Think about it

Oh this life. This society. Look what it does!

We are so bored with peeing and pooping that we have to pull out our phone to just kill the time while our bowels move. No no, forget the notion of there being any fascination with the fact that we put food in ourselves, and in all of its complexity and wonder, it gives us strength and energy, leaving us as waste. No appreciation whatsoever.

So what am I talking about here? Am I suggesting that we should have rejuvenated sense of awe in our pee and poop? Maybe. I mean, it's the thought that counts right? 

What about the distance that civilization has gone to where tiny fractions of a percentage of people even know how the fundamentals of our technology works? If it were to all go away, do you know someone who could re-invent and build your LCD TV for you? Restart cell phones and wi-fi services? Hell, even build a combustible engine for a car? Who? You sir? No, I think not. You are but a small, insignificant person.

Now "What is he blathering about?" you say. "Is he saying that we all need to learn fundamental mechanics and take apart our cell phones and iPads to see what pieces there are?" Of course I'm not. Besides, those little chunks of metal are wired with microscopic precision and hold data. They aren't just bits of metal. The solution in such a scenario would be to rebuild the robots and computers that design such things. And all of this isn't my point either. 

My point is that there are poor folks. Yes, people...millions of them without such distractions and devices. People that truly know suffering and would long to have the boredom that our society has created for us. We have much, and there are so many out there with too little. With this Advent Season, or for you lay-minions, Holiday Season, think about those less fortunate for just a few minutes. Ponder their troubles. Forget why they are there and who's fault it is. Do you not feel compassion? Do you feel no sympathy for them? Any desire to help? Whoa, any selfish want of self-righteousness that at least compels you to "be a better person" or want to be seen doing something for the betterment of human kind? 

Think about that while you drone through your routine of working all day, doing whatever needs to be done to call it "work", driving back on your commute, making yourself your worn-out chicken and vegetable dish, and watching perpetual seasons of scummy unoriginal television shows until upon the edge of drooling yourself to sleep you fall into bed...only to start the routine again the next day. Think about that! Don't be molded by society, mold yourself. Unless, you are like, totally okay with the former.

Carve and Drink

For two years now, sometime in the month in October I've headed to the Old Monk off of Henderson St in Dallas for pumpkin carving and a drink or two.



I can't speak for the costume party on the weekend before Halloween, but the Pumpkin Carving and Pint deal is amazing. For $10 you can get a pumpkin and a pint of any of their many beers that are under $6. This includes the likes of Guiness and Stella Artois, which is good enough for me. Another perk I'd add is that they clean your pumpkin out for you; all you have to do is carve the face--which to outdo themselves even more--the Old Monk provides you with a toolkit set and a number of stencils to choose from. Furthermore, your $10 is matched by the bar and donated to the North Texas Food Bank, a good cause no doubt.

I highly recommend this fun activity to anyone that can partake, as this is one of the few instances that it is fun to see adults behaving like children and doing silly crafts. Here is a photo of my Jack o' lantern. Suck it.

BREAKING NEWS: MAN LOSES FINGERS TO AUTHORITARIAN FANTASY FOOTBALL LEAGUE COMMISSIONER

BIP WOOTEN of Hawtgoob, PA lost 4 fingers and a thumb on or around the evening of the 1st of October 2013. "I had it coming, I read the by-lines and knew that my paw was at stake with this fantasy football league." 


Wooten's tragic loss of the use of his right hand was at the expense of not paying his league dues on time. "Well, I had 5 weeks to send the check and I actually saw my commissioner in person a couple of times, so I had my opportunities to save my #$&%ing fingers..." continues Wooten, "...the commish even says to me: 'Hey Bip, listen here, and listen good: I'm going to cut off your #$&%ing fingers the next time I see you if you don't pay your dues. I'm tired of your lazy non-committal attitude. So if you don't get your act straight, I'm going to take your fingers and feed them to your dogs.'"

Figuring the dues might just float away and somehow make it magically into the money pool, Wooten, now regrets what was an easily fixable condition. The fantasy football leaguer, team-named the Rochester Twinballs, is now thinking of renaming his team "Bip's Stub Clap". "I thought it was kinda funny you know? I wanted to make light of the situation of me now having a stub for a hand. I can't even make a proper clap of my hands anymore. I mean, my children think I'm a monster now and scream at the site of me and Stink Fist." 'Stink Fist' is the name Wooten calls his atrocity for a hand.

Wooten's choices now make things like wiping after a poo, opening a can of beer, playing the banjo, and waving--a whole new adjustment. "I don't even want to fist-bump the guy." says friend Nack Grenshaw. "He's always trying to pretend everything's okay and normal, but the fact his, he has this horrendous nub for a hand, and it freaks us all out. He's always talking about Stink Fist and how he gives him 'adventures' by taking him into dark places. If he doesn't get some sort of prosthetic, I'm seriously considering not being his friend anymore."

Later in this report we found out that Wooten has to this day still not paid his dues. Stay tuned for our possible follow up story with Bip "no-hands" Wooten.

Ballast Point YellowTail Pale Ale

Damn it if that's not the longest titty of a title for a beer. And damn it all if this isn't one of the most overrated beers that I've had in a while.

The YellowTail Pale Ale isn't awful, just like cookies with raisins aren't awful. There's some good in there, but the fact that some squirrel dick put raisins in an otherwise delicious cookie, ruins a good thing. I'll add to the fact that Ballast Point mislabeled their beer:

• The YellowTail is made with German hops used in a typical Kölsch.
• The beer uses German malts to create the 11-16 range gravity defined for a Kölsch.
• This "Pale Ale" is warm-fermented and then cold-conditioned...guess what...just like a Kölsch.

This is a Kölsch in my mind. It tastes like a Kölsch. I like typing Kölsch. So go Kölsch yourself. I don't know if Ballast Point would name their Kölsch after a fish. For some reason a pale ale is fitting for a fish...maybe because it's more bitter. But this isn't bitter. 

The YellowTail is having an identity crisis. But you will be disappointed if you were actually hoping for an ale. So, go on, drink this lie of a beer. Just like those raisin cookie inventors are lying treat-bakers.

And he hits a nubber back to the pitcher...

What do you say now?!

In the sport of baseball, there exists a routine of sayings and idioms that are meant to encourage your teammates. Outside of the context of the game, these phrases can be interpreted as anything from an insane person's babble to sexual innuendos. In fact, only ball players or people very close to the game will read or hear these lines and know exactly what it is referring to.

Here is a list of some of the sayings I'm referring to...feel free to add your own sexual metaphors:

"Rip his tits!"

"Good eye"

"Pound that zone!"

"He's throwin gas"

"Hey that's not yours! Leave that alone"

"Eat it!"

"Protect up there"

"Way to battle up there!"

"Get out ball!"

"I like it there, keep it down there"

"Come on man, touch em all"

"Look alive out there"

"Now you've seen it"

"Sit on it now"

"That's trouble!"

"Hey, straighten that out"

"That was right down the cock!"

"Stay hot"

"Hey good idea there"

"He's gotta come to you now"

"Way to get your hand in there!"

"Hey lets get a base-knock here"

"Throw him some cheese!"

"You've got the come-backer"

"Roll it up the middle"

"Throw him a chair"

"Boy he fisted him good!"

You're A Crook Captain Hook...

Oh won't you throw the book?! At the tyrant...

I, like Jareth Cutestory, have taken a keen interest in Maritime Law. I thought I'd highlight one of my favorite cases that I've research in the archives of the infamous Inquisition. Much of the general public, catholic and non-catholic think that the Inquisition was this scary, powerful organization when it really wasn't. It was so mired in rules in prohibitions that it really couldn't do a whole lot in the way of torturing and murdering people. In fact the average number of deaths from 1540-1740 was 3 executions a year, and in the 5 centuries of trials, only 5% were even tortured(Kamen, Henry. “500 Years of Inquisition.” 1981). More people died a year from drinking too much alcohol. I could go on and on about how and why the Inquisition has so many myths, but instead, I'll just give you a trial brief from 1720 that highlights how silly and harmless this institution was. Enjoy my colorful description.

Name of Case: Reconciliation to Our Holy Catholic Faith of Joshua Morton
Citation of Case: Archivo General de la Nación, Ramo de Inquisición, Vol. 787, Exp. 2
Place/Year: Mexico / 1720

Facts:

This case is of an English sailor who had been captured and sought to be brought back into the fold of the most awesome catholic faith. What is likely is that Morton wanted to be brought under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition rather than the imprisonment of the Spanish secular authorities who probably would have executed him. That's right, the Inquisition was more pleasant than seeing a king or governor. Don't forget Spain and England were at war for like...ever.

Morton confessed to being born and raised under the Anglican faith, thus a heretic who's beliefs were perverse and totally wrong. Basically a second after being captured, Morton knew that the Catholic faith was number 1. All in all, he was ashamed of being a Protestant bandwagon fan. At the trial he admitted freely that what he believed was stupid and wacky, that he wanted to be brought back into catholic recognition, and would cease his heretical beliefs, crossing his heart and hoping to die.

Issue/Accusation:

The Inquisition was more than happy to hear the confession of Morton, and was glad to hear that he came forward on his own since they liked that kind of thing. And so Joshua Morton confessed that he was a screwed up, lost individual all his life, and pretty much wasted time from the day he was born.

Morton requested to be brought back into the Catholic Church after writing his intent to 
the archbishop of Mexico, who had deemed that the next step in the process was to be brought before the office of the Inquisition. The intrepid Morton met with a dude named Father Castro and another bro named Father Julián Gutíerrez Dávila who instructed him in the faith of Catholicism to make sure he was down to pat by reconciling and educating himself with the rites and practices of the Church via the book "Catholicism for Ninnys".

Morton was questioned as to what heresies he had practiced as an Anglican, and he summed up his confessions with "I don't know dude, you tell me". He also admitted that as a sailor, he had no time to focus on his beliefs because he was far too busy on the poop deck. Furthermore, Morton confirmed that on his voyagers he had collaborated with no one but Catholics, except for that one time, but that was only because he was a little curious, and the Inquisitors were willing to let it slide because they knew that everyone wanted to let their hair down every now and then.

Decision of the Court:

Joshua Morton came to the Inquisitors saying, “Hello sailors! I heard you can patch this little problem up for me. Come on guy?”  The Inquisitors liked Morton’s sprightly and flamboyant personality, and respected that he wanted to be a Roman Catholic, for they knew that all Protestant faiths worked arduously to trick people and brainwash them into believing things like the idea that the Bible should be interpreted literally and that your ticket to heaven is stamped by merely saying you believe and are "saved" instead of doing good things for others.

Because Joshua Morton quickly and easily embraced the faith of the Catholic Church, the Inquisitors re-enrolled his Rapid-Rewards account back into the faith and absolved him of his errors, which he of course apologized sincerely for, and promised he'd "never do it again". Thus the Inquisitors made ready the necessary scrolls and documents that would require that he be reconciled as a new and improved Joshua Morton 2.0.  

From there he was able to go back home to his parish priest and show his Padre his test scores from the tribunal, and then go on pilgrimage field trips and continue pursuing his love of the seas.

Due Process:

These documents represent a good example of the narrative and due process of bringing a Protestant back into fold of the Catholic faith, and how with the proper motives and admissions of the confessor, a person could fairly easily be let off the hook whether they really believed it or not. No torture, no burning at the stake. 

Joshua Morton was unlucky to be an Englishman captured in Spanish territory. Yet in a single day he was able to be absolved of his lifetime of heresies, become a Roman Catholic, and be set free despite being an enemy soldier. The Inquisition actually saved him.

Local Man "Thrilled" to be Named Most Handsome Man on Block

Irving, TX- After a tense and bitter campaign, local man, Brooks Baca, rolled to win the most handsome man on the Harris Court block of the Valley Ranch neighborhood of Irving, TX, a suburb of Dallas. The contest, first dreamed up by Baca himself, was intended to promote Valley Ranch and to spur on neighbor interaction in this quiet community.

The race was called shortly after 6:15 central time, as a series of swing votes fell into place for Baca to give him the advantage he needed over his elderly opponent, retired bookkeeper, Ralph Garcia. First, 10418 Harris Ct then 10428 Harris Ct fell to Baca. When the ever important 10422 Harris Ct vote went the young educator's way, a roar went up from the Baca house, just next door.

Moments later, Mr. Baca sent this message on Twitter, "YOLO!!! S/O to Drake, Keshia Pulliam, Bill Nye, and Jason Sudeikis!" He struck the same tone of untethered excitement as he addressed his wife and younger brother from their modest get-together that evening, "The block has spoken. As a community, we clearly value hard work and hard bodies. We know our best days were in college but our other best days are to come!"

Garcia faced a suprisingly upbeat group of supporters just down the block, caddy-corner from the Baca residence, and offered his congratulations to Baca, "I wish all of them well but particularly Brooks, his wife, and that other guy who's always over there. What's his deal anyway? At any rate, to be honest, I never really cared about this competition but Brooks made me sign up so he could have someone to run against and I didn't mind."

Others, such as Baca's neighbor, Rhonda Willingham, took time to reflect on the contest, "Well, my partner Lisa and I considered voting for Linda's kid down the street but we thought that might come off as creepy since he's only 9 so we just voted for Brooks, I think he's actually the only guy on the block." When asked about Garcia's candidacy, Willingham seemed genuinely surprised, "Really? I thought he passed away a couple of years ago. I'd have voted for the guy, that is really too bad, I should go see him sometime."

Baca will have little time to celebrate however, as during the night's celebration he neglected his fitness principles, "Yeah, because of the big announcement tonight, I didn't get a chance to go the the gym. And, if I'm being truthful, the stress of this event, combined with the beers, is really gonna take its toll. I really got to hit it hard tomorrow and be sure that I get my looks back the to standards this neighborhood knows and expects."

I'm Mad As Hell and It's Other People's Fault!

I watched the Avengers over this past weekend.  The three year gap of living in apartments without the internet or cable television has created a pop-culture void, so essentially I am on par with the Ukraine for new American media.

Fan Disagrees with Umpire at Local Ballgame

Ryan Bennett
Scholar and Local Gentleman

Bart Nutter of Cleveland, OH was kicked out from last night's ball game at Progressive Field after dumping his entire cup of Bud Light on field umpire Skip Hardchuck. 

"That call was bull****!!" said Nutter after the game. "I shouldn't be punished for taking the game seriously and letting that son of a ***** get away with that call. He was safe at 2nd, and that's that!" 

Nutter, who friends say is known for his eagle eye vision whilst bulls eyeing womp rats back home, said he could see the play clearly. 

"You're damn right that guy deserved it!" Says Nutter, who says he has excellent eyesight and that this author could "ask his friends about it".

After the disputed call, Nutter rappelled down from his section 342 seat on the third deck of the first base side of the park. Upon reaching the second tier, he took advantage of "free hang glider night" and used the glider of unsuspecting Karen Buford who was taking Instagram photos of her and her friends. 

"I don't know what happened..." Said Buford, "...I forgot I even got the hang glider to be honest, I left it in the empty seat behind me." Buford continued that she got some good photos of Nutter's takeoff towards Hardchuck, but couldn't show them after realizing her battery was almost dead. 

Nutter reached right field at a gallop, and upon discarding his hang glider, beer in hand, raced toward Hardchuck.

The unsuspecting Hardchuck, took a dose of his own name in the form of 18oz of lukewarm Bud Light. 

Hardchuck's take: "At first, I thought I was dying. The sensation that I had, felt as though my god, Cronos, had come for me and was melting my body into a jelly like substance." 

Hardchuck, a fervent believer in Ancient Greek gods, was disappointed to turn around and see Nutter standing there with a dripping cup of beer. 

"I cursed his heart, I really was hoping that tonight was my time. Totally ready. You know?" Says Hardchuck. 

After Nutter was kicked out and Hardchuck received a dry shirt and new outlook on life, the game resumed. The call ultimately was moot however, as the Tribe scored 4 runs that inning which was more than enough for the win. 

Other fans after the game voiced their concerns on whether or not they would still have "free hang glider night".

Smelly

Our offense awful right now. It's an offensive offense. 

I'm not asking for more home runs; I'm asking for hits with runners in scoring position. This team is batting .242 with RISP--which is good for 21st in MLB. 

Inconsistency. 

The Rangers are 7th in the league in Batting Average and 8th in On Base Percentage, which should show that they put men on base with ease. In fact in one out of every 3 batters, a Ranger player gets on base. 

The problem is that they don't go anywhere! 

Look no further than the 18 inn..yes 18 INNING loss last Saturday 6/8/2013 to see an example of the struggles here. 30 men were left on base, and two players, I won't say any names here but we will just call them Lance B. and Nelson C, went a combined 15 at bats without a hit. As a 3 and a 5 spot hitter, your job is to drive in runs. With 15 at bats, neither of those gentlemen could get so much as a single. 

You'd figure one of them would come up with some kind of hit. It defines statistics! If a player is even batting  an embarrassing .200, they would still likely get at least one hit every 5 plate appearances! But in 18 innings--two full ballgames worth of baseball--they didn't "put out". No, sir, they simply got out. 

Heyyyyy Brotherrrrr

You can remember so vividly that tree you used to climb. You knew exactly what first branch to grab and how to begin your ascent. You can close your eyes and remember step-by-step where to put your next food and hand.

You can even remember how the bark of the tree felt in your grip. For some reason you can still put yourself on that climb, and have the confidence that you would remember what branches would be where, what ducks, twists and reaches you'd need to make to go higher. 

You knew how far up the tree you were just by looking at the branches you were grasping. There was no need to look down or into the distance to see how high you had climbed, you knew that this was a journey to the top. You remember how the branches became smaller and thinner, yet you had 100% certainty that they would hold you, just as they always did before. You didn't question yourself or the tree because you had done this so many times. 

Finally, you reached the height of your ascent, and you and the tree became one; a balance between your own weight and the strength of the far reaches of the tree. You remember feeling that equilibrium, knowing that you couldn't go higher.

Only then do you look around to see the view, only then do you look down to see your journey and how far you've come.


I was 8 years old the first time I was proud of my brother.

I remember looking up, a block away into my tree and seeing a little red figure. It was my brother, at the highest part of the tree in his red coat. I ran towards the tree...I knew he was as high as you could go because of the branches. 

There I was looking up at my 4 year old brother on a windy, winter day, clinging to the top of the tree like a koala bear. But I don't know how he got there, did he use the same branches? 

In his memory he may have taken different steps; put his feet in different nooks, grabbed limbs I never noticed. He saw that tree differently. He saw his path differently. But he got to the top on his own. 

His was a different journey, and I am still proud.

Accidental Rage-ist

Someone in Georgia attempted to run an unauthorized transaction using my credit card number.  Yes I know this was probably the result of the grocery store I buy my dietary staples-Progresso soups and stir fry ingredients-having their credit card processing vendor cyber-attacked, it feeds well into my disdain for the South.  So why not make a completely inappropriate logical extension, shall we?

A Tale of the India Pale Ale

Scholars continue to argue fervently about the truth behind the mysterious origins of the India Pale Ale (IPA). And to this day, the list of wars that have started over this debate are countless.

Yet, there are some wizards and normal lay-people who believe it to be a gift from the Hanuman, the Indian deity who wanted to sleep with British women. The story follows that Hanuman was disfigured shorty after birth (in Sanskrit: hanu = jaw and -mant = disfigured/prominent). No one wanted to be his girlfriend...or boyfriend for that matter. Over the ages, he was always well-known as being a foolish, monkey god, who dances and sings, often prancing around like a little fairy. So on top of being ugly he simply wasn't very manly, and let's face it, British women didn't want to bed an Indian monkey to begin with.

So Hanuman dug around in his bag of tricks and created a potion that he gave out in pint-size samples to the East India Company from Great Britain. The traders loved the potion so much that they requested to know the recipe from Hanuman, lest they take their beautiful women back home to England and let Hanuman keep working at the local circus in Delhi. Hanuman, no longer wanting to work with the evil circus masters and desiring the fair-skinned women of the British Isles, decided to make a deal.

Hanuman told the East India Company that he would give over the brew's recipe as long as he could have 13 soirees with a different British lass for 13 consecutive nights. The traders agreed fairly quickly, as they had grown tired and bored with their women anyway, and told Hanuman that he could keep them and were probably going to sail away and never come back to the God-forsaken land in the first place. 

So The East India Company learned the recipe of the IPA, which they named after it being a paler ale than their usual counterparts. They found that coke-firing the malts produced less smoke and gave a lighter toasting to the barley, which as a result created a lighter color in the brew. Later as an afterthought, the traders decided to put India at the front because that's where they discovered the ingredients. Luckily, this overruled the naming sought from most of the native India population who wanted the ale to be called Hanuman's Piss.

Needless to say, Hanuman couldn't care less about the name, after all, they were just potions to him and he could probably make dozens different flavors if he really wanted to. In addition, he was excited to have his 13 British women to take out for a evening on the town. Unfortunately, his ideas for making monkey-love never came to fruition, as he made the mistake not once, nor twice, but 13 times in a row of getting his date so drunk they she barfed relentlessly until the next morning.

The end.

*I for one don't believe this story, as many British women at the time were in fact quite keen to monkey-love. But hey, every myth has a kernel of history to it.

Cowboys and Rangers

No, not Cowboys and Indians. Let's talk a little about these two Arlington neighbors. Hey, I need some music while I type...and you shall have some while you read...

Dallas Cowboys

Anyway, let's get it out of the way that 90% of the Dallas Cowboy fans loath Jerry Jones and want him to just be an owner and not a GM, and 100% of all fans that hate the Dallas Cowboys love him because of his meddling. I'll spare you his successes that he brought early on with the team and look at the fact that since the last Super Bowl, the team is .500 overall with a 128-128. 

We should be more used to this mediocrity, following two straight years of 8-8 football, but there is always demand for better. I mean, who wants calf-implants for life when you can get a boob job? Horrible analogy. Sentiment is that fans can easily see solutions for making the Dallas Cowboys win another. I mean, who has a better grasp of the wisdom of constructing a franchise than a bellowing guy wearing an over-sized jersey to your aunt's funeral. 

Look, I'm no fan of Jerry Jones, but it could be a lot worse. We all remember those "glory-hole" days when the Cowboys were good, and we want to relive them again, but let me show you something that may make you feel better:

Buffalo Bills

Miami Dolphins

Seattle Seahawks

New York Jets

Cincinnati Bengals

Cleveland Browns

Detroit Lions

Philadelphia Eagles

Washington Redskins

Chicago Bears

Minnesota Vikings

Houston Texans

Jacksonville Jaguars

Tennessee Titans

Kansas City Chiefs

Oakland Raiders

San Diego Chargers

Arizona Cardinals

San Francisco 49'ers

Carolina Panthers

Atlanta Falcons

--All of those teams haven't won a Super Bowl since 1996 either, and the same group except for 2 since 1987. That's 69% of the league not taking home a Lombardi, just like the Dallas Cowboys. So listen up, their fans are frustrated too...and for an even longer amount of time. It could be worse.

Texas Rangers

Across a couple of parking lots and a dried up creek bed are the Texas Effing Rangers. A team with a lot of success of late, but still no championship. But hey, they've tasted the World Series a couple of times in the last 3 years. If anything, fans of this team should be more fervent about bringing home the Commissioner's Trophy because they have been close. 

The Dallas Cowboys are so many years from glory hole, while the Texas Rangers are just an inch a way from glory hole. Their pants are down, and they are thinking about it, but they are really worried about who's on the other side. I don't have too much to say about the Rangers other than that...and I probably shouldn't, but right now is the time for fans to be frustrated with not winning a championship. Plus, at least their front office is democratic unlike, Jerry's dictatorship. There's realistic hope in Arlington.

Thoughts on Josh Hamilton Comments

Texas Rangers. I've given so much money, time, and most importantly faith (worship?) to you guys. You've given me great joy and heartache in my quarter century of life, particularly as of late, and yet you've failed to bring me my championship. 

Then again maybe it's me that failed. Maybe my superstitions were wrong. Maybe I didn't spill enough blood, or didn't give enough compliments to strangers in the name of the Texas Rangers. I just don't know.

That being said, I have, and will continue to be loyal to you and your players. Josh Hamilton was a Texas Ranger and brought great success to the ball club. I appreciated everything he did for us at the Temple, and I still admire him as a ballplayer. Now let me explain why it feels like he is spitting his cheek full of tar in my face.

I'm a baseball fanatic. The beauty of the game's history, its intricacies, and my own experiences can make me tear up at times because it means so much to me. I doubt I'm alone with such sentiments. Yet here I am living in Dallas, which is not exactly a historical place for that sport. Thus, Josh doesn't need to spit in our cuts by stating the obvious that this isn't a "baseball town". He isn't the first and won't be the last to say that. This is also not the first and probably not the last time Josh is not going to think before he speaks. Josh--the booing that you suspect when you come back to Arlington means that us fans "don't get it"? 

No. 
You don't get it.

We vouched for you, made excuses to our friends and out-of-towners, and rationalized your mistakes on and off the field. We attested to your baseball prowess and made up nick-names. We bought your jersey's and t-shirts and forgave you when you relapsed on alcohol. We turned out the 3rd highest fan attendance in baseball last season, in the hottest ballpark in the MLB. We were there roaring for you in triple digit heat day in and day out. Us fans paid your salary and the Texas Rangers club gave you chance after chance to make your career what it is today. We listened to your excuses about your eyesight, getting back to your faith, and quitting tobacco. We didn't care what the reason was because we believed in you. 

If it wasn't for the Texas Rangers organization, where might you likely be today? How dare you say that you "don't owe" us anything? As a Christian, one that I might add is constantly reminding the public of your faith, you should understand forgiveness, fellowship, and the trust that Rangers fans have put in you. How can you so easily snub us? Wouldn't a good Christian example take it and turn it into a positive? Wouldn't you be giving the ultimate rebuttal to "haters" by saying how you appreciated everything that the majority of Ranger fandom gave you?

Oh wait, you want to bring up your last game here where you got booed? I was there. Unfortunately, your 0-4 performance at that time was nothing new, but a trend you had been on, one that epitomized the downfall of the Texas Rangers season in 2012. I won't bring up your dropping an easy fly ball that could have given us a division title. Oh wait I just did. You stopped playing like you cared. Or at least you looked like you did and played with zero discipline. Serious baseball fans aren't idiots, and we've been around the game enough to see a player putting forth all of their effort and those that aren't. Your head was somewhere else. We saw you when you tried. That was the Hambone we needed. That chilly October night, when you heard the boos...they weren't just for you, we were booing the entire team for falling off like they did. You were supposed to be a leader and you failed to show that you were a champion, again.

So we shall see what happens this year with your game both behind the microphone and on the diamond. Honestly, I for one wish you the best. Not against my Texas Rangers of course, but I hope that you come around to seeing those that helped you get to where you are. I won't boo you when you come to Arlington, but two things: Do you think the things you say are helping make fans like you? And: Do you actually think Anaheim is a "baseball town"?

Refund Letter

Dear Valued Customer,

Enclosed you may find your refund in full for the defective chemical retardant suit:

'Tychem TPSSFM Large Protective Suit'

Here at S-Mart, we ask our customers to not hesitate to piss and moan about our service, and therefore we appreciate you not only shopping with us, but also screaming in a funny voice at your local St. Louis store manager about your plight. 

We also don't ask questions; like why someone needs a HAZMAT suit in the first place, and why they chose to test it with homemade chemicals in the store parking lot. We are sure you had your reasons, and we respect infinite wisdom in the realm of alchemy and other wizardly exploits. 

S-Mart hopes that this refund finds you back in our stores, buying more chemical suits for future use, and blah blah blah, whatever, fuck you.

Descriminately Yours,
Cal V. Garbutt
CEO
S-Mart Empire

We hope that you will continue to shop smart, you will shop S-Mart.

Why is this in your car?

Watch Brandon explain it all, from passion for his mother, to his admiration of VHS tapes...