De-troit, Sports-ket-ball!

Last Friday’s game was a near total success, with the exception of it being an utter failure. But big “propers” to Weather Report for securing us 7th-row-behind-the-dugout seats, and big “propers” to Ti-1000 for never once mentioning how tired he must have been since the game did not start until 7pm. Also, big “propers” to Meghan, who made Detroit Tigers stickers, even though she called them tattoos, which is a lie. Stickers are not tattoos.

This is the woman, Jessica, I think, who was in charge of making us pay $100 for a hot dog, and $850 for a beer in a plastic bottle. It was a pretty good hot dog, and I was able to throw my beer bottle at people’s heads without killing them, nice, but neither of these things were as good as the calligraphic tattoo (think of this as a permanent sticker) on Jessica’s neck that said “envy.” It’s weird how a neck tattoo of the word “envy,” especially when worn by a hot dog vendor, actually has the opposite effect! Big “propers,” Jess!

These are the two lovers who were sitting in front of us. What? What is that? They were these two hilarious meatheads who kept turning around and telling us to go back to Kentucky, but then when they turned back to watch the game, they settled into the softest of cuddles? It is well known that I think when two dudes hang out together, they should not be ashamed to sit in adjoining seats. When you guys go to the movie theater and put your coats on the seat between you, you are not fooling anyone. Your love glows! But this is also ridiculous in the opposite direction, lovers. The one on the left (the top, apparently), was also the one who kept sneaking pictures of the girls in the row ahead of them on his Blackberry (because that is what you do when you are straight, guys, SEE?!), but then would have the frustrating sadness of every time he wanted to show off a picture of the girls to his boyfriend he would have to scroll past the desktop image of his daughter. STAY CLASSY, SEXUALLY AMBIGUOUS MEATHEAD. At one point in the game, the one on the left asked the one on the right what he was doing tomorrow and if he wanted to get some brunch. This is true, and so good.

I will admit, though, to some deep-seated fear in my interactions with them, because they saw me as their primary rival in the World of Sportscraft, a role I was all too happy to play, but they also kept asking me about specific player’s stats and things like this, which I do not know because I do not have time to pay attention to sports with the new season of Hills (Spencer is such a dog!), and also Top Chef (Howie is such a dog!), and the Pick-Up Artist (Matador is such a dog!), duh, so I was always nervous they would find out and wouldn’t want to rival me anymore, because I liked yelling “Go Kentucky!” at their fat fucking necks. WHO IS THE FAGGOT NOW? Me, apparently.

We had tickets to the EXCLUSIVE Sony Club or some such. It had tons of security around it, and you needed a golden Willy Wonka ticket to get inside. When you got inside, SURPRISE, you were in the world’s worst Bennigan’s. This horrible photograph that is horrible is intended to show that when I got into the EXCLUSIVE piss-covered bathroom, there was a self-applicating catheter in the bathroom. The catheter was also covered in piss. Learn how to use these, guys. No more embarrassing accidents for 2007. New motto. Mousepad now available on Cafe Press.

I would also like to point out that by taking pictures in a bathroom stall while someone else is in the bathroom and not giving a shit what they think, I am offering a “DHV spike” (Demonstration of Higher Value). Remember when I taught you that, Mystery? When we were playing Dungeons and Dragons together after school? They called you KING OF THE NERDS! And now look who’s fucking sluts!

This is what Jean Baudrillard famously referred to as a “spectacle d’action” or “action shot” of rookie Camron Maybin of the Detroit Tigers. Big “propers,” babyfaced! I am sad to report that he struck out twice in our game, but happy to report that the next day he hit his first professional home run as a major league player for the baseball. Way to go Camron! Next stop, the ability to grow a moustache!

These are sportsletes having a sportsbreak. In the middle is 20-year-old rookie Cameron Maybin, just hours before his mom picks him up so his dad doesn’t yell at him again for missing curfew. Ding dong, but seriously, he is a tiny child. Awwwww.


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