LLWS

It’s that time of year again. The time where every single minute of ESPN, ESPN2, and ESPN18 is taken up by a single sporting event. An event that has no business being on TV in the first place. An event so stupid and pointless, I don’t know one person who is excited by it or talks about it the day after around the water cooler.

I am talking about the Little League World Series.

I fucking hate it. I loathe it. I want to murder it with a rusty spoon and throw its body into a wood chipper. I want to leave it in a room with R. Kelly so he can pee on it. I want to make it bang a fat chick.

My disdain for the Series begins with the parents. Those pom-pom waving, sparkly wig-wearing, cowbell-clanging stage parents. Oh how I hate those cow bells. This is one time where the cure is not even less cowbell. It’s NO FUCKING cowbell. Anyone caught ringing a bell should have their hand cut off. Try annoying everyone around you with a hook for a hand, it’s not as easy. You ever seen captain hook waving a cowbell like a complete fucking idiot? Of course not, he’s got a hook.

I also really don’t like the kids that play the game. Actually it’s not even their fault. I mean, most 12 year old kids are pretty douchey anyway, but it’s the way ESPN decides to broadcast the games that really irks me. I hate that they show those little snippets of information about the kids, like, “hey, little Tommy from Arkansas has a favorite color. And it’s blue!” Like anyone outside of little Tommy and his parents really care. In fact Tommy is a douche and his parents probably don’t even care.

But by far the worst thing in the whole broadcast is how ESPN shows the little leaguers pitch speed equivalent to what major leaguers throw. Like if the kid throws a 50 mph fastball, it shows up as 92 mph because the reaction time of the pitch is the same as a 92 mph fastball. Horseshit. I’m sure the reaction time is the same, but anyone who has ever stood at a plate and tried to hit a ball will tell you there’s a huge fucking difference between a 92 and a 50 mph fastball. You can’t even SEE a 92 mph fastball. Plus there’s the fear factor. Nobody is scared to get hit by a lobbed pitch from a douchey 12 year old, but everyone would be a little nervous to step into a big league batters box. It’s not even close.

Revolution

I was at Jay's place tonight and on my way out I saw a huge centipede crawl across the kitchen floor. Naturally I stomped the shit out of it. I bragged to Jay in the next room how I conquered the mighty beast. He came in to take a look and chastised me for the tiny stature of the bug.

"That's the smallest bug I've ever seen".

Irrelevant Jay. It's small now, but what if that bug grows up to become the natural born general of all centipedes and leads The Great Bug Revolution of 2023? Where all bugs rise up against the humans and make us their slaves, working in the honey hives for all eternity. Kind of like that stupid whiny bitch-kid Arnold has to protect in the first Terminator.

Or worse, what if the "small" bug crawls up on Jay in the middle of the night while he's sleeping and leaves an egg sack like this.

So you're welcome Jay. And you're welcome humanity. My very rational fear of bugs has saved us all.

Nelly, I Love You, and I Need You

I’m in a real dilemma here, a head-scratcher. I’m a hairy guy, as anyone who’s ever met me will tell you, except for on top of my head, the hair there seems to have been receding since I was 12.

Everyday to work I wear jeans and socks, but since it’s been 95 degrees here in Minnesota for the whole summer, I don’t want to wear jeans after work. However, if you wear shorts, you’re not supposed to wear socks and shoes, according to every girl I’ve ever met. The only acceptable thing to do is to put on some flip flops.

Here is my dilemma, when I go to put on sandals I still have a “sock ring” around my ankles, which is pretty much embedded in my leg hair at this point. So if I put on sandals, it still looks like I’m wearing socks anyway. A hair sock, if you will.

So what am I supposed to do? Suffer in jeans with a sweaty sack all night? Go out to the bar in my hair socks?

This is how Obama must feel when he tries to solve the conflict in the Middle East.