I have a hangover in my ass

This one is new to me. I think it must be from drinking on an empty stomach AND being on some whoop ass anti-biotics. Whatever the cause, it's horrible. But at least there's no headache.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I never post anymore. I couldn't take the pressure of coming up with shit to say and I was worried that too many people close to me were reading this thing and sooner or later it was going to bite me in that ass. I figured a good summer lay off and a couple of political youtube clips should chase off all but the most stubborn of readers.

< I'm going to interrupt this post to tell you that I just ripped the most ass-stinkiest fart ever. It smells sort of like old meat floating in pig manure. 2 seconds after I let it rip, the secretary walked in with my mail and tried telling me something. After 10 seconds of her talking and both our eyes watering, she just gave up and walked out. Whats a brother to do?>

Anyway, you'd think that after all this time I would have come up with something interesting to write but the bet two things I came up with started with " I once had sex with a girl who was so short..." and " this one time I got crabs..." neither of which is really worthy of a comeback tale.

In the meantime I'll share this picture with you. I'll preface it by saying that my kids have a skewed view on life in general, but an especially twisted perspective on baseball in particular. When I was a kid I'd go one...maybe two...Phillies games a year. We'd usually sit in like the 300 level right field at the Vet, under the decking. In that shithole of a place, that meant we were a good 200 yards away from home plate. We'd see the Phillie phanatic only a a distance with our version of mascot entertainment being provided by whichever guy in our section was the first to get falldown drunk and start wresting with Veterans Stadium Security. There were no games, no fun stuff and our chances of catching a baseball were about one in a billion.

The only time I can remember getting anything was the time that they gave everyone in the stadium a full sized baseball bottle-bat. That, predictably, was a bad idea.

< The police cheif just walked in. I told him straight up, " Dude, I just beefed so come in at your own risk". Understandbly he didn't stick around>

Anyway, despite all those hardships, anytime that we had an opportunity to go to a game we were over the moon. Our excitement was only overshadowed by our appreciation for our parents, grandparents, or whomever was taking us to the game.

Now lets fast forward to 2007. My kids get to go to the games at least a half dozen times a summer. I'd say that 50% of the times that we've gone they've gotten something. Part of it is planning on my part, but the other part of it is this sick run of luck they're on. So far we've gotten prize packages, t-shirts slung into the crowd, a free pizza, gifts walking through the door, foam baseballs, and of course the coveted foul ball.

So on tuesday night, my parents decided to take TheBoy out to a Trenton Thunder ( Yankee AAA affiliate) game. Different team, different people taking him to the game, different friggin state. You'd think that the boy would, like any other kid, just go to the game, eat some cotton candy, and watch some baseball. Well, you'd be wrong. Here's TheBoy out on the field calling the start of the game.