2003-10-06 - 11:58 p.m.

Ok.

Ok. Ok. Ok.

Seriously.

For real.

The entry I was originally writing as been put on hold. It's half done, so it won't be long until you hear of our adventures with Petrarch and Titie, my freaktastic foibles with the Jeep, Wallakers shake ups, and extended rants and raves on television.

But. Now. We. Must. Focus. On. One. Thing.

RED SOX!!!!

What do I even say? This series with the hated A's (I still hate them from '90, and never learned to forgive Canseco - even when he played for us) has been one of the kookiest, wackiest, head slappingest, bizzaro baseball series I've ever had the fortune of witnessing. Whether it was rules dredged up not seen since the days of Ruth and No, No, Nanette (rule 706 B is it?) involving obstruction, runners just deciding to STOP running, automatic doubles, slumps that molt into game winning homers, tape on the back of your jacket, cowboy hats, crazy haircuts, handlebars, V-Tek and Trot "You'll still have me to kick around" Nixon, Mr. Mia Hamm, Pedro's heroics, David "You wouldn't like me when I'm bigger than you" Ortiz, the President of the Springsteen Fan Club, Manny Manny Coco Pop, and of course, my boy Johnny Damon. Oh Johnny. So scary. So so scary. Seriously. I just knew he was dead. I knew that me doing something - like not drinking enough, or wearing my glasses wrong, or not having enough fingers crossed, or not smearing a sufficient amount of lamb's blood on the doorway caused Johnny's injury. Apparently, in Rand McNallyland Damien Jackson runs backwards and hamburgers eat people. Blech. Oh well, at least Johnny isn't dead dead. Now, as our good pal Justin would say, ON TO THE ORPHAN RAPERS!!! (a.k.a. - The Yankees)

I still remember staying up and watching that 5th Game against Cleveland with Coty and Frederick and all I remember is lots of beer and lots of freezy-pops. Actually, most of my memories of Coty and Fred revolve around beer and freezy pops. Anyway, Kenichi deserves some praise here because he's the one who was goin' all Novena-ing on the Red Sox so they'd win. So thank his Catholic ass. Although, I pulled out the Clue trick to help the Sox win too. I will explain that next time, as I'm too drunk (thanks to Miller Lite), too cold (thanks to no heat) and too tired (thanks to the planet revolving around the sun) to explain it all now.

So here we come New York. And in the process, I will piss all over Ben's room all week. Whether the Yankme's win or lose. I just enjoy pissing all over his room. So sue me. Wait, my name's not Justin, don't sue me.

I need to go to bed. I can't put a picture up of Johnny's collison as that's just too jinxy - so instead I'll grant you an intimate shot of Wally and Manny: A Love Story

It's been real,

Jery Remy's Re-Animated Corpse

ps - Billy Beane, are you gonna write a sequel now? Called "My team of one-legged drunk orphans couldn't close a fucking series if their lives depended on it!" Yeah, that's a killer title. I'll even let you borrow it from me. No charge. Honest!

pps - "Did somebody say 'one-legged drunk orphans'? Mmmmmmmmm!" - Roger Clemens

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