Shout Out To Some Peeps
Rankinblog is late to the blogosphere and is not a good follower of etiquette at any level, but here are a few shouts out some dawgs in the ‘hood. The cyberhood, not Compton.
The Revolutionist pings rankinblog from time to time so I checked in and he's in a lather about something or another but my Commodore 64 won’t load the damn page before I doze off, so I’m not sure what it is. Oh, wait a minute, my drool cup disengaged and the alarm sounded and woke me up. The Revolutionist is recommending and streaming Sublime’s cover of Bob Marley’s No Woman, No Cry as a stately farewell to his ex as well as charting the ambivalence of his current dating situation. Can’t relate anymore, dude and I’ll leave the dating scene to you but your site looks slick. I’d listen to the Sublime song but at this rate it won’t buffer on the Commodore until my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah so I’ll just put the original on the player instead.
Just A Girl got well laid, couldn’t sleep and stumbled across rankinblog and shouted out in ecstasy. Now her man is back on the road so she may be ripe for the picking. Maybe The Revolutionist should look her up.
Sugarmama seems game yet ambivalent about her blogging, if not her beloved Mr. S, having a desultory discussion about flushing in public toilets and Starbucks iced lattes. I’m drawing an uneasy connection between the two, but her recent post about childhood memories was great. I look at my four year old and wonder “how much of this is she going to remember when she’s an old fart like me?” Hopefully not that part where daddy called that stupid man in traffic a motherfucker…
Allah Pundit is all over an Arab News article by an American writer explaining that this whole Middle East thing is just something the Jewish World Conspiracy and its DC Bureau have ginned up to keep us from a peaceful Mideast dominated by freedom loving Arabs. He also points out the helpful job that the Islamic community in Nigeria is doing to scare people away from the Polio vaccine, which apparently causes HIV. And I thought it was the bush meat. Allahu Akbar.
Kelley, who has had the good sense to steer clear of rankinblog since that unfortunate drunken blogging-disco lapse, is proudly taking credit for the World Class Pollen in the Atlanta area this week. My outdoor cat Max came in tonight looking like a sleek, low flying carpenter bee. I can relate.
Velociman delivers the awful news of the violent death of Cooper, as good a dog as there comes, killed in an involuntary competition with a pit bull in a kennel situation gone wrong, not unlike the Macon County Jail. I hope Jack Straw sues them for all they have, but it won’t bring their beloved Cooper back. I'm only glad that he got to share my prime rib last time I was in Bangor. RIP, Cooper.
As for me (and it’s about me, after all), today was all over the map. It seems I’m back in the baseball business, dragged back into it like Pacino in the awful Godfather III. No one but shut-ins, memorabilia collectors and Dominicans follow the sport anymore, and George Steinbrenner just hired Shoeless Joe Jackson’s ghost as batting coach. The last time I was in the middle of this crass money pit the overpaid crybabies went on strike, so it can’t be worse, can it? Chipper Jones in GQ claims that he took some borderline body building supplements a number of years back and all it did was give him gas. Great, Chipster. You should’ve pumped a few thousand cc’s of what Barry Bonds shoots up, maybe you’d have a few more clutch World Series at bats on the old resume instead of farting at Mariano Rivera’s slider. I’ll keep you posted on my progress in Mudville.
We ate at Maggiano’s Little Italy tonight, the official restaurant of the Obese Nation. A single entrée at this place would feed an entire Somali village for a week. My waiter, Ricardo, looked at me as though I’d farted like Chipper Jones when I asked him which of the $26 bottles of Merlot was best. Some things never change. But if you’re in Atlanta and want a good tasty wheel barrowful of pasta, I recommend it. I waved to Mr. Creosote(pictured above) from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life in a corner booth, vomiting on Ricardo as we took our leave. Ciao.
Who, me, ambivalent? No way.
I mean, yesIam.
Posted by: sugarmama | March 31, 2004 at 07:04 PM
Back to the summer game, eh? I think I am, too, dammit. Just to see the steroid meltdown.
Posted by: Velociman | March 31, 2004 at 08:21 PM