Hot Stove

Who cares if old J.B.
Is monarch of the sea?
I'm not afraid if his Free Trade scoops all my biz from me.
I seek a greater fame,
And get there all the same.
I knock creation to all tarnation at the Glorious National Game!

Fantasy Baseball is a Metaphor for Similies

Well, Jesus fuckin' Christ, it's fntsy baseball time again. It's a time for Wobs, ex-OG personage Dave3544 and I, among a coupla-three chums from other walks of la vie, to engage in a months and months-long exercise of nervous clicking, scannning etc. It's a time for clunky nicknames and profane poetry - not unlike that of the OG, come to think of it - and a generalized, sports-y anxiety that you'd do well to taste for yourself.

What's that, you say? Not a fan of "baseball"? Well good for you, snob! 'Thing is, that has nothing to do with this. We need you kids.

Go here to sign on. League ID = 220900
League = Skin Kin 2009
Password = 'readyondayone' (remember the Hillary for Prez campaign? EZ does.)

Prisonship Confessions...the Mets and Me

My favorite squad is faltering! Its star is over-thinking himself into a slump just as we enter the final week-plus of the gorgeous, heart-wrenching pageant called the Pennant Race.

Meanwhile, I've reached the period of "writing" in which I cannot, will not, do not write. It mirrors my ill-conceived idea of giving birth, or better, my idea of being "infested" with The Thing: something is happening inside of me. Something that is of me but not reducible to me. I walk around my office squatting, grunting, bending, breaking, and not playing The Long Run on the 8-track deck. I fill the wastebasket with spent fruit leathers, and I try not to drink coffee after noon because even with melatonin and Tylenol PM, I wake up at all hours and dream about things like TB-laced-afterbirths washing up on black and white shores.