Open Letter to Barry Bonds.

Damnit Barry, i am sick of your shit. You are a little bitch when it comes to home runs. I understand that you are 43 years old, were jacked up on roids for the better half of the last decade, and could keel over at any minute, but you need to get this home run record over with. Either retire or break it, Barry. America is tired of watching your every at bat when you walk or ground out to second. Don't milk this for all that its worth, just finish what you've started and go away. Barry, i've watched your every at bat since you've hit 754 last week, and the time you decide to bring your testicles back down from their shriveled state was last night. I didn't even bother to watch it last night and what do you do? You hit a fucking home run, barry. Way to go, Mr. Bonds, for ruining my viewing experience and now having a chance to break the record against my NAAAts. And whether I like it or not, I'm stuck watching you for the next 4 days, hoping that John Lannan will fucking drill you in the knee, you pompous fucktard. I honestly do hope that Lannan takes you out, for you will never break the record and baseball can be free of your scumly needledick infiltrating the record books. In closing, Barry, go fuck yourself, and I hope you sleep with the fishes in McCovey Cove when you kill yourself.

Regards,

The United States of America.

Survival Guide: Metro.

1. Drive to work.
2. If you don't have a car, then go buy one.
3. If you can't afford one, go to Eastern Motors.
4. If you don't have a job, then go get one.
5. If you can't get a job, then live off of unemployment checks.
6. If you can't get unemployment, then apply for welfare.
7. If you can't get welfare, then go rob a bank.
8. If you can't rob a bank, then pull a GTAIII and steal a car.
9. If you can't steal a car, then steal a bike.
10. If you can't get a bike, then steal a scooter.
11. If you can't get a scooter, then walk.
12. If you don't want to walk, well then you're shit out of luck. Take the Metro.

One-Post Wonder

My 15 minutes of fame start now....

http://blog.washingtonpost.com/dcsportsbog/2007/08/the_cone.html
http://blog.washingtonpost.com/dcsportsbog/2007/08/skins_go_stache.html

As they continue to tick away and I fade into DC blogging obscurity, I just wanted to give some big ups to the DC Sports Bog for The Cone post. I wasn't expecting the Bog to actually find my newly-created blog, thus all of the normal cursing that a college student usually engages in. The post is cleaned up as much as possible, even without diluting the content of the post itself. Like all one-hit wonders, there's only one way to go: down. However, I must say that it was a crazy idea that somehow worked and I achieved blogging immortality for just one day.

The Washington Redskins Meet the Cone.

I went to training camp today for the Washington Redskins in Ashburn, VA. I had the day off from work, so my friends and I decided to hit up camp and experience it firsthand. We went all (crazy) with this, as we created a Facebook event, brought jerseys, and even carpooled up to Ashburn. At training camp, the word on the street from friends and other fans was that players would usually sign autographs for awhile after practice. When I heard this, I jumped at this chance, but I had nothing really great in terms of Redskins paraphernalia. Most people bring hats, balls, jerseys, etc. for players to sign, but that would be really boring and wouldn’t stand out. With the clock ticking against me, I had little time to buy new Redskins stuff. I grabbed a traffic cone from the trunk of my old car, that a friend had left in there previously, and we made our way to Ashburn.


We arrived at Redskins Park as practice was starting. I busted out the cone from my trunk and proceeded to carry it from the car into the viewing area. I watched the practice as I sweated my butt off, but I wasn’t interested in watching Ladell Betts fumble or see Carlos Rogers wear yellow socks. I didn’t haul this (thing) for a 30-minute drive to wear as a dunce cap or to direct traffic. I wanted some (flippin) autographs on this cone.


Practice ended after 90 minutes and the players slowly start to migrate towards the fans. I felt really unsure about this whole idea because 1) it was a (flipping) cone and 2) i was in front of kids. I hate children but the kids are more likely to get love from the players, since they had balls and hats, while I was a college student with a (flipping) cone. The players made their way over to where the cone and I were, and I lifted the heavy cone into the air. I yelled at the top of my lungs for Jason to sign my cone and Jason’s godly presence touched my cone as he grabbed the Sharpie out my trembling hand and signed the cone. I then knew what it felt to be a teenage girl seeing their favorite boy band. Except I didn’t cry.


I thought that it was pretty tits to get Campbell’s autograph, but then His Majesty Joe Gibbs made his way through the crowd and saw the cone as well. He took his sharpie and magically chicken scratched his John Hancock onto my cone. And then he and Sean Taylor proceeded to slap two (women) next me. (No, not really) Then we hit some bumps in the road. Rock Cartwright and Marcus Washington decided that they were too good for the cone and completely ignored the large orange cone that was in their face. It’s cool, you know, because Cartwright sucks and deserves to be cut after not signing it and Marcus Washington can just straight up suck my left nut.



The cone began to gain some notoriety with the players and the fans, as the fans would cheer every time the cone was signed. I’m sure everyone thought it was pretty badass of me to bring a cone in comparison to their hat or ball. Shawn Springs and Dan Steinberg (writer of the DC Sports Bog) received word of the cone and made their way over to where I was standing. Shawn took my sharpie and put his bane on the cone, while I invited Steinberg to come sign it. I love Steinberg as a writer and I felt that it would be fitting for the legend himself to leave his mark on the cone. Steinberg asked me a few questions about the cone, but I think I blabbered a few words to him after I (pooed) my pants. (again, not really, but close). Carlos “Yellow Socks” Rogers and Fred “Sex Boat” Smoot also came over to the cone, but wouldn’t sign it because they go to gay SEC schools and know that they have to cover something more than the bed to touch this cone.



But the highlight of the day was Chris Cooley. Chris is a fan favorite around these parts and was more than willing to sign the cone. However, when he was signing the cone, he asked, “So, did you steal the cone.” And I said, “Uhhhh, No… Sir.” Cooley laughed as strolled off onto the sunset. No other players came around for they headed to do press or the locker room so thus, the cone had to be put away for the day. A security guard who spotted us as we were leaving had other plans for the cone as he told us that it had to be returned. We pleaded with the man showing him that the cone was ours and how it was different from the rest. I finally got the cone in the trunk and drove away with a hell of an adventure today.

The cone basking in all of its greatness.

More pictures will be up later.

an itch that needs to be scratched.

I have the itch to write again. There are times when I love to write and other times where I absolutely hate it. And so, it’s one of those times where I have so much going on that I need to keep track of it. I think I’ve matured as a writer since my xanga days in high school, for there are much better things to take note of instead of petty drama. I’m a big boy now and its time to step my game up to the big leagues. So here’s the no expectations, no frills, and hopefully some good shit. I’m not making any promises, but I assure that I will not let you, the reader, down. Thanks.