit. Nobody knew what was happening with my sister, my brother-in-law or my wife’s parents.

You had to sit quietly and take the medicine. You couldn’t change any of it.

Lives stopped that day. Even for those that lived.

So today is about how you got started again and maybe, what it all means. I think it’s about realizing you have to care about others in a world that is more crowded, loud and strange than ever. Caring is more than respect, it’s a survival skill wrapped in the medicine that destroys the things that cause everything bad that we hope never happens to us to come true.

It’s also about knowing that not everyone will do the same for you but you have to keep at it, especially when it seems useless... that's when the difference is made.

So here’s to not stopping, to all those who lost their lives on 9-11 and to people like you that keep up the change for the better.

It’s how we stop just surviving and we all start living.

When Songs Get Stuck In My Head, Part 382

I usually wake up with a song stuck in my head. It is totally and completely random what song it is. I wake up to news radio, so it has nothing to do with what's playing on my alarm clock.

For some bizarre reason, this song was playing at volume 11 in my head this morning when I awoke, leading me to sing it to myself all day long:

Punk Rock Girl, Dead Milkmen

And after spending a full day with it playing on an endless loop, I came to a realization.

That realization: the following gawd-awful sonic-mess of a song,

Hey There Delilah, Plain White T's

sounds like Punk Rock Girl played really slow.

Which is a shame, since I've always liked the first song and I truly cannot stand the second. Now, they will be forever linked in my mind.

Just thought I'd share.

Best Football Commercial/One of the Best Commercials EVER...

So, its football time again. I decided to start the ol' tradition again of inviting my in-laws over for lil' smokies and some chips and dip. They are Dolphins fans and the Dolphins didn't disappoint. (In the sense that tradition is for them to lose so the in-laws can say, "It's only one game" and go about their Sunday afternoon).

But during the Peyton Manning commercials and commentary from what's his face in a white suit, pink shirt, green tie combination from the Christopher Lowell collection at Sears a commercial appeared from the haze. A commercial that was so cinematicaly stunning and serene it drove me to commend it in print for all seven of you to see. Without further ado, lights, camera, ACTION....



After seeing this mini-movie, if you will, I realized that no mere mortal could have created it... or at least no guy that makes a living making commercials. After further investigation I found out that it was a new ad line directed by Michael Mann, from whose mind gems like The Last of the Mohicans, Collateral, Heat, The Insider, and many more were brought forth. (The music is from the aforementioned, The Last of the Mohicans.)

Watch it. Absorb it. Watch it again. In the words of James Lipton, as portrayed by Will Ferrell and changed to fit the occasion by me, "On September 9th, Two Thousand and Seven, Magic was born."

Fin.

Football Season is Here. Yay.

I refused to get excited for this one. I was happy that Donovan was back, but couldn't shake the feeling that the Birds would manage to look inept and lost out there, even against the 106 year old Brett Fav-ruh. The same Brett Favre that cost me the last two seasons of fantasy football in the Yahoo "Good Company" League. He's clearly past his prime, but that didn't stop Moose and the more than annoying Siragusa from kissing his butt for three hours.

I rolled up to the Sweaty Irishman's Country Estate in fine spirits, looking forward to an afternoon of football and Buffalo Chicken Dip and I was not disappointed.

Unfortunately the dip was great, the Eagles were putrid and the good football was contained in the two games of Tecmo Bowl that we played to make the bad things on the TV screen go away. For those of you scoring at home, Game One went to yours truly on an amazing come from behind victory and Game Two went to Sweaty on a blowout.

I contend that as long as the Fat Walrus is coaching this football team, the Eagles will never win anything of consequence. I hope that I am wrong, but after today's display I fear that I am not.




Some random questions from today's debacle (feel free to answer them in the comments if you can):

1. Why did Buckhalter carry the ball after the Eagles interception near the end?
2. Why does the Fat Walrus insist on only calling running plays directly up the middle?
3. Did the coaching staff and player personnel people really think they could just throw a guy into punt return duty?
4. Why does Tony Siragusa get even a millisecond of air time?
5. How come Brett Favre throws a pass while being dragged down and the Fox idiots talk about it ad nauseum and McNabb does it (on a surgically repaired knee) and they say nothing?
6. How come Reggie Brown got three throws in a row, and nothing else?
7. Is there any hope?
8. Why can't Sweaty's Buffalo Chicken Dip cure cancer?



I don't think I can take another full season of this.

At least the Birds have hot cheerleaders. That's about the sum total of the Eagles' upside right now....



For those of you unfamiliar with the Walrus/Bukket phenomenon, please take the time to check out the hysterically funny I Can Has Cheezburger?

[UPDATE: According to Sweaty, the Fat Walrus just started his day after news conference and took the blame for yesterday's loss. He also went on to say that water is wet, the sky is blue and puppies are cute.]

Evil is Thy Name

What is the most evil-sounding name that you can think of? Here's a list of 10 terrifying monikers that drop my balls like a railroad crossing at 50 mph. You know, just to get us started.

Add you own scary names in Comments, below.

1. Helmut von Handinvade, MD
2. Jennifer Scroatenslice
3. Star Jones
4. Dick Cheney
5. Adolf Mansfield
6. Oozy the Clown
7. Chow Young Bile
8. Manuel the Baby Collector
9.Y akov Smirnoff
10. Rick Lick

Oozy says, "Relax."

Question of the Day....

On this date in 1964 the S.S. Minnow set out on its three hour tour (a three hour tour). We all know how that ended up for them. At least they got to meet the Globetrotters somehow. And was I the only one who hoped for more episodes where Gilligan got knocked out and dreamt that the whole gang was in some non-uncharted desert isle setting?

Anyway, today's question has been debated since September 4, 1964:

Ginger or Mary Ann?

Please vote at the upper right of this fine establishment and feel free to argue in the comments. I have to exclude myself since I done 'em both.

[UPDATE: It seems that out of the vast number of voters taking part in this poll (4) one half voted for each of the ladies. However, Matt has awarded the thread to commenter Little Buddy for his insistence in including Lovey Howell. Therefore, on a technicality, Little Buddy has bettered both Ginger and Mary Ann.]

Deliciously Useless Warning

Driving to work today I noticed not one but two Philly cops while I made my way to 76. “That’s odd…” I thought, “I never see two together like that." And they seemed busy too.

About 40 feet after that I passed a private parking lot that was jammed full of cars, which was uncommon for that time of morning.

Then I noticed one car had it’s door open and a plain clothes law enforcment officer was stretched out reading something.

He had on a tac vest and big leg rig with a 9 and mag pouches.

So to all the drug dealing asshole trash about to get raided this morning in my neighborhood:

IT'S A TRAP!!!!!

The Definitive 1000

We are going to be counting down the Definitive 1000 things. Why are they Definitive? Because The Friendly Friends have deemed them as such.



#983 - Minor League Baseball

In the space of 5 days last week I attended 3 minor league baseball games, in 3 different states, in 3 different leagues and didn't pay for a single ticket. Which is probably why I ended up at 3 games in 5 days. I hadn't been to a single game at all this year, at any level, but last Saturday, Monday and Wednesday solved that right quick.

Last Saturday I found myself in Lancaster, PA with Mrs. Jewbacca, her brother and his fiancee at a Barnstormers game. The Barnstormers play in the independent Atlantic League (which oddly features a team that plays nothing but road games) and are the reigning champs of the league. On Monday I found myself in Lakewood, NJ with the Mighty Malagan at a BlueClaws game. The Blueclaws are the Single-A, South Atlantic League affiliate of the Phightin' Phils -- which explained the presence of Rod "Ole" Barajas and Shane Victorino. Then my odyssey ended on Wednesday in Wilmington, DE at Frawley Stadium with Mrs. Jewbacca, the Blue Rocks and Cooler Bag Night. The Blue Rocks are the Advanced-A affiliate of the Kansas City Royals.

So why does minor league baseball deserve a spot on this here list? Let me count the ways:

Observations From the Minor Leagues

1. There seems to be something with eyeballs.
It started at Lancaster. The fun squad (or whatever they're called there) tossed big beach balls that were decorated to look like eyeballs in the stands. Everyone batted them around and whoever had the one with the winning number on it when the music stopped won a prize. I'm pretty sure it was an eye exam. In Lakewood they actually had a race between three giant eyeballs while the crowd screamed out their favorite between blue, brown and green. I'm not sure which eyeball won, but in the end, we were all winners. True story: The Mighty Malagan has two different colored eyes. He wisely did not root for anyone.

2. Mascots Mascots Mascots
Anyone who knows me knows that I do not, on the whole, like any mascot. Except the Phanatic, and then only from a distance.

Imagine my horror then when we rolled into Lancaster to be confronted by scores of mascots who had been attending a mascot camp in Lancaster. That's right. A mascot camp. I imagined it as a Stalag 17 type of place, where mascots are made to work in a salt mine until their debt to society is paid off. Apparently it is a place to teach mascots how to annoy and harass paying customers. So not only did we have Cylo to contend with, but countless others. Some serous nightmare fuel.

Cylo. No, I have no idea why it's spelled like that. It took me until the 3rd inning to realize it was pronounced "silo." BARNstormers...silo...get it?

In Lakewood we were in a "luxury box." Unfortunately Buster makes visits to every luxury box. I hid. I'm not proud.

That is not a BlueClaw. I know. It's still their mascot though.

In Wilmington they take their mascots pretty seriously. They have Rocky Bluewinkle, Rubble and the famous Mr. Celery. From what I could gather, Rubble just kid of stands around and Rocky Bluewinkle does the obligatory crowd bothering. But Mr. Celery is the star. He has his own section ("C" of course) sponsored by a health food store, his own tunnel and the two main food courts are named for him. His sole reason for existing is to come out and dance every time the Blue Rocks score a run. And dance he does.

Wilmington also has a trio of concession items that run the weakest race in baseball. They "run" from about a third of the way up the first base line, behind home plate and then to about a third of the way to third base. And in that short distance they manage to fall, push each other and generally embarrass themselves.

The best mascot-related happening was when the crowd booed Rocky for shooting a t-shirt into the parking lot. The 700 level at the Vet would have been proud of that one.

One of these things is not like the others, one of these things is doing its own thing...Oh who am I kidding? None of these things are like anything else.

3. I made the Jumbotron/Phanavision/Whatever they call it these days
I have never been featured on the scoreboard at any sporting event I have ever attended. Until last Wednesday in Wilmington. I looked over to the video board after seeing the out of town scoreboard show: TEX 27, BAL 3 and there I was. In giant Jewbacca glory.

I instantly went into the routine I had practiced all these years in case I got the chance to shine. The perfectly choreographed motions that would make the crowd remember me forever, would get me my own deal as a video board staple across the land.

I waved.

4. Reasonable Prices for Food....Familiar Big League Prices for Beer
In all three stadia, food prices were fantastic (actually I don't know how much stuff costs in Lakewood. I was a guest of the Mighty Malagan in a box owned by a certain convenient bank. Didn't pay for a thing there.) and I ate like a king. But beer? Holy cow. Beer was still in the $5-$8 range.

5. Secretive Religious Orders
Doesn't really have anything to do with minor league baseball per se, I just found it interesting that on the way to the Barnstormers game we passed Amish farms and horse and buggies. On the way to the BlueClaws we went through an area where there were countless (ok, 28 total) Hasidic Jews on the street and on the way to the Blue Rocks we had to pass through a gauntlet of angry Scientologists.

I made that last one up.

For the above reasons, and also for the fact that the games are quick, the crowds manageable, the stadia easy to navigate and the payers seem to appreciate the attention, I hereby place Minor League Baseball on the Definitive 1000.