Saturday, April 21, 2007

do you see this man??

You see him, don't you? Admit it! You do! That's right, you see him!!!

His name is Jim Leyland. And if the Pirates' front office wasn't comprised entirely of the dippiest dipshits who ever dipped shit, I wouldn't be in Los Angeles watching the Pirates blow a lead [and chunks] in the bottom of the 9th at Chavez Ravine, while the Tigers' manager [see above] is working on leading his team back to the playoffs. For the second year in a row. After being in last friggin' place. I wouldn't be doing that, now would I?

No, no. I wouldn't.

I wouldn't be watching the Dodgers kick the Pirates' asses in the bottom of the 10th, with a walk off GRAND SLAM!!!

Way to go, braniacs. Quit your jobs. Please. For the sake of one of the oldest sports franchises in history. Pretty please. With crappy decision-making on top. [Or make that, "on the bottom." Of the division. Morons.]

....whew!... that felt good...

Thursday, April 05, 2007

coyotes ugly.

So, anyhow. The coyotes.

In the cartoons, Wile E. Coyote is carnivorous, but loveable. He also works alone, is usually silent, and relies heavily on the Acme Company for implements of death.

Truth be told, none of those things is based in reality. Coyotes are not even close to loveable. Like beer, they come in packs. And they have no hard currency to buy implements of death. [Not to mention the fact that the average coyote’s credit rating is terrible.]

I know these things because at least once every two weeks — around the time when I should be dreaming about drinking Ovaltine™ shooters with Harry Houdini, President James K. Polk, and George Gobel on a dingy, floating down the Nung River to see Dennis Hopper and Julia Child play tennis — I am startled out of my deep slumber by the sound of a pack of coyotes attacking an animal of some sort outside of my window.

Sometimes it’s down the street, sometimes it’s in the distance, but sometimes it’s right next to my building. No matter where it originates, it’s not a sound you ever want to hear. It’s a cacophony made up of high-pitched [piercing, actually] cackles and howls, times 10. Because to my ear, that’s about how many coyotes there are.

Unfortunately, in a way, it’s the din of pet owner Darwinism. I’ve been told that the residents hate the coyotes, which makes sense. Sometimes the casualties include their dogs and cats.

That said, I have a question for them: What the hell are you doing leaving their pet out at 3 a.m.? You live on the edge of a canyon. Wild animals live in the canyon. You can hear the coyotes in the distance. What the hell did you think was going to happen?

I don’t think any of these are pet owners who fall under the “Einstein” category. I doubt they’re capable of formulating the “leash theory.”

You would think that the “Caution Rattle Snakes” signs posted around the aforementioned canyon would be an obvious indicator that we’re communing with nature. I mean, you can’t really get too angry at the coyotes, right? It’s instinct. Ginger is a canine. Ginger is pissing on ground where they tread. Ginger is easy bait because ginger is tethered to a metal stake in the ground. Ginger, unfortunately, is always going to lose in that scenario.

So maybe the dogs shouldn’t require the license. Maybe the owners should. I'm just sayin'.