Fantasy Balls Team

So for the 3rd time in as many days, my nephew, Alejandro, has gotten me in trouble. The last time, he and I were playing baseball in front of the house. I made the pitch and he ripped a line drive right by my head, through the window, and directly into my mother’s bum. When we heard her scream, I snatched him up and we made a run for it, luckily happening upon my dad as he left for the market. We were in the road by the time she came running outside in a rage. I got nailed upon returning home but I suppose I had it coming.

So a couple hours ago, my nephew strolled into the living room, wide-eyed and ready for action. “Can we play?” “It’s 3 am, sweetie, I don’t think so.” But I really did want to play. Besides, eventually he’d tire and I could put him back in bed. “Your mummy’s gonna kill me.” “Yes! And Mama, too!!” His acknowledgment that my sister and mum would take turns beating me for letting him stay up was a bit unnerving.

So we started with basketball, but after he made 2 goals in a row, he started yipping and yelling about high fives. Next came war but after he thought he killed me, he again cheered for himself in high pitched tones. This pattern continued through three more activities, each ending when he screamed in excitement about his success. Thinking a drive would calm him down, I took him to Dunkin Donuts for a snack but only managed to get hit on by an unfortunate looking trucker with tourette’s and a sticker on his rig that said, “Don’t get mad, get naked.” We got our donuts to go.

After returning home, he wanted to play baseball but I told him I had a better game – fantasy baseball. “Do you know what OBP is?” “I don’t have to potty.” I marked that as no. “Do you know what saves are?” His little brow furrowed for a moment. “To not throw away.” “Good. But do you know what saves are for baseball?” “Maronino Rivera.” Without hesitation, the geek in me became overwhelmingly giddy. Where would I begin? Should I just talk to him about my fantasy team? Maybe just the Yankees? How much could we discuss and in how much detail? What does he already know? He associates Rivera with saves; clearly he has more knowledge.

I put him on my lap and we started with my rise to 3rd place in my fantasy league [I'm gunnin for you Matt] and my recent trades, drops, and pickups. But after talking about drafting Derrick Lee like a genius and my most recent pickup of the still hot Jeff Francoeur, he said, “Why aren’t you first?” “Well I’m trying.” “I hope so… I hope so…. 3rd place… is not good.” And then he shot me this look of concern, as if I need to get my shit together and straighten out my team. Momentarily offended, I asked him what he thought I ought to do. “Add me to your team. I’m dy-no-mite!.” It was then that my mom, weary and still angry from the giant bruise on her arse, appeared and asked why we were up. “Mama, I’m going to be on a fantasy balls team! I’m dynomite! I’m hot!!” Then he clapped, marched around, and screamed about fantasy balls, being the fantasy balls, and being dynomite while my horrified mother held her hands over her mouth. Knowing that no amount of explanation could ever counteract “fantasy balls team” at this time of night, I hung my head in shame and prayed for the moment to pass.

“Fantasy balls? What in–The nerve of you using such language with him!! We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

Of course.

Jesse Jackson, Obviously Bored, Targets ESPN

Has anyone been watching “50 States in 50 Days?” It’s ESPN’s newest, mind-numbingly boring ratings gimmick where the SportsCenter visits a new state each day and highlights things that only matter to the 42 residents occupying the row of cornfields from which they’re broadcasting that day. It’s a total waste of time that serves to 1) pain the audience with a crappy Bryan Adams tune [I really thought we'd heard the last of him after Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves but alas] and 2) ignore real stories like the ascendancy of Bobby Cox and the patchwork Atlanta Braves to the top of the NL East after being written off and left for dead. But I suppose I should be grateful. Without 50/50, I wouldn’t know that cherry pie a la mode used to be illegal in Kansas [insert crude wanking motion here]; I would have missed the treat that was the lawn chair race; and the random guest anchor wouldn’t have dazzled me with the “M-I-crooked letter crooked letter-I-crooked letter crooked letter I-humpback humpback-I” bit in the segment about, you guessed it, Mississippi.

In any case, the District of Columbia will not receive its own day in the spotlight and mayor, Anthony Williams, took time off from his mayoral duties to bump his gums about it. Trouble was, no one gave a damn. So he turned on the Picket Signal and within moments, Jesse Jackson swooped in to join the fight.

The activist and former presidential candidate says it’s insulting that the cable network left D.C. out when it came up with its plans. Jackson says he’ll go to the network’s Connecticut headquarters if they don’t change their tune. He also might picket the ESPN Zone bar in the city that’s home to the Nationals, Wizards, Mystics, United and Capitals.

Is this all Jesse Jackson has to do nowadays? Soon, ESPN’s snub will become ESPN’s racial injustice, rooted in a conspiracy to keep achievements that occur in a predominately minority community in the shadows. One would think that D.C.’s multitude of problems would be more worthy of Jackson’s attention than a network’s decision not to devote a day to an area split between two states that has limited local rule, high murder rates, a shoddy educational system, and is ultimately governed by Congress… An area that the professional athletes employed by its teams wouldn’t voluntarily visit after the sun goes down. But that would make one an idealistic fool.

Mr. Jackson’s attempt to get himself back in the news aside, when will someone point out that DC isn’t a state and is, therefore, ineligible? I don’t recall anyone naming the special “50 States and DC, too, in 51 days” or “DC, Guam, Puerto Rico, the US Virgin Islands, oh, and the States, in 54 Days.” Having statehood as a prerequisite to participate is a novel concept, don’t ya think? But if a district has a shot at its day in the sun, maybe the Upper Peninsula has a chance as well. As far north as it is, isn’t the U.P. its own state anyway? Surely there’s a snowball fight going on that Steve Levy could highlight.

Bob Goodenow Resigns, Moves to Peru

The George Custer of pro sports labor negotiation has decided to resign but when Gary Bettman smacks you around and then turn you into a eunuch, is there really any point in announcing it?

“I sat down with members of the executive committee and we talked about the future,” Goodenow said Thursday. “The decision was made that it would be best if we made the transition now.”

Whoa, a transition right now? Whoda thunkit? I suppose that’s smart of them given the concern that you’ll cock things up before the season begins.

I don’t really understand something though… Was Goodenow serious about giving explanations? Were these tongue in cheek comments? Here’s what he should have done: Just leave! Don’t come back to the office the next day.

“Hey secretary, I hope you have a nice night.”
“Thank you, sir. See you tomorrow.”
“Indeed!”

And then you take your box of stolen office supplies and pictures of the family that’s sure to have disowned you, drive to the airport, and hop a plane to Peru where you can start life anew, farming coffee and paying off the cartels.

Manny Ramirez Wants Out of Beantown

Take away baseball and this woman wouldn’t give an assclown like Manny Ramirez the time of day, let alone provide him with a namesake [And you can tell this kid is his because he is blessed with the same vacant, "which way did he go, George?" look], but enough cheap shots for this particular paragraph.

Manny Ramirez is good for a few braindead thoughts and ideas each year, none of which have any long term implication or bearing, so what’s the problem this time? Next week, Tom Verducci of Sports Illustrated will report that Ramirez wants out of Boston (again) and is asking to be traded (again). Ramirez also asked to be dealt in 2002 and again in 2003 but later begged John Henry to keep him when the Sux tried to make him a part of the A-Rod deal in 2004.

I can’t think of any reason why Ramirez would want to leave Beantown. Sure, he’s on the same team with Mr. Self Important, who probably thinks he should be strolling in from the pen to the strains of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” but where else could Manny go and be allowed to act a fool day in and day out? No other team would let him wear his uniform 7 sizes too large or retreat into a stadium wall to relieve himself in a cup in the middle of a game or exist in a world called Mannyland where he wanders about left field, appearing to be somewhat dazed and confused. But it seems that Ramirez would trade these freedoms for some off field privacy. Someone should tell Manny that when you’re the MVP of the 2004 World Series and half of one of the greatest three-four hitter combinations of all time, privacy is rare no matter where you live. That said, being Manny Ramirez in Boston is likely much more of a problem than being Manny Ramirez in Arizona. Crazed chowdaheads are probably squatting in his backyard, eating wicked grindas, and daring him to kick them out. At least that would explain how the Boston Herald broke into Manny’s home to snap pictures of Manny Jr’s room.

As much as Ramirez’s departure to another land would help my Yankees, the Sux FO will never deal him. Instead, I hope they opt to grab a few of Manny’s wayward braids and yank on them until he learns to stop acting like a braying jackass.

SportsbyBrooks Update and Other Rambling

I had a long weekend and a really jacked up Monday, but I’m back in your internet lives, which likely makes no difference whatsoever to most of you. However, for the purposes of my ego, I’m going to pretend that you’re all yipping, hollering, and holding signs of love and admiration to support my return. I’m afraid that I don’t have much for you today.. just incoherent babbling, which is, I’m now realizing, no different from any other day. Happy reading.

New business: check out SportsByBrooks today for my newest update, and thanks to everyone that submitted their finds. My update includes:

Obnoxious business:
– I ate 2 dozen glazed yeasts from Dunkin Donuts and drank a gallon of milk while watching the 48-hour Good Times Marathon on TV Land. The first time I ever saw the show was on a random Saturday with my dad. I was about 7 and was amazed that John Amos had a career before he was Mr. McDowell in Coming to America. Luckily, my dad educated me about Roots (we watched that later that day) and then Good Times, as it was one of his favorite shows.

He never had a tv on the reservation, so when my grandparents adopted him, they introduced him to tv shows in some feeble attempt to aid his transition into the non-Indian world – as if The Partridge Family and Mary Tyler Moore would lessen the culture shock. So he got into Sanford and Son and Andy Griffith reruns until Good Times came along. He says that he identified with some of it because even though he was from the rez and not the ghetto, in many ways back then, they were all too similar. So pa and I took in a bit of the marathon and I saw some of my faves: James Diiiiies!, JJ gets shot, JJ picks up an STD, JJ’s prom date has a drug problem.

On a tragic note, my nephew, Alejandro, now likes to say Dy-no-mite! Hopefully, he’ll tire of that in coming days but I guess we should just be happy that he stopped saying “tits.”

– Quantum Leap is back on Sci Fi at 2 am/1 am C. This is only of interest to Matt, Tyler Durden from ghetto stupidity, and myself. However it is of insurmountable importance to the incomparable Chad Young who believes that “Quantum Leap is without a doubt the best sci-fi show ever made and should really receive it’s own network.”

– While watching “UFO’s” on National Geographic this morning, I briefly wanted to get abducted just so I could see if the aliens really did looks like naked praying mantises. Then I wondered if the whole praying mantis thing was just a space suit. After sufficiently scaring myself, I changed the channel.

– The Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell is a house of cards built on lies. All the commercials talk about is maximum portability, which is a dream come true for multitasking oinks like myself. But since the insides are contained in one tortilla folded into this origami looking pinwheel and grilled shut, random pieces of tortilla start falling off once you get about halfway through. And forget about the fact that once you pick it up, you can’t put it back down because the insides start falling out… or that once you’re in the bottom 1/4, nacho cheese, sour cream, and beef start oozing out all over your hands. So then you’re finished and some jerk points out that you have a multitude of tortilla triangles on your shirt and cheese on your face and you feel like a fool.

Taco Bell = LIARS!

– Matt and I tried to watch what I assumed would be a gripping 2-hour documentary on the History Channel last night called “Decoding the Past” where the commercial’s narrator postulated that we could see our future by examining the relics of the past. “Oooooh,” I said to myself, and then I wrote a note to make sure I wouldn’t miss the program. But like those rat bastards at Taco Bell, the people at the History Channel are nothing but dirty liars. “Decoding the Past” wasn’t a new series at all but a new way to promote the 42nd re-running of “Beyond the DaVinci Code.” Fuckers.

But do you know what’s even worse than being jobbed by the History Channel? No, the answer is not revealing that I watch that channel. It’s that this faulty advertising threw a massive wrench into the rest of my night and forced me to watch “Son in Law” with Pauly Shore. Those History Channel bastards owe me 2 hours of my life back… and another 4 for the time I wasted pouting about their deceit.

– Stephen A. Smith will be hosting a show called “Quite Frankly” on ESPN2. I heard about this show last week but it didn’t become reality until I saw the promo a couple days ago. Luckily, the cut on my forehead is healing from when I banged it on the table in utter despair.

My Sister Owned Me. Again.

[Picture removed] This is my sister. Now, some of you are wondering if I’m the milkman’s, but I assure you, that’s not the case at all.

I belong to the mailman.

While growing up, my sister spent most of her free time emotionally abusing me and going out of her way to exclude me from activities (I spoke of one of these childhood instances here: Sharp Contrasts). I was a sensitive young one, so it couldn’t have been hard work for her. She is the middle child and was born without the albinic features that plague my oldest brother and I.

Amazingly, being the normal-looking one of our brood only served to make her feel out of place and may be a slight explanation to some of her behavior. In any case, when not upsetting me, she played with her Barbie’s and engaged in other girlie type things in which I had zero interest. My lack of interest never stopped me from trying to hang out with her, as I thought she was the greatest thing in the world for being everything that I could never be.

Even now, I am constantly seeking her approval. And though we’re 11 months apart, I grew up believing we had little in common other than naturally curly hair, left-handedness, and a dislike for onions. But in the last week, my sister has revealed herself to be a helluva lot cooler than I ever could have imagined. And it was today that she punched me in the face with knowledge and opinion – about sports.

When she came in the room earlier, I changed the channel from ESPN to E!. I usually do that because I know that we can both enjoy E! but I am never really sure if she’ll be down with the random baseball game that I’m watching. But this time, I changed the channel and she didn’t seem to notice. I turned it back. A few minutes later, sparked by my wearing a throwback Tim Brown jersey from his Notre Dame years, my sister put me so far in my place that I fear it’ll be months before I find my way out.

“With all this talk about Tim Brown and how he played on bad teams, why doesn’t anyone wonder how he would have fared if he had Steve Young and Joe Montana and those great 49er teams instead? I don’t think he would have done nearly as well as Rice. He just wasn’t explosive or fast or dangerous enough. With Brown on their teams, Montana would have become another Marino or an Elway that had to wait until the end of his career to win it all. Consistency doesn’t win Super Bowls. And if Brown was with the Niners, isn’t it nuts to wonder where Rice would have been? Maybe Marino would have won that Super Bowl after all.”

My mouth fell open. I stared at her while she prattled on but the remainder of what she said simply failed to register. I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around what I was hearing. It had nothing to do with her opinions or the merit of her argument. But it was that MY sister, the girl who flies to Beverly Hills twice a month for a $400 shampoo and haircut from that metrosexual douchebag on Blowout actually contemplated the career of Tim Brown and THEN had opinions about how his presence would impact great offenses and quarterbacks of the past.

My sister’s always been a pretty good athlete and you can’t grow up in my house without knowing a little about sports, so it’s not like she’s incapable of having these discussions. But in the 6 times that I’ve actually heard her discuss football, 5 of those conversations dealt with the wealth of great asses that can be found in defensive secondaries. And though she’s absolutely correct about the quality of ass in those areas of the field, it doesn’t do much for her credibility as a legitimate fan of the game. In any case, I stared at her in such disbelief that she grew uncomfortable and stopped talking.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“B-b-b-because… well, where did you–”
“Oh what I can’t have opinions?”
“Well… I didn’t mean that, I–”
“Oh you think I read about it in Cosmo, didn’t you?”
“But you see I–”
“You have no respect for me unless you’re asking me how to wear your hair or how to pick up boys.”
“But no” (Actually, but yes) “I didn’t m–”

And that’s when she teed off on my dumb ass.

Just because I like to read my Hermes catalogue and do my nails while you, Matt, August, and Daddy watch and talk sports doesn’t mean that I’m not at least somewhat paying attention to what’s going on. What, you don’t think I noticed when Tim Brown only collected 200 yards receiving and ONE touchdown last season? Like I didn’t know that Ben Roethlisberger actually had a rating of, like, 33 in this huge win over the Jets even though he threw 2 interceptions and totally stunk it up? And I know what you’re thinking in that mind of yours.. ‘She probably doesn’t know who Troy Brown is’ [Actually it was Belichick but that's neither here nor there] but you’re wrong because I do and it was a shame that the Patriots released him only to sign him again for LESS than a million. He deserves more than that. I couldn’t avoid this stuff if I tried, especially with Daddy making us watch the goddamn NFL Network all the time. And here you are, my sister of all people, thinking I can’t talk about Tim Brown and have an opinion?? Oh please.”
“But–”
“Turn it back to E!”

If I am Kellen Winslow II in this situation, think of my sister as Randy Starks.

Venus & Serena: For Real… Ugh.

Last night, around 10/9 central, I flipped on over to ABC Family and watched Venus & Serena: For Real to go “off the court and into their lives.” This is probably because I don’t have one but I digress. The show really wasn’t that bad. At the very least, it was amusing, but it would have been so much better if Venus & Serena were nitwit phonies. But alas, this show actually is “for real.”

Venus and Serena are corny and goofy and while it’s great to know that they’re not dimly lit brats, it doesn’t make for the best “reality tv.” That said, the two are being genuine and we can’t ask more from them than that. True reality tv is never as entertaining as the shows with storylines, kooky characters, and a little sex thrown in for good measure — that is, unless the show is Being Bobby Brown.

V&S: For Real started out with the duo going to an awards show. Serena wore a green and white dress that looked like it was made out of the frilly, ruffled panties that my mum put over my diapers when I was a toddler. Eventually they’re out of there and one would assume that it’d be time to watch tennis. Nope. There’s barely any tennis shown but it was hardly noticeable. Serena sprained her ankle during a match she was losing, and footage of Venus playing Lindsay Davenport in a clay tournament was interspersed with their older sister’s (I think her name is Isha) discussion with nearby man about his chicken salad sandwich. Other happenings were Venus doing yoga (from a video tape) in the hotel room, Serena expressing her dislike for training (didn’t we already know that?), and Venus running on the beach in a bikini while Serena drove alongside her in a golf cart making wisecracks.

The highlight of “For Real” was when Serena’s dog, Jackie, stole a baked turkey while the hotel room was empty and hid it in parts of the sofa. [Something I didn't understand was how a terrier like Jackie, who doesn't seem to upwardly mobile, actually accessed said turkey. Did someone leave it on the floor? Did Jackie super-dog the thing out of the freaking oven? Maybe if they'd answered that question, I could have had more laughs.]

After being harshly scolded by Serena, the dog peed all over the couch in fear, and then Serena actually put the dog in a bag. Yes – a fucking bag. And not one of those absurd, dog carrying cases that you’d find some slag like Paris Hilton carrying around. This thing looked like the prize in a life insurance giveaway. Serena threatened the pooch with banishment to the damn thing in order to encourage good behavior. Pee on the sofa, go in the bag. Eat up the turkey, off to the bag. If someone stuffed me in a bag when I acted up, I’d snap and kick them in the face. You’d best put me outside before you zip me up in a sack! Unbelievable. Serena should watch out. Jackie won’t tolerate that madness for long.

All in all, the 30 minutes of Venus & Serena being for real showed me a few things:

I was hoping that by watching this show, I’d get a little insight into how Serena comes up with her nutball outfits or maybe even see some cute guys paraded around but I have a feeling that won’t be happening. In spite of all this, I’ll tune in next week but that’s because I’m a schmo.

Northwestern Women’s Lacrosse. Who Cares?

By now, I’m sure many of you have heard about Northwestern’s Women’s Lacrosse “flip-flop” fiasco during their recent visit to the White House, but why is this even remotely newsworthy? The thing that shocks me is that Northwestern actually won a National Championship – their first since a fencing victory the year Pearl Harbor was bombed.

While I respect Northwestern as an academic institution, it has absolutely no business with an athletic program. I have a sneaking suspicion that they engage in intercollegiate athletics for four reasons:

I say we let the women’s lax team have its moment in the sun and applaud them for achieving in spite of playing for a university that is athletically impotent. So what if some wore $16 flip-flops that were affixed with plastic rhinestones? Much like soccer players, women’s lacrosse players are a breed all unto their own. They’re girls who choose to run around a field while swinging bats at each other’s heads. Should we really be questioning them? Let’s just be glad they didn’t arrive at the White House in their cleats.

Mr. Raider to Become Mr. NASCAR

I have an update today at SportsByBrooks, featuring my takes on the latest sports news, including:

In other news… Now that Tim Brown has retired, he is considering an offer from Roush Racing to become the first black majority owner of a NASCAR team. This move would help add a little diversity to the lily white sport and put quite a bit of green in Mr. Raider’s retirement fund. That seems all well and good but why Tim Brown? I don’t ask that question to disparage him. I’m simply curious as to why he was chosen over more high profile minorities in entertainment, business, and sports. Has he shown a particular business acumen? Was Michael Jordan not interested? Denzel too busy? Barkley too controversial? He grew up in Leeds, Alabama – 45 minutes from Talladega. There’s no way he hasn’t been exposed. I won’t even ask about Russell Simmons; he’d just try to boycott them.

Maybe the reason is as simple as Tim Brown being the most “NASCAR-friendly” option available. In 20 years as a football player, he’s exuded nothing but class. Brown’s a family man who has kept his nose clean, and the only scandal he’s been involved in is joining Gruden in Tampa Bay. The only thing rednecks can really get riled up about (apart from the obvious) is that Brown “has some idea of how to own a team since he spent so many years watching, listening and battling with Raiders owner Al Davis over team matters.” NASCAR, meet The Commitment to Excellence.

“It’s a great opportunity to try to just get people (more minorities) involved in NASCAR and that’s what I’m going to do,” Brown said. “If you were to ask Marcus Allen if he’d ever been to a NASCAR race before he’d probably say no. Now with what Tim Brown Racing is going to be out there, there’s a good possibility he will.”

Sure, of course Marcus Allen will be out there, but he’ll do it to support Tim Brown. If he likes what he sees along the way, then he’ll become a fan. But what good will TB’s ownership do for attracting more fans? The sad reality is that most people, in what Infineon Raceway president and general manager, Steve Page, calls “non-traditional fan bases” (code word: black people), don’t know who Tim Brown is unless he’s wearing his Raider jersey, pads, and helmet.

He’s simply not high profile enough in most black communities for the Daytona to roll around next year and there be an increase in viewership from that particular demographic. “Hey, flip it to Daytona… Tim Brown’s driver is out there.” “Tim Brown?” “The Raiders receiver.” “Um…” The only way NASCAR is going to get the attention of most male minorities under 30 is if a black driver starts tearing up the circuit, or they convince Jay-Z and Damon Dash to own a car.

Imagine how much merchandise will start flying off the shelves then. Roc-a-wear NASCAR jackets, shirts, shoes, and bling. And think about the owner’s raceday suite that would be shown on tv, packed full of singers and athletes like Beyonce, Roy Williams, and LeBron. The exposure and the amount of money made would be absolutely ridiculous. But all in good time, I suppose.

I hope Mr. Brown’s involvement paves the way for a true diversification of owners, drivers, and crews in the sport. I also hope he gets Smirnoff Ice Triple Black as the sponsor for his driver. It just wouldn’t be right for a Raider to be involved in NASCAR and not own the car that rocks The Silver & Black.

Catholics: No Adopting For You!

Thinking of adopting in Mississippi? Well, if you’re Catholic, you’d better think again and hit the bloody road. You’ll have an easier time scooping up a kid out of Cambodia.

A Christian adoption agency in Jackson, Mississippi will not consider Catholics as adoptive parents. Had they mentioned any minority group or any combination of interracial couple, I wouldn’t have been surprised (given the location) but Catholics?

“It has been our understanding that Catholicism does not agree with our Statement of Faith,” wrote Bethany Christian Services director Karen Stewart in a July 8 letter to Sandy and Robert Stedman, a Catholic couple in Jackson seeking to adopt.

I’ve read both the Old and New Testament multiple times, and unless I missed the “Catholics, thou art the devil” verse, I’m struggling to understand how the Statement of Faith legitimately disqualifies Catholics from adopting. It makes no mention of Catholicism and only seems to reiterate the generalities of faith taught by the Bible and every other denomination of Christianity. If Catholics are out, then logically, Methodists, Lutherans, and even (gasp!) the Baptists over at Bob Jones should be banned.

“Our practice to not accept applications from Catholics was an effort to be good stewards of an adoptive applicant’s time, money and emotional energy.”

So basically, rather than pretending to be fair, bigots cut to the chase and tell you to get lost. This saves time, money, and emotional energy. Ya know, if I’m out to discriminate against a group, what the hell do I care if I waste their time, money, and emotional energy?? I’d invite them to apply by the dozens just so I can get my kicks from rejecting them. I’d buy an 11-inch stamp that said “DENIED!” in 4-inch, block letters and then I’d personally deliver the rejection letter to their homes.

“Hi, I’m Flash from the Bigoted Adoption Agency” [I'd be all smiles]
“Ohhh, is this the decision?”
“Sure is!”
[I'd grin ear to ear, growing giddy in anticipation of what would be to come. I'd watch them tear open the envelope, positive that they'd read a letter of approval. But then their mouths would fall open and the color would drain from their faces, as the horror and disappointment of rejection overtakes them. And then it would be my time to shine.]
“AAAHHHH HAHAHAHA!!! YOU SUCKERS!!” I’d point and laugh and taunt before running back to my car while continuing to yip and holler. Before getting in, I’d turn around and shake my bum at them. Then I’d hop in and honk while I sped away.

That’s how you fuckin discriminate. Not this farcical bull. The problem is these ass jockeys are still worrying about being “Christian” in the process. The second they left out a group – of other Christians, no less, all of that disappeared. Go ahead and be peckers about it, Bethany “Christian” Services – it makes no difference now.

Perhaps the board, short on oxygen after forgetting to remove their hoods, decided to adhere to the Klan’s Stars and Bars Statement of Faith rather than abiding by anything remotely related to Christianity… or morals. I guess that’s their bag but they should own up to their racist nature. Don’t hide behind Statements of Faith that don’t apply. They must assume the rest of the nation is at the same level of illiteracy as the residents of Jackson.

In light of that, I fancy I’ll head down to Jackson, Mississippi and see if I, a single, Apache Jewess with an eye for men of color and a willing attendee of a private school for Papists could be looked upon favorably in the selection process. I mean, my taste in men, religion, and ethnic background surely won’t count against me since I have such a winning smile. Anyone wanna play husband and join me on a trip down to Lynchville to see who we can piss off? I’m looking for the most non-white, non-Protestant combination out there … but a beautiful Peruvian man with curly hair would suffice