Mike:
Yeah, "it results from being bombarded with friend tallies, status updates, and photos of people happy, having the time of their lives, when you are not."
Bill:
OK, so let me get this straight...
Bill:
Kids today live in a world of sexting, friends with benefits and casual hookups where a b.j. is so common it's not even categorized undah a sex heading, unlimited access to porn, and their entire music and video collection available anytime, anywhere on their ubiquitous portable smart devices...
Bill:
And they are depressed?
Bill:
I mean in my day we lived with acne, a permanent case of blue balls, 3 tv channels, and a limited, hardcopy porn stash infrequently upgraded.
Mike:
*And* a cursed Red Sox team.
Bill:
Yeah, and a cursed, World Series deficient Red Sox team *and* we had to walk 7 miles in 3 feet of snow...
Doug:
I mean I'm as contented as a gender-confused 10 year old being told by my teacher to self-identify with a clownfish as a way to, you know, feel bettah about myself and shit.
"When he does combine max effort in the mental preparation arena (which is not to say he hasn’t before, but as you age you learn different things about yourself and the game) with his physical preparation, things could get interesting."
Bill:
Funny, if you take away the pahts about mental and physical preparation arenas, that's pretty much exactly what my career counselors said about me.
"When he does combine max effort in the mental preparation arena (which is not to say he hasn’t before, but as you age you learn different things about yourself and the game) with his physical preparation, things could get interesting."
Bill:
Funny, if you take away the pahts about mental and physical preparation arenas, that's pretty much exactly what my career counselors said about me.
Your omniscient author in absentia:
At the day job, we are on a 10 day sprint cycle, with the 11th day being planning for the next 10 days... today is just such a planning day which pretty much takes out all my free Soxaholix time... So no strip today.
Mike:
Here youth, unchanging, blooms and smiles,
Here dwells eternal spring,
And warm from Hope's elysian isles
The winds their perfume bring.*
Doug:
You know not only was Wake amazing last night, but when you factah in the timing and the need with the injury situation, well, it's the stuff of legend.
Doug: You know and people have the audacity to say that newspapers are losing relevance.
Doug: Where the fuck are we gonna learn this stuff without the never ending toiling and commitment to historicity that guys like the CHB bring to the table?
Bill: Seriously. I mean it's not like we live in world where everything is hyperlinked and cross-linked and dispersed in some sort of futuristic "info web" where, god like, we can summon facts and porn with a few quick keystrokes.
Doug: But, hey, you know at least we *do* live in a world where Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber are declared "powerful."
Al:
Seriously. I looked at the standings this morning and got that tingly feeling like I was Schwarzenegger alone in a room with a membah of my house staff.
Doug:
Oh, that's nothing. I saw the .524 combined with Buch's line and I felt like DSK after 2 flaming Pernods and a Viagra.
Bill:
Absolutely. And this is why I have no qualms, I mean I'm totally friggin devoid of qualm, when I wish for the perfection of the Japanese sexbot even though it could very well bring with it the complete collapse of humanity as we know it.
Mike:
Yeah, he's gonna miss at least his next 3 stahts...
Doug:
With "elbow strain."
Doug:
And by elbow strain they mean, of course, that he's as useful as a dental dam on a Real Doll.
Mike:
But not unexpectedly per Tito's loyalty to veterans, this means Wakefield will be taking Lackey's place in the rotation...
Mike:
And Wake hasn't even been replacement level for the past 2 seasons.
Doug:
Yeah, well, as absurd as it sounds, I'd rathah lose with Wakefield than lose with Lackey... it just feels bettah somehow.
Mike:
Well, let's hope Lackey uses the time away to "heal" and work on his location, like, you know, locating his pitches somewhere in the National League.
Your omniscient author in absentia:
Like I mentioned in the comments yesterday, got sprung with a very early interview session at work, so need to prep, set up a conference room, boot the projector, boot the teleconference stream blah blah blah...
So I don't have any free time this morning to write
But here's a Camus quote I'll leave you with that seems very appropriate for this creepy site:
"A character is never the author who created him. It is quite likely, however, that an author may be all his characters simultaneously."
Doug:
To all of those Sox fans who still believe that this club is just going through a bad spell and that come Octobah we'll look back at the staht of the season and laugh...
Mike:
Ah, "Paging Dr. Jung... Dr. Carl Jung you're need in therapy."
Mike:
Seriously. Is that textbook projection or what?
Doug:
To use one of my grams favorite expressions, Lackey is about as useful as tits on a bull.
Al:
Christ, I'd take tits on a shemale right now.
Mike:
But, you know, let's remembah Lackey's dealing with some personal stuff.
Al:
So I've heard — "Everything in [his] life sucks right now, to be honest with you."
Doug:
Well, it's time like this when we can thank our good fortune to work in fabric covered cubes, living paycheck to paycheck, and burdened with credit cahd debt...
Doug:
Because, you know, making $16 mil a year is teh suck.
Al:
Christ, I don't want to jinx it or anything, but these sonzabitches are flirting with .500 again.
Mike:
You know, when this season opened in Texas, I think we all thought .500 would be a momentary point of inflection in the arc toward a steady .600 to .615 trek.
Al:
Seriously. 1-0, 1-1, 2-1, 3-1, 4-1, 5-1, 5-2, 6-2... so on and so forth.
Doug:
Who knew .500 would be such a ball breakah.
Al:
I know this is way worse than popping off champagne for winning the Wild Card, but if and when these guys crack that victory barriah, I think a celebration is in order.
Mike:
Agreed. If nothing else, I think we need to release some pent up steam. Any suggestions?
Your omniscient author in absentia:
I'm under the weather from allergies* today, so you're on your own in considering, "Can we just go ahead and always play the Angels?"
*[And by "allergies" I mean, of course, the dry mouth, dry heave, drubbed feeling one gets the morning after attending an obligatory weeknight social function with an open bar.]
