6/29/2006
"Austin? Austin, Massachusetts?"
I'm catching a flight in a few hours and headed southbound to Austin, T.X. My buddy Will is getting married and seeing as how I'm his best man and all, I figure I should go. Of course, best man duties means I'll be giving a speech or two, and I still have yet to really "write" anything, so winging it, here I come.
Depending on how much booze they put in me (and I've been promised all I can drink), the wedding toast will probably go as follows:
"Thank you. Thanks.
Ummm...Will was on Elimidate once. He lost. Just like a Chinaman.
Yeah, so.... Anyway... He and I lived together while we were in the Marines. A lot of people thought we were gay. But, we weren't. At least, I don't remember anthing like that. Will was always banging random broads, and I was always having phone sex. With girls. At least that's what they said.
Ummmm....
Anyway...Oh...and Will likes the Redskins. And the Orioles. Ummm...he used to take steroids and hit our buddy Josh with a stick just to be a dick.
Hey, can you guys believe that call in the Italy - Aussie game? Fucking robbed, man! Stupid wops.
Yeah, sir, I'll "get back to toast" about the same time you blow me. Shove it.
Anyway, Will and I used to get really drunk together and not show up for work the next day. And nobody really cared because our office was a lot better place when we weren't around. They really fucking hated us.
So, Will...um...HEY CAN SOMEONE GET ME A GLASS OF WINE! I'M ALMOST OUT HERE! THIS IS THE KIND OF SERVICE THE BEST MAN GETS IN TEXAS? ASSHOLES!
FUCK TEXAS THEN! FUCK! THIS! STATE!
[me taking off my pants]
Sorry about that... I, umm... forgot....
[a bunch of slurred words and racial epitaths...]
Anyway, best of luck to you two. Kick some ass.
[me falling down]"
Should be fun. Happy 4th of July weekend, kids.
"Watch out you don't get yo'self killed."
Depending on how much booze they put in me (and I've been promised all I can drink), the wedding toast will probably go as follows:
"Thank you. Thanks.
Ummm...Will was on Elimidate once. He lost. Just like a Chinaman.
Yeah, so.... Anyway... He and I lived together while we were in the Marines. A lot of people thought we were gay. But, we weren't. At least, I don't remember anthing like that. Will was always banging random broads, and I was always having phone sex. With girls. At least that's what they said.
Ummmm....
Anyway...Oh...and Will likes the Redskins. And the Orioles. Ummm...he used to take steroids and hit our buddy Josh with a stick just to be a dick.
Hey, can you guys believe that call in the Italy - Aussie game? Fucking robbed, man! Stupid wops.
Yeah, sir, I'll "get back to toast" about the same time you blow me. Shove it.
Anyway, Will and I used to get really drunk together and not show up for work the next day. And nobody really cared because our office was a lot better place when we weren't around. They really fucking hated us.
So, Will...um...HEY CAN SOMEONE GET ME A GLASS OF WINE! I'M ALMOST OUT HERE! THIS IS THE KIND OF SERVICE THE BEST MAN GETS IN TEXAS? ASSHOLES!
FUCK TEXAS THEN! FUCK! THIS! STATE!
[me taking off my pants]
Sorry about that... I, umm... forgot....
[a bunch of slurred words and racial epitaths...]
Anyway, best of luck to you two. Kick some ass.
[me falling down]"
Should be fun. Happy 4th of July weekend, kids.
"Watch out you don't get yo'self killed."
6/25/2006
Bullpen Catcher
That's one life long dream down.
Now to find and eat the world's largest hoagie.
[As always, enjoy and cast your vote accordingly, friends and louvers.]
Now to find and eat the world's largest hoagie.
[As always, enjoy and cast your vote accordingly, friends and louvers.]
Labels: Times I Was Glad That I Didn't Get Hit In The Crotch
6/22/2006
Al Fritz Sentence Fragment Updates
Cardinals suck. Mulder blows.
TLF and I are getting an apartment in Dogtown. Horay for cohabitation.
I'm working 3rd shift. It's weird.
I was a bullpen catcher for the River City Rascals last night. Article next week.
TLF and I are getting an apartment in Dogtown. Horay for cohabitation.
I'm working 3rd shift. It's weird.
I was a bullpen catcher for the River City Rascals last night. Article next week.
Go Italia. Beat Czech.
Go USA. Beat Ghana.
I'm getting drunk this morning. Yea for me.
6/19/2006
Meeting (And Thanking) Al
I had a somewhat sobering thought at the ballpark on Friday. And considering the fact that I was three big beers and a bottle of champagne (don’t ask) deep, a sobering thought was rather hard to come by.
But, sometime around the sixth inning, as The Lady Friend and I set out in search of the perfect hot dog (it was located on the lower concourse, first base side, next to some Bank of America ATMs – just a tremendous hot dog stand), I noticed a whole lot of mustard lying around on the concourse floor.
As most of you already know, piles of mustard don’t clean themselves up, so there to do the dirty work was a gentleman by the name of Al. TLF (who, by nature is down right curious) stopped and asked Al how in the hell all of that mustard got there. “It’s hot. It’s humid. Mustard explodes,” Al informed us.
I thanked Al for all of his hard work. With all due respect to Scott Rolen, Jim Edmonds, and the rest of the millionaires on the field, it’s the hard working men and women like Al that make the
experience of going to a Cardinals game so damn nice. The people who get paid not nearly enough to sell squishy yards, take out the trash, and to clean up the many mustard explosions which have plauged Busch Stadium lo these past few months… now they deserve a curtain call.
I asked Al if I could get a picture with him and told him that I’d like to tell his story. He wanted no part of it. His was a thankless job, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start asking for thanks now. When my lady friend told him I write about the Cardinals for a website, he replied “When are you going to do some real work?”
Touché, Al. Touché.
And thanks for all of your hard work.
But, sometime around the sixth inning, as The Lady Friend and I set out in search of the perfect hot dog (it was located on the lower concourse, first base side, next to some Bank of America ATMs – just a tremendous hot dog stand), I noticed a whole lot of mustard lying around on the concourse floor.
As most of you already know, piles of mustard don’t clean themselves up, so there to do the dirty work was a gentleman by the name of Al. TLF (who, by nature is down right curious) stopped and asked Al how in the hell all of that mustard got there. “It’s hot. It’s humid. Mustard explodes,” Al informed us.
I thanked Al for all of his hard work. With all due respect to Scott Rolen, Jim Edmonds, and the rest of the millionaires on the field, it’s the hard working men and women like Al that make the
experience of going to a Cardinals game so damn nice. The people who get paid not nearly enough to sell squishy yards, take out the trash, and to clean up the many mustard explosions which have plauged Busch Stadium lo these past few months… now they deserve a curtain call.I asked Al if I could get a picture with him and told him that I’d like to tell his story. He wanted no part of it. His was a thankless job, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start asking for thanks now. When my lady friend told him I write about the Cardinals for a website, he replied “When are you going to do some real work?”
Touché, Al. Touché.
And thanks for all of your hard work.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
