I see Hairboy (that dooshbag) conveniently left town in time to miss the floundering, last place New York Yankees get their sorry pinstriped azootiks handed to them this weekend by my also-not-doing-too-hot New York Metsies. Ay, it is what it is.

What some of youse may or may not know is that — when he was a young man, before history commenced being recorded (sometime in between the Paleo- & Neo-lithic eras) — Hairboy was a diehard Yankees fan, but I figure it’s easy for the mind of a kid, who grew up in Jersey, to be polluted, owing to the prevalence of Jersey pollution, but seriously, peeps.

I, as some of youse may be aware, come from a very long bloodline of crestfallen Brooklyn Trolley Dodger fans, and won’t even, as someone who lives north of the Mason-Dixon line, allow myself to be referred to as a “Yankee,” whereas Hairboy — a freakin’ Jersey guy (what, Jersey doesn’t have any teams of its own you can root for?) — can tick off the names, numbers and positions of the 1955 Yankees, the year they ate freakin’ DOIT and got their butts reamed by The Dodgers, thus winning Brooklyn its only World Championship (but back to 1955, in a mo’).

See, it’s like this. The Dodgers are to the Yankees what Brooklyn is to Jersey. Jersey may have 127-miles of “beautiful” sandy beaches — which, I hear, also comes with its own 127-mile-long parking lot! (rim shot) — but, Brooklyn’s one and only little Coney Island…ayyyyyy, ohhhhhh…our “Pearl by the Sea,” is the beach with heart.

And the Yankees may very well be the best team that money could buy (although this year, they might consider taking out a loan), but the ’55 Dodgers — with a lineup that included peeps like Campanella, Snyder, Hodges, Reese, Furillo, Oisk, Newk, Gilliam, Podres, and Labine — were the team with heart.

So, with those two inalienable facts constantly niggling at his tortured soul, it seems only natural that a little “Crosstown Rivalry” would materialize between Hairboy and myself, and as ugly a fact as it may be to Hairboy — that, on September 28, 1955, when Jackie Robinson stole home from Yankees catcher Yogi Berra, the Ump, rightly, called Jackie “SAFE!” — even Cousin Jack, his own flesh and blood, admits “A missed tag is bad, especially when they call the guy safe.”

But Hairboy — WHO WEARS GLASSES!!!, plus watched the game live, in gritty, eye-squinting black & white, on a TV back when TVs were 95 percent box and five percent screen — claims he visually witnessed, with his own two peepers, Yogi tag Jackie before Jackie touched the plate, and further insists he will go to his grave “knowing” that Jackie was out. Oh, go cry me a river. I hear the Raritan’s a little low.

People. This hysteria over losing one freaking World Series to Brooklyn’s Boys of Summer, and practically popping a squizzot arguing over a missed tag 53 years after it was called…I mean, I’m just sayin’ outta genuine concern for the guy…this is tantamount to Kos-like mentality.

Oh, geez, I almost forgot, the reason I brought all this up, speaking of crosstown rivalries: Did any of youse read in the Jersey Journal that “New York Yankees first baseman Jason Giambi said whenever he is in a prolonged hitting slump he wears a gold lamé, tiger-stripe thong under his uniform.” Am I making this shit up? Uh, no.

Obviously Yogi wasn’t wearing his golden lamé tiger-stripe thong the day he claims he tagged Jackie out. Ohhhhhhhhh!!

Well, there you have it, boys and girls. The Yankees are girlie-men, Jackie was safe, Jersey sucks, and my work here is far from being done.

Yes, Peeps, it is that time of the year when the Usual Suspects (a dozen of us this year) form up for the annual invasion of Southwest Florida for a week. I suspect that the guy in the local liquor has the date written on his calendar and his banker waiting for a deposit.

In addition to enjoying adult beverages and doing as little as possible, I plan to take every available opportunity to avoid watching or hearing any news, or, at least, keeping the mainstream mind poison to a bare minimum.

Play nice while I’m gone.

Tonight I will be assembling all the stuff that I will be bringing to Florida for the Usual Suspects’ invasion of the Sunshine State. Of course, this annual troop movement is no secret, so I was not terribly surprised to receive this video tidbit from Dave in Montana concerning a poor bastard who damned near got his farookin’ arm bitten off by an alligator while working on a goddamned golf course (in Florida, of course).

Knowing that such stories serve to propel my intestinal contents along at warp speed, Dave assured me that I could protect myself against such things by bringing along one of these.

Thanks, Dave. Feh!

Behold!

A farookin’ ALLIGATOR drinking my beloved Chocolate Vodka (well frozen too!).

You can thank the Wiseass Jooette for gifting me with the hideous alligator. It’s about as ugly as a bag of assholes. When she informed me that it actually was designed to hold a bottle, I figured I just had to share.

Photo creds to the Stardust Shrink, who insisted that this was, indeed, a serious woik of art. There’s no accouting for taste.

As it happens, my friend Eric is cooling his heels in Scotland with his bride, no doubt drinking some excellent single malt, while I am sitting in front of this farookin’ computer. Anyway, before he left he asked if I would pop over to his site to stir up the pot a bit.

So, seeing as how I had nothing much to say here tonight, I decided to leave my brain dribbles over there.

Happy Mother’s Day

R.I.P., Margaret.

The question burning a hole in my cruller today is the pronunciation of the word “often.” Are you a person who pronounces the “T” (OFF-ten) or are you a person who prefers the silent “T” pronunciation (OFF-en)?

The dictionary notes that either is correct and has this to say about consonant clusters:

During the 15th century English experienced a widespread loss of certain consonant sounds within consonant clusters, as the (d) in handsome and handkerchief, the (p) in consumption and raspberry, and the (t) in chestnut and often. In this way the consonant clusters were simplified and made easier to articulate. With the rise of public education and literacy and, consequently, people’s awareness of spelling in the 19th century, sounds that had become silent sometimes were restored, as is the case with the t in often, which is now frequently pronounced. In other similar words, such as soften and listen, the t generally remains silent.

I am in the Silent “T” crowd. In addition, being a Garden Stater, I say “often” the same way I say “coffee” (K00A-fee), much to the delight of waitresses in places like South Carolina and Tennessee.

So, how do you say it?

Here is a photo that has been sitting in my cell phone since my recent trip to the Left Coast. I took it at Newark Airport, where there are a gazillion signs that say things like:

DO NOT LEAVE YOUR VEHICLE UNATTENDED. UNATTENDED VEHICLES WILL TOWED AT OWNER’S EXPENSE.

As if the gazillion signs weren’t enough warning, every few minutes the public address system makes an announcement making clear the consequences of leaving your vehicle unattended.

Obviously the knucklehead driving this car must have thought that the clearly-stated rules didn’t apply to him. I got a particular kick out of watching the driver try to talk the cops out of towing the car away after it had already been placed on the tow truck’s hook.

Here’s the best part. The car was sporting New York license plates.

The Dooshbag driver must have been from Brooklyn.

I enjoyed YOUNGME – NOWME. It’s a site where people submit a picture of themselves in their youth (often as small children) alongside a picture of themselves as they appear today, often striking the childhood same pose.

Many of the entries are funny, many are cute and just about all of them worth a look.

The photos serve to remind us that time takes its toll on everyone. Nobody gets a pass. It seems to treat some people better than others, at least for a while, but ultimately, time will do its thing.

via The Ultimate Insult.

Suppose your organization (e.g. school, library, kntting circle, rugby team, local saloon) would like to book Al Gore to come to your organization and do his bullshit global warming Power Point presentation “Environmental Multimedia Lecture.” What to do?

You would contact Mr. Gore’s agent for the deets. You would learn that Mr. Gore’s speaking fee is $100,000 for the 75 minute presentation, and you would also be provided with a contract to sign, which contained a special addendum relating specifically to Mr. Gore’s requirements. In short, the $100,000 is just for openers. It will cost you considerably more than that.

The Smoking Gun has published the contract and the five-page addendum here, but, if you don’t feel like wading through the woids, here are some of the more interesting terms and conditions:

Travel: You will have to provide round-trip, first-class air travel for Mr. Gore and “another individual” from wherever Mr. Gore happens to be when he desires to fly to your location. He has the option of making his own travel arrangements, as he sees fit, but you will get the bill.

Ground Transportation: You will have to provide Mr. Gore and the additional person ground transportation to and from the airport. You may NOT use an SUV for this purpose, and you will be well advised to transport Mr. Gore in a hybrid vehicle. I figure he’s tired of being photographed getting in and out of stretch limousines.

Lodging: You will have to provide Mr. Gore and the additional person with first-class hotel accommodations, with all expenses at the hotel included (e.g. meals, phone, in-room snackies and drinks). I doubt he uses the gym, but if there would be charge for that, you’d pay that too.

Per diem: He gets $1,000 per day. Seeing as how you’ll already be paying all his hotel expenses, I assume this is more like “walking around money.” He might want to pop into a local eatery and buy himself a fast plate or two of lasagna.

Security: You will also have to pay for security for Mr. Gore at all times while he is in your city. Part of your security obligation will be to pay for “one licensed security person to be with Vice President Gore from the moment he arrives in the city of the event until his departure.” This is presumably to keep the throngs of his Birkenstock-wearing fans at bay.

Free Tickets: If you planned on selling tickets to the event, you will not be able to sell ten tickets in the “priority seating area,” because you will have to make them available to Mr. Gore for whomever he would like to give them to. Or sell himself? Would you be surprised?

Press: No press allowed! No press conferences! Mr. Gore will not be available to the press! Mr. Gore will grant no interviews! After all, someone just might ask him a question about real science. We can’t have that.

Cancellation: Consider this. Suppose you’ve: paid to rent a hall (or an arena) for this event, paid for a stage set, paid for audio-visual equipment, paid for the first-class air fare, paid for the first-class hotel, paid for ground transportation, and paid for security. As the audience is beginning to assemble a few hours before Algore’s scheduled appearance, you receive a call from Algore’s manager saying that Algore won’t be making the scheduled presentation. You ask why. “Is he ill? Has something horrible happened?”

You’re told, “Nah, he decided at the last minute that he didn’t feel like doing the presentation. He said he felt like staying home and watching some tube.”

You respond, “He can’t do that! I’ve spent thousands of dollars on this event, including all the things required by your contract.”

His agent replies, “Yes he can. Read the contract.”

You gasp, “I’ve invested a small fortune in this event. I’ll sue him for damages, and I’ll win!”

The agent delivers the final blow, “You can sue, but you won’t win. Read the contract.”

Some thoughts on all this:

This is obviously a sweet deal for Algore. Since ALL his expenses are covered, the $100K for telling a 75-minute bullshit story is net to him (less a percentage to his agent, who may even have a sweeter deal than Algore).

Do I begrudge Algore his $100K? No, I do not. I believe in free market capitalism and if someone is willing to pay Algore that kind of money to do his act, good for him. As for why anyone would want to spend that kind of money for a serving of Algore’s baloney, and why anyone would sign a contract insulating Algore from any liability whatsoever, I have no idea.