Well, so I got caught up with Spike Lee's Malcolm X on B.E.T. last night. Yes, B.E.T. saves the quality programming for Saturday nights at 11pm to make sure that NO black people will be watching. For the rest of the 165 hours of the week, they save it for stupid videos, crappy comics retreading over the same lame jokes, and infomercials INFOMERCIALS INFOMERCIALS.
So, that kept me up until around 3am, yes, even though I OWN the movie on DVD, I decided to sit through hours of commercials too. Hey, it's a classic, and SHOULD have won Denzel Washington an Acadamy Award.
Had to get up at 9am because my dad and I wanted to eat breakfast and get to Safeco Field extra early so we could catch batting practice (PRACTICE?!) and maybe a few fly balls. No dice. It turns out, after a night game, they don't HAVE batting practice (PRACTICE?!?!) the next day for a day game. So, we got to wait in line to get J.J. Putz's autograph. I had him sign my scorecard, my dad had him sign my smaller, never-used-because-it's-so-damn-small glove. So, now I have an OFFICIAL J.J. Putz baseball mitt.
Ryan Franklin started, gave up 4 runs in the No Decision, but the Mariners came back and won it 5-4. Ron Villone stole three innings of my life and I want to kill him for it because he's the MOST boring pitcher of all time. Ichiro, 3 for 4. He's looking pretty unstoppable right now, I hope he gets the hits record. I think he needs about 50 more hits to pass 257 for the season.
And now here I am. My abdominal muscles are so freakin' sore right now, because I did crunches for the first time (last night) in about a month. (GET IN MY BELLY), so now I have to, you know, lose the Fat Bastard gut I've been working on during this insanely lazy streak of non-activity. Funny, but you just don't want to work out when you're drunk four days a week and hungover for the other three. A few of you may think that's exaggeration, but that just means (HE DON'T KNOW ME VEWWY WELL, DO HE) you haven't seen me in action enough this summer.
I would like to point out that I've got quite the streak going as far as not throwing up. If memory serves me correctly, the last time I puked was at Matt's birthday party fuckfest where I almost passed out at Finn McCool's. That would have been . . . let me check my calendar . . . June 24th of this year. HEY! I'm working on two puke-free months and counting! (Hi, I'm here to put in for my two-month puke chip. Yes, yes, I know, "One day at a time. And keep coming back to the meetings!") Puker's Anonymous is about another month away from making me a sponsor for some helpless sap. Although, we at P.A. encourage puking from others. It makes us who puke less often look THAT much better (Hey baby, you wanna go out with a real BIG man? Or do you wanna go out with the guy with the vomit all over his crotch?)
Where was I going with this? Hmm, something about how I gotta go see Napolean Dynamite sometime this week . . . if there's anyone who has yet to see it, give me a ringy dingy. The buzz is cutting me in TWO!
Current Mood: Bret Boone: worthless man of error
Current Music: Alice Cooper - Lace and Whiskey