Thursday, November 17, 2005

I thought this bit of news was interesting: Jeff Blauser is going to be the new manager for Atlanta's Double-A club. You can read all the particulars here if you wish. (You really should, since I took the time to provide a link for you).

I'll always remember Jeff as the guy who played pretty well in Atlanta, got traded to the Cubs, and then didn't play so well anymore. I always blamed Mickey Morandini for that, though.
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Here's a list of new rules my sister in Virginia e-mailed me:

New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order,
the bigger the a-hole. If you walk into a Starbucks
and order a "decaf grande half-soy, half-low fat,
iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino,
extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one
NutraSweet," ooh, you're a huge a-hole.


New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for
Classmates.com ! There's a reason you don't talk to
people for 25 years. Because you don't particularly
like them! Besides, I already know what the captain
of the football team is doing these days: mowing my
lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you
out a window unless you're a seagull. People are
acting all shocked that a human finger was found in
a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a
dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Sirloin?
Luckily, it was only a finger!

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's
how much men care about your eyebrows: do you have
two of them? Okay, we're done.

New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water.
There's a whole aisle of this crap at the
supermarket, water, but without that watery taste.
Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink.
You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice
and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop f***ing with old people. Target is
introducing a redesigned pill bottle that's square,
with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom.
And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it ,
his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations,
Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up
from sliding my card, entering my PIN number,
pressing "Enter," verifying the amount, deciding,
no, I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter"
again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up
is standing there eating my Almond Joy. Paper,
plastic?! I don't have time for that. Next you'll ask
me to do a cleanup on Aisle Nine!

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese
characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's
right above the crack of your ass. And it translates
to "beef with broccoli." The last time you did
anything spiritual, you were praying to God you
weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just
high.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one
of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised
the US Open of Competitive Eating, because watching
those athletes at the poker table was just too
damned exciting. What's next, competitive farting?
Oh wait. They're already doing that. It's
called "The Howard Stern Show."

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&M. If I'm
extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies
based on crappy, old television shows, then you have
to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can
see what's playing on the other screens. Let's
remember the reason something was a television show
in the first place is the idea wasn't good enough to
be a movie.

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex
with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently
damaged. I have a better description for these kids:
lucky bastards.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used
to be just for weddings. Now it's for babies and new
homes and graduations from rehab. Picking up the
stuff you want and having other people buy it for
you isn't gift giving, it's the white people version
of looting.

New Rule: and this one is long overdue: No more
bathroom attendants. After I zip up, some guy is
offering me a towel and a mint like I just had sex
with George Michael. I can't even tell if he's
supposed to be there, or just some freak with a
fetish. I don't want to be on your webcam, dude. I
just want to wash my hands.

1 comment:

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