Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Real life and Reality TV

Bokolis hangs out with a fair amount of birds, but seldom do I get to buy a woman dinner (a woman I'm trying to steamroller, anyway). A big part of it is life's responsibilities taking up too much of my time, some of it is that, like Seinfeld explained, 90% of the population is undateable. Mostly, though, it's because I've taken the approach learned as a kid from Broadway Joe, who explained that he doesn't date; he likes the girls that just show up...I don't know how Suzy Kolber kept her hands off of him.

As opposed to merely steamrollering, in case I ever want to go about picking bird(s) to bear more of my spawn, I suppose I'd have to (re)learn that dance. Accordingly, the first date would have to lead to a second date. What's important here is the tale of the tape on that savage graphic- somewhat blatantly pilfered from Flowing Data.

Number of people...Edge - Reality TV: Bokolis is a porn star, baby; the more the merrier. I'm a little perturbed, though, about the prospect of showing up somewhere, like Cromartie showing up to the draft in civvies, and having the crowd chant, "Feed your kids!" to me.

Hot tub time...Edge - Real life: While the hot tub allows for quick assessment of a bird's fitness, remember the abovementioned grand purpose. This isn't a ski trip. A bird that hops right in to the hot tub on the first night is a broad that walks herself out to the car at the end of it. I prefer shower sex, anyway.

Number of Drinks...Edge - Real life: You show me a bird that can bang down 8 drinks and still function and I'll show you a broad with FUPA. Better yet, show me all her teeth.

Months until engagement...Edge - Reality TV: A cycle that quick makes for a cleaner break, even if it introduces the Cromartie dilemma.

People watching...Edge - Real life: People watching me is a problem...and I'm not talking performance issues...see title. I'm not trying to have an audience. If people are around, they'd better be participating.

Amount that is real...Edge - Real life: You could argue that the actuals are much closer, but genuineness is important.

In the end, it's decidedly the real life scene, and all the kooky chics it holds. There is little chance of seeing Bokolis on tayvee. But, if I were to whore meself out to the tube, y'all can bet it'd be a ball swinging, cock whipping good time...with Bokolis doing the ball swinging and the cock whipping, of course.

Now we really must end the season

Sure as shit, after Bokolis tears into the Mets, they get hot. I'd like to think that I lit a fire under their ass, but it's more interesting than that.

Miracle of miracles, they find themselves- as I type- atop the NL East. It had the most unlikely start, as the Mets won that 20-inning game with the Cards going a 3rd inning with a field player on the mound.

I don't think there was a carryover, either, as they blew a 3-0 lead the next night, with Wainwright going the distance. It's all down to pitching, home cooking and momentum generated from getting it in gear. Even as I was offering him up to the Iron Sheik, Jose Reyes busted down the line on his last AB on 4/16. It didn't mean much at the time, but you had to notice the bust. It's not even like he is contributing all that much, but the taco truck runs much more smoothly when Reyes is hauling.

When pressed on a 5/1 (earliest projected) return, Carlos Beltran was resigned to (accented) hemming and hawing. I think he was figuring on the Mets being 8 games out on May 1 and being able to take off the entire season. I think mid-June is more likely for Mr. Softee.

The reason I suggest an abrupt end to the season is that this doesn't figure to last. There are a load of unusual circumstances in play here (apart from the Mets running off 9 of 11).

Home cooking - 15 home games vs six road games.

They have butched up at the expense of a useless Cubs team (led by a detached Piniella) and a Manny-less Dodgers team just looking to get home at the end of a long road trip.

The philthies went 2-4 in ATL and SFO, historical graveyards for the Mets.

Rollins is on the DL and Howard has gone about 60 ABs without a home run.

Seemingly stellar (ERA) starting pitching- which furthers my point that, just like anyone could pitch at Shea, anyone can pitch in Shitti Field- but a staff that has walked the most batters. This is particularly glaring for Pelfrey, he of the 0.69 ERA, with a 19-13 K/BB in 26 innings and a .254 BABIP vs his career average of .314 and a league average of ~.300.

Ike Davis has helped and, of course, they could start hitting, too. That they've shown a pulse is reason enough to be happy...but don't set up the playoff rotation. We'll see what they're made of when they go down to the town of dumb-shits this weekend...where they'll face the great Roy "Doc" Halliday- possibly on their third consecutive Sunday night game, in none of which were the Mets the featured team- who says he doesn't even need all his pitches to dominate the NL.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Spring Recoiled

It was a long winter here in the Apple.

Not because it was so cold. We didn't have any more than the requisite cold snap and didn't have that body numbing deep freeze reserved for the mountains.

Almost every winter yields a week's worth of 50+ degree days. But, we didn't have so much as one the entire winter.

By about Feb 20th, Bokolis had about enough of it. I was getting a little stir crazy. So crazy, in fact, that I cancelled a planned ski trip* with some buddies. At that point, the last thing that I was going to do was to go somewhere colder than I've already been suffereing.

*- Bokolis doesn't ski, literally or figuratively.

So, I was happier tahn a muthafucka when mid-March brought spring-like weather.

All the while, I had been predicting that the birds would be exceptionally fit this year. A little background; on those blazing summer days, when all these fine-ass women are walking around with minimal clothing, so much so that you can smell the pussy in the air...we call those days LOW TIDE! Last year, Bokolis and crew were very disappointed with the step back (there was only one LOW TIDE! day) NYC women had taken with reagrds to their appearance. Early on, we knew there would be trouble, as, generally speaking, these broads came into Spring carrying excess winter weight and never quite lost it through the Summer. It was rather disappointing.

I thought this year would be a bounceback. These birds were looking good enough in their winter gear and I liked what I was seeing at the track at McCarren. But, the spring-like weather we had in mid-March proved me wrong. I quickly realized that I was using a biased sample set and cursed my luck. I mean, I must have been seeing shit, or these designers are working magic.

When the following week brought chillier weather, my joke to all was that, Spring showed up, took a look around at these broads and broke thefuck out.

The week wrapped around Easter brought summer-like weather. The joke was that Spring brought Summer for a second opinion. Towards the tail end of it, the winter cloaks were shed and we got a real look. Like a wishy-washy professor, the grade was B-/C+...Spring gave a B-, Summer gave a C+. The day after it passed, I was walking to lunch with a few co-workers. I conveyed the grades, to which the response was, "Did you see the women out here yesterday?" I replied that he's married. Pause. "Good point."

Granted, frequenting thedirty has friggin ruined me. I'm noticing minor imperfections and the words "Thunders," "shim" and "beat" are constantly flashing. We're still not looking good. Spring still isn't impressed and goes off on drinking binges every week. I fear it's going to be an ugly Summer.

At some point, it dawned on me that this drop in form coincided with the Great Strath in which we are currently muddled. This downturn has been called a Mancession because the people hardest hit have been the Wall St. set...the guys with the money. If you're half the chauvinist pig Bokolis is, you'll draw the conclusion that, as the desirable bank accounts have dwindled, these broads are using this downturn as an excuse to let themselves go.

We can't have that, ladies. We need y'all to take the lead here. Tighten up. Inspire the rest of us. Inspire the banker set to greater performance to help pull us out of this mess. Do it for your country.

Do it for LOW TIDE!

Kennesaw Mountain Goodell

It's Friday and I have some time to kill before I get to yelling at some people over whom I hold no explicit authority.

So, Goodell sits down Roethlisberger for 6 games after the latter was cleared of criminal wrongdoing for doing whatever it is he needed to do to knock down a 20 year old bird. All views Bokolis has heard from everyone reflects their ideology, that this sumbich did this and that and that Goodell was right to slap a 6 game bid on him.

If we're going to look strictly at this situation, then sure, Ben may have gotten just desserts. However, there is a bigger picture and a bigger issue.

When the MLBPA puts the screws to the owners, everybody blasts the players. The media have portrayed Donald Fehr as a sinister, almost satanic presence, a stain on baseball. When the owners were found guilty of collusion, they were slapped on the wrist; nobody batted an eye. Bokolis isn't saying that there are good guys here, because there aren't.

But, the lesson was always that, if ownership can push around such a powerful union, the rest of us are fucked. I'm sure that, were I to go downstairs and ask 100 (largely) random people on the street whether they were paid their self-perceived worth, I couldn't get 5 of them to say yes.

That is why I always root for the unions and won't bat an eye at the salaries, grossly overpaid though they may be...even if it means the owners are going to raise ticket prices to cover it.

The Roethlisberger case, and those of the other NFL derelicts before him, present an interesting parallel and are setting a dangerous precedent.

After having 4 or 5 drinks at the bar, anyone (we're talking a regular, grown-ass man) that drives home knows that, should some shit go down, they have strict liability. So, if you're going to blow a .12, like Jim Leyritz and Donté Stallworth, if some slob jumps in front of your car, you're on the hook for him. It doesn't matter that whether on foot or in a vehicle, Miamians have this issue with wandering into a traffic lane for no apparent reason (that doesn't just happen in GTA; this is a real phenomenon). It doesn't matter that the woman that caused the accident that killed her was more drunk than you were*, it's your ass.

*- That's not to suggest Leyritz be absolved.

If some shit like this (just the getting pulled over part...God forbid, not mowing down someone) happened to Bokolis, I'd be fucked; likely out of a job, with a future of events that will only drive me to drink. My career in corporate America: D-O-E-N done. I'd have the state telling me how to live my life and I'd probably have to sell my ass for cash.

Just desserts, scumbag, right? Sure, you self-righteous cunts. Like Tony said, you're not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie.

I digress. Let's change the scenario to something that everybody does: Drinking on a worknight, 2 or 3 drinks over 90 minutes. That's not illegal. Do we want to raise the ante? Let's say you'd blow a .06 and you drove home afterwards and, like 99.999% of the millions of people who do this, you get home without incident.

A .06 would get you a summons, I think. But, at .06 how tired you are has a far greater effect on your driving ability and judgement than your BAC. It's highly unlikely that you'd do anything to get yourself pulled over.

Let's further suppose that, because you're a moron, you tweeted it. Corporate Big Brother picks up on this and docks you a day's pay because some cunt in HR feels you couldn't possibly have put in an honest day's work. That's some bullshit, right? The lush CEO is stealing money every day.

You want a little more credit than that, don't you? It's 20 years from now. Indians still haven't developed critical thought, so you still have your job. Yet, globalization and the Information Age have taken such hold so that, effectively, you are on call 24 hours per day. Along those lines, Corporate Big Brother has intruded to the point where it can now observe virtually everything you do and has the AI to analyze it. CBB observes that you are out boozing and hunting for poon-tang, which, it deems, limits your ability to absorb and convey information (assume your job doesn't involve the conveyance of information on how to pick up tipsy 20-something birds). Your pay grade is lowered for the rest of the week.

Too creepy? Too fucked up? All right, before leaving the office/signing off, you are now made to file an agenda of your evening plans. This information is conveyed to the establishment you will patronize, you are cut off at the appointed time, dumped in a cab and sent home. Change the options; you can stay longer, but you have to concede a vacation day, or a day's salary.

How about, while on vacation, you engage in similar activities to Roethlisberger; I'll leave it up to your imagination as to whether the girls went willingly and you had a bouncer at your door.

You're not that cool? Fine, you pass out drunk on the beach and your buddies have to drag you back to the room. They do some forgy shit to you, like make you piss yourself or draw on cocks on you with a marker or, worse yet, draw directly on your nutsac.

Not that Bokolis would know; I can hold my liquor.

The public figure, role model angle is bullshit. We're now blue-skying an employer sanctioning for perceived transgressions in personal lives in the face of signed contract- never mind that it is non-guaranteed and contains imposed morals clauses that give the employer the right to terminate...just so we can feel- WTF do you care?- that justice has been served. The rest of us don't even have that protection, but it's only a matter of time until these rules are applied to us.

Yeah, yeah, asshole. The boss doesn't even sanction for the shit we do on company time. We'll let go that you're cheating yourselves by fucking off at work. Does it make you feel better to think that you're only a hyper-diligent IT guy away, or that your company writes off a certain amount of it as an inevitability?

I'm not that smart and not all that creative. If I can think of this, you can be sure that, before too long, someone with the drive to implement worse will come along.

That's all the fuck I got.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Must End The Season

or, My Entire Team Sucks.

So, last night, I'm at the fun job. The Yankees game gets rained out, so we switched over to the Mets-Cards. Wonder of wonders, they're up 1-0 into the 7th, with Oliver Perez pitching his guts (if he had any guts, that is) off. Actually, he looked good, keeping those hitters off balance.

The jagoff that led off the B7 hits one in the hole to Reyes, who, cunt that he is, eases over to backhand, doesn't bother to set, flings off his back leg, tailing the ball over and pulling the 1B off the bag...scored a hit, but would get Reyes benched on Bokolis' team. Next guy bunts the runner over, after which Jerry Manuel pulls Perez after 97 pitches. I'm like WTF?!, to which multiple co-workers respond that it's good for Perez because he now will not get a loss after pitching so well. I'm like WTF?! again. The team is left with 8 outs to get...WTF did he accomplish that he's in the dugout hugging everyone who'll let him cop a feel?

Of course, this is Manuel's call, so I don't want to be harsh on Perez. He brings in Nieve, who proceeds to nick the next batter and walk Holliday. Out comes Manuel to make another change, bringing in a lefty to pitch to Felipe Lopez. Bokolis promptly breaks out into a mediocre Jerry Manuel impression, explaining to the press at the post-game conference that he felt turning Lopez to his power side was the correct move in this situation. It was meant to be a first-guess, but the lads got a kick out of it.

Work took me away from the TV. A few minutes later, I look up to see a 1-4 score. I call out, did somebody hit a grand slam? The whole room, waiting for me to refocus, breaks out into laughter.

I think I've explained that the Mets ruined Reyes a few years back, when Willie Randolph yelled at him for dogging it during a game out in LA. He must have went and pissed and moaned to someone over Willie's head. And, it worked, for Reyes anyway. They must have given him his way and it has turned him into a spoiled little cunt. As presently constituted, he is utterly worthless. The only way to fix him is to send in the Iron Sheik to make him humble (1:08).

Speaking of humbling people, despite the layered ineptitude, Bokolis is sure that I could turn around the franchise were I made the GM. Of course, it goes beyond talent evaluation and player procurement, which is the easy part. I've previously explained that all of this stems from Wilpon. The real problem in that organization, Bokolis is told, is the owner's son, Jeff Wilpon. I mean...your son...really? WhentheFUCK does that ever work? This is the guy who pulled rank to bring in Kaz 'torn asshole" Matsui. That alone should have gotten him disowned, never mind banned. Of course, if Wilpon knew how to handle his business, this wouldn't be posted.

Anyway, here's what Bokolis would do on his first day on the job. I'd be addressing the staff- introductory stuff and all- giving them an overview of the plan. Jeff Wilpon, unable to keep his mouth shut, would interrupt. I'd say, "Excellent, Jeff, but I'll finish." After it all ends, I'd call Jeff into my office. As soon as the door shut, I'd unleash a venomous open hand that would surely be heard through the door. While Jeff was on a knee, which the slap forced him to take, "Jeff, it's ok. Nobody saw it. You can go back out there like we're in here drinking whiskey. But, the next time you try to tell me how to run the team, I'm going to fuck you in front of everybody. For that matter, don't even show up here unless you've asked permission. Now, getthefuck out."

I'd make sure the contract language was structured accordingly and the check was deopsited. Thinking about it some more, I'd probably have Sheik do it..I don't think I could get it up for Jeff.

The team that gays together...

The guy at Getty Images that snapped this should get a Pulitzer. To me the funniest thing was that, when I right-clicked to download, the name of the file was "Nevillegay..." I think the secret's out, ye filthy manc cunts ye. I tell you, with the fmc's last gasp winner over City, I'm starting to think Rednose must have some incriminating pictures of Satan. Nobody's deal lasts this long.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Duke bag

Given that I consider today's version of basketball to be NASCAR, I wasn't really paying attention until the last 3 minutes or so. But, you had to love the competition. From what I saw, it was basketball as I knew it to be; half-court, working for every basket, with little or no dunking and not too much one on one play. Those kids fought like hell.

Needless to say, I didn't want Duke to win. They're not championship quality and they had a scandalously easy draw compared to the other 1-seeds. I guess that, if you're always a factor, sooner or later, you're going to bag a cheap one.

Because they never got their noses out front in the second half, I never had the sense that Butler was going to win that game. I figured the only way was, if the they had the last shot down a point. But, they seemed to be drifting off, as they couldn't hit a shot for 7 minutes or so. Lo and behold, they dragged themselves back because Duke couldn't put them away.

The rainbow would've looked cool if it dropped, but I really wish that last shot would have dropped, if only to bite Krzyzewski in the ass for intentionally missing the free throw.

These guys outsmart themselves with these nonsensical strategies, like that one and intentionally fouling when up three. By missing with 3.6 seconds left, he introduced the possibility of losing, going from about a (max) 20% chance of having the game tied to about a 5% chance of losing it. And, without getting the perfect trip up the court, when the kid had a free look from inside 45 feet, it was about 10% chance of losing...not materially different from a 25-footer with a hand in your face.

You lucky fucks.