What a coincidence, dear reader Henry! For just the other day I was telling my crestfallen and oft flustered colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, that the only surefire way to take over the world is to get a bunch of followers to trust in some cliche, universal proverbs with some fairy tales thrown in for fun. And hot dog if you didn’t just poke me to share!
First, allow me to correct you on the title. Mr. Lung is my pop’s name. This here lil book is called The Holy-Cow Canon of Jeff. It is presented in three parts, or books as you shall see.
The Book of Baseball
Respect. Not sayin’ you have to love the hell out of baseball like I do, but you gotta at least respect it. You must recognize the fact that those of us who worship the game and revere the diamond as our sanctuary tend to be wiser, more patient, and definitely more prone to bouts of combustible love rooted in our collective ability to cherish the good and to quickly forget all that is bad.
From The Book of Baseball, Chapter 28, Verse 5:
“Smith corks one into right, down the line! It may go . . . Go crazy, folks, go crazy!”
The Book of Womenz
Basically, the moral of this book (the largest of the three, naturally), is to always admire and respect beauty — whatever that means to you. For me, that means Erin Andrews’ choice wardrobe selection, Kim Kardashian’s bangin’ bum, Jenna Fischer’s girl-next-door allure, Allison Stokke’s athletically gifted physique and Lucy Liu’s dominatrix potential. (If it’s menz you’re into, then simply substitute “menz” for “womenz”. If it’s non-humans you’re into, then I can’t help you, but maybe these folks can).
From The Book of Womenz, Chapter 43, Verse 12-14:
“The girls is all jockin’ at the other end of the bar, havin’ drinks with some no-name chump, when they know that I’m the star. So I got up and strolled over to the other side of the cantina, I asked the guy ‘Why you so fly?’, he said ‘Funky Cold Medina’.” (via Deacon Loc)
The Book of the Golden Rule
Just like in modern day Christianity, you can skip the other books of this canon if you want and just focus on this last and most important one. It’s fairly simple and you heard it in kindergarten (maybe you haven’t learned it yet) but you’ve definitely heard it: Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.
Got it? Don’t want someone to beat you up and take your money? Then don’t beat people up and take their money. Don’t want strangers dictating to you what you should and shouldn’t believe? Then don’t dictate to strangers what they should and shouldn’t believe. Like living in peace without bombs being dropped on your house? Then live in peace and don’t friggin’ drop bombs on other people’s houses!!!
It’s really that easy!
There’s only one verse in this book, so let me repeat it, The Book of the Golden Rule, Chapter 1, Verse 1:
DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE OTHERS DO UNTO YOU.
Thank you and good night.
Also, the above chapter and verse can be ignored when it comes to Chicago sCrUBS bashing, which is vehemently encouraged and allowed.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m makin’ moves, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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Amidst the Pujolsian panic terrorizing the otherwise somber pre-spring training minds of baseball fanatics worldwide, we at RSBS nearly lost sight of an extremely exciting development inside the raucous Tea Party movement. That’s right, folks! The Tea Party is publishing their very own magazine!
And don’t worry, dear readers… as you have come to expect, we are a step ahead. In fact, our loyal RSBS interns have already managed to infiltrate the teabagging ranks to bring us a sneak peak at some of the headlines from the inaugural issue!
How to Incite Armageddon So We Can All Go Back to Sitting on Jesus’ Lap In Heaven
By Mark Williams
Monkey god, go home! You can’t put a mosque next to or around the corner from a US American institution like McDonald’s! That’s against God’s plan, to make everyone fat and die so they can go be with him again…
The Whosie-Whats-Its of Duping America
By Sarah Palin
Some people call it smoke and mirrors, I call it using catchphrases that hockey moms will be able to repeat after their husbands have beaten them for the night. A bridge to nowhere… lamestream media… road to ruin… See! If I can do it, anyone can, even Republicans…
How to Use the Term “Teabagging” to Your Advantage
By Pat McGroin, Kraven Moorehead & Howie Feltersnatche
First of all, work “teabagging” into your everyday lexicon. If we all teabag the way we should and are devout in our teabagging, the phrase will simply lose its funny connotation, especially if you’re teabagging your mother who might be teabagging your neighbor who might teabagging himself…
And finally, the feature article…
An Introduction to Hate: The N-Word, The F-Word and All Around Bigotry
By Dale Robertson
If it’s different than you, if it don’t look like you, if you don’t like it ‘cuz it ain’t you… hate it! That’s all ya gotta do. Holler at it and bark at it and scream at it and gobdabbit just hate it hate it hate it…
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Not sure what the cover price is going to be, but I am sure that it won’t ever be forked over from my wallet.
Hate me ‘cuz Dale Robertson says to, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Regardless of who wins the Super Bowl, we, the people, the Joe Plumbers and Jane Six-Packs of the world, will most definitely be subjected to interview after interview after interview of big dummies with fat paychecks who don’t actually say… anything.
This is nothing new, dear readers. The gene pool is ridiculously consistent in its distribution policies. Sure, I can’t throw a football 60 yards on a line to a moving target, but I can speak three languages. I can’t hit a curveball over the left field wall, but I can read books and formulate coherent thoughts through the power of writing.
It’s a balance thang.
And though I often harp on my dislike of hearing my favorite professional athletes speak (Albert Pujols and his non-stop Jesus mouth comes to mind), I sure as hell hope Big Ben or Aaron Rodgers will follow South African rugby star Brendan Venter’s lead:
By the way, Mr. Venter is a medical doctor too.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Because while we congratulate the San Francisco Giants and crown them as World Champions of Baseball, your country remains in dire need of your attention, your intelligence, your action!
While I have long subscribed to the “when in doubt, go left” theory of politics, I realize that now — during a time when most people seem to be more angry, more cynical, more in doubt about any and everything than ever before — that such a theory may seem just as blind and just as stupid as the uninformed bible-bearin’ masses who inject fear and hate and intolerance into every single conversation.
But don’t be fooled.
The Tea Party might be the scariest thing on the planet since… since Sarah Palin came within six percentage points of being that proverbial heartbeat away from the most powerful position in the world.
We just barely avoided that catastrophe. Let’s not get that close again.
So go out. Do your duty. Be that baseball and apple pie lovin’ US American…
Just see to it that ya do the right thing.
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(second image via 9GAG)
And so in this Podcast…
Jeff, Allen and Johanna vehemently compare and critique Croc-based lifestyles, which (surprisingly) include but are not limited to the many labels of Josh Hamilton (including those who are scantily clad), Derek Jeter’s inner Pete Rose, Jeff’s go-to-Gehrig impression, Ozzie Guillen’s mess-mouth and much, much more… all so you can at least laugh while you waste some valuable time!!! Go ahead, laugh it up, fuzzball!
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Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. Keith is involved in some impressive projects himself. Check out his work at Undercard Films. Seriously. Do it. Or I’ll have Prince Fielder sit on your face.
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Recorded Saturday, October 30, 2010
Tim Lincecum. Cliff Lee. Buster Posey. Josh Hamilton (with special guest, Jesus of Nazareth).
This… spells… EPIC.
Unfortunately, only the folks in San Francisco, Dallas/Ft. Worth and the diehards (like myself) will be paying attention.
Such is a World Series without marquee cities and pinstripes galore (see 2006 for more info).
But I have an idea… a way to rope in the casual fan from Syracuse to Sandusky to Sacramento and beyond.
In between innings, give a hot chick a gun and let ‘er rip:
‘Cuz, THAT, dear readers, is ‘Merica!!!
Yes. Yes, you can thank me later.
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Oh, man, these last few days living the life of a bonafide Yankee fan have been some sort of trip! Jeesh, the amount of work that goes into it… it’s just… staggering.
But overall, the sense of entitlement, inflated ego and blabbering-slandering mouth I’ve picked up have helped me transition.
Just to prove my ability, if you haven’t noticed, the Yankees still have 27 trophies. Still have iconic pinstripes. Still tout the achievements of the Babe.
we won Game 1 of the ALCS. Ha! Jesus may be on Josh Hamilton’s side,
but underneath that purple robe and thistle crown, Jesus flashes
pinstripes. Believe that!
Of course, not everything about being a
Yankee fan is easy… which is why I want to share with you my biggest
test yet: enduring Suzyn Waldman.
Jeff as a Yankees Fan, DAY 5:
Yankee posse overloads me with a heavy ear workout, forcing me to
listen to the worst broadcasters ever known: Chip Caray, Hawk Harrelson,
Joe Buck. My coaches insist this is necessary. I have to build up my
tolerance. Because I won’t have the option of turning off the radio,
even though I will most certainly want to.
ears, sore as can be, can’t take another minute of awful announcing…
so I am forced to endure a thousand papercuts on each lobe instead.
lunch time. I’m starving. And instead of a good healthy meal full of
the necessary proteins and vitamins I will need before game time, I am
presented a platter of fatty, fried foods. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Standard pre-Yankee game meal, Jeff” says the chef. “We gotta get you
full of s*** so you fit in tonight.”
I take a nap. I have a dream. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former Yankees and
the sons of former Red Sox will be able to sit down together at a
table of brotherhood and —– what the — damn, that was a stupid dream.
Game time. I f****** HATE the Rangers. Go Yankees!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Suzyn Waldman’s voice… it’s… at
game time it’s even worse than… no… three more hours of… I gotta
listen to this crap for three more —
Are we winning? Are we losing? I can’t stop my ears from bleeding. Damn you, Suzyn Waldman. Damn you!!!
It’s all over now. It’s been over. We won. But wow… it was not
easy. I never thought I’d say this, because I find him to be a perfect
example of everything that’s wrong with modern day broadcasting, but
thank the baseball gods for John Sterling…
Now, does anyone know a good ears, nose and throat guy?
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To be continued…
Jesus and I may not love the uni he’s been donning the last few years; but heck, it’d be pretty sacrilegious to hate on a man who has provided the masses with unfettered improvisational entertainment throughout his entire career.
So Al, I and the RSBS interns would all like to wish Lou Piniella the very best in his retirement while reminiscing on those things we’ll miss the most about him:
His Preggers Belly
You know the drill. Lou shows up to Arizona in the Spring in excellent shape, nary a roll on his tummy. A few hapless months of frustrating baseball and countless cold ones later and he magically looks like he oughta be resting for the end of his third trimester. Some managers utilize the brim of their caps to intimidate umpires during a raucous; Lou bumps bellies.
His Indomitable Will
Whether it’s dealing with Sori’s hop, Rob Dibble’s grappling moves or Zambrano’s homicidal tendencies, Lou Piniella never seems to show a weak link. He can fight. He will fight. He will fight you… if you give him a reason. And the chance. That is the epitome of bad@$$ and that’s why I would love to take Lou out drinking sometime.
His Love for the Bottle
Realize that I realize that I am taking certain liberties in proclaiming that Lou has a love for booze. I mean, he’s a man. He’s also a ballplayer. And he’s often seen in the clubhouse with a drink in his hand. So that makes him like 90% of the people I know on earth (me included) which makes me like him even more. It almost makes me want to bar hop the Tampa Bay metro area until I eventually run into him. I can’t promise I’ll be able to form coherent sentences at that point, but I would sure try.
Be good, Lou. Be good.
And come back if ya want. Baseball without you just won’t be the same.
Hate me ‘cuz I hate on your sCrUBBIES, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.