Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Saturday, October 06, 2007


Who Do the Voodoo?

I confess. It was me. I was nervous last night as the game dragged on and the Indians just didn't seem like they were capable of scoring on the Yankees. I couldn't bear to see them lose at home. I couldn't stand to listen to the dipshit announcers on TBS who'd seemed so sure from the first inning that the night would belong to New York.

And so, reluctantly, I spread a plastic tarp on our floor. I concocted a mix of graveyard dirt, Jorge Posada's hair and bottle of Burning River Pale Ale. I poured this down the throat of a chicken. Then I sacrificed the chicken and asked the dark spirits to confound the Yankee's pudgy middle reliever. Which they did. And how.

You may have noticed that Fausto Carmona had just as many bugs around him as Jabba the Schmuck, but they didn't seem to affect him at all. That would be thanks to my skills at chicken-sacrificing.

Next, I'm going to see if I can use a goat-head to give George Bush a giant boil on his ass. Maybe I'll do that the next time he decides to veto health care for poor kids.

Fuck the Yankees!