Now I ain't sayin' you a gold digger, you got needs

By Lynn DeBerg
Housewife

As I stand in front of my mirror, naked, I think to myself: I am WAY better looking than Anna Benson. That slutty mcslut slut slut might be willing to take off her clothes to appease her ballplaying husband or his teammates or ... anyone willing to pay attention, but she's far from the hottest gold digger in the Major Leagues.

WAY better looking than Anna Benson. Better hair, better skin. Perkier breasts. And if my husband doesn't agree, I'm going to withhold sex for a month. And unplug his Internet connection.

Now I hear that ball-playing-and-handling bimbo is getting divorced from Kris Benson, newly traded to the Baltimore Orioles. After he was traded from the Mets partially because she was a distraction (probably complaining that there weren't enough men on the Mets who understood the phrase "hummer" in English), Kris must have decided it wasn't working out.

And to think this is in NEW YORK, where the best basketball player in town is named Starbury. I also think that's the name of the cartoon bunny on my son's cereal box.

So now Kris is pitching in Baltimore, which was the worst family vacation we ever took (My husband just HAD to see Camden Yards. I should have married that young, horny psych professor instead. HE would have said I'm a level of hotness beyond Anna Benson). I would feel terrible for him, except he's the one that married the stripper in the first place. Stupid ballplayers. Maybe if they played a more complicated game, like figure skating, they'd be smarter and inclined to make better decisions.

God I have gorgeous eyes. And I think the adjective "perky" was INVENTED for these breasts.

Anna Benson, your husband isn't even that famous, so what the hell are you doing being popular? I have a sneaking suspicion that she's going to play homewrecker and end up married to someone on a bigger team (Johnny Damon may have once looked like Jesus, but I hear he wouldn't have passed the "Last Temptation of Christ" test) and then she's going to be even MORE popular. WIth those awful teeth!

I should have married a ballplayer. Why didn't I marry a damn BALLPLAYER?

Flotsam Baseball Preview

Flotsam asked six of its columnists to weigh in on which team they thought would win the World Series. Here are the panel's responses:


By Harvey McGuffin
I remember when we didn't have these stupid debates. Sure, spring brought out hope for each baseball team, just as it brought chirping birds to my rooftop (and subsequent shotgun) and Sally Davis across the street into her yard wearing a tantalizing sundress, through which an old man was blessed with a good view as she bent over, tending to her petunias.

But there was no discussion about who would win it all in Major League Baseball. Because the answer was obvious: the New York Yankees. At some point in the last few years, changes came about. The champions of the world were dressed in such ugly colors as that green and maroon or whatever the Diamondbacks are wearing, disgusting teal, Homeless-Chicago Black and White, and even, inexplicably, red. The Yankees will ascend to the top again to restore order to this madness. How can you argue with such hitting greats as Gary Sheffield, Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, Scott Brosius, Paul O'Neill, Bucky Dent and Thurman Munson? What a lineup!

It's time for my damn nap.


Bandwagon Burt
Baseball is back and this is probably going to be the best season ever!! There are like 25 teams that might win the World Series this year, so I am SO pumped up for the start of the season. I can't get enough of baseball, and this whole winter has been PAINFUL CITY. I almost slit my wrists once becasue I couldn't wait any longer!! Was that in poor taste!!!?

In the American League, how can you not like the YANKEES? George Steinbrenner is crazy as a LOON, man, and he's going to do anything to win the pennant. They haven't won the World Series in FOREVER. He'd even kill Derek Jeter if he didn't bring the ring ... THAT RHYMED. He's like the guy that built the Taj Mahal ... they're going to cut of Derek Jeter's hands when he leaves so he can never play for another team again. George Steinbrenner is the MAN. I also like Boston -- who doesn't -- because they have that AMERICAN ICON Curt Schilling back at full strength and Big Paaaaapi hitting homeruns and Manny being Manny and Josh Beckett dealing and also, Mike Timlin. The ChiSox (holla Southsiders!) could easily repeat, becasue they have a lot of heart and stolen bases from Scott Podsednik, playing center field for my FANTASY TEAM! Mark Buehrle, Freddy Garcia, Jon Garland and Javier Vazquez is like the best staff in baseball, right behind a few others. How can you not love CLEVELAND? All those young guys, and they're like this year's Bad News Bears starring Victor, Jhonny (watch where you're sticking that h, haha!) and Travis. I also like the Angels, Twins, A's, Mariners, Tigers and Rangers. And watch out for the Orioles and Devil Rays and Blue Jays, who made all those moves in the offseason! AJ and BJ and O-Bay and Benji and can you say pennant?

In the National League, everything begins and ends with the Cardinals and the mastermind genius Tony LaRussa and the SON OF GOD Albert Pujols, who's going to have his breakout season this year. Atlanta is always good but with no Leo Mazzone, they're not going to rock (OH MY GOD, that's such a good joke) as much as they do before, but they're still going to rock a lot. Maybe more than they did before. The Mets (David Wright, my FANTASY STUD THIRD BASEMAN) is the team to watch because they rebuilt because Omar Minaya is crazy and the GIants, Phillies and Cubs always know what's up. Keep an eye peeled for the Brewers, Diamondbacks, Dodgers, Pirates, Nationals and Padres my friends! They all play in a weak division and might surprise some people. And even with a new team, I have a good, good feeling about the MARLINS. Joe Girardy is my boy. And Colorado has potential too, anything can happen in the ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH. Haha!


Marv Blackstone
Well, I wanted to be original and pick someone that Burt didn’t, but that’s now impossible. What about the Iowa fucking Cubs, you insipid dumbass? I'd fire him if he wasn't my coke dealer.

I’m still going to be obscure. I’m picking the Mets. Omar Minaya has been throwing money around lately like me in Reno circa 1972, and he’s assembled some quality talent. That was redundant. Asshole.

The Metropolitans finally have a bullpen, they have yet another big bopper with Carlos Delgado and David Wright is the Lord Christ Almighty One, and will lead the Mets (along with Jose Reyes, his cabana boy) to the promised land.

During the time I spent at the New York Post, before being fired for watering thirsty office plants with my own urine, I developed an affection for the team from Queens. I also developed an affection for a prostitute named Darlene. Both remain with me to this day ... at least in their own way. So go, Mets.


Curtis Woodward
Who’s going to win the World Games? Well, I think it’s naturally going to be the Boston Red Sox. The curse is over, you saucy minks! They’ll be hoisting the trophy in October and dousing each other in bubbly, fruity champagne and scampering about half-naked in the locker room.

Oh God.

Breathe Curtis, breathe. But you can’t blame me if I get a little excited at the thought of Josh Beckett, Keith Foulke, Kevin Youkilis and Coco Crisp snapping each other with wet towels and spraying white stuff all over each other. And Wily Mo Pena! Wily Mo wants to go boom boom boom in Wily Mo’s zoom room. Sizzle!


Dakota Brezinski
Daddy says there is only one team that will win it all next year, and that is the Bob Brezinski Bomb-Diggitys. They are not playing in the National League or American League, but they are playing in the Franklin Industries Office League, and Daddy says they will be unstoppable. Daddy says Peter Gammons likes the team's pitching staff, and some people on ESPN.com would be in love with the infield. The people Daddy showed me on the web site looked like Milhouse from The Simpsons.

Daddy said the general manager is hell-bent on world destruction and will stop at nothing to make a good trade to help his team. He said he will intimidate his opponents, carefully look at all matchups and possibly surpise some people with his sleepys. I think everyone playing baseball is probably sleepy, because baseball is boring. But this general manager sounds scary, so I'm pretty sure he's going to win baseball this year.


Frank Randall, IT guy
Who wins baseball? Must say be the Cardinals arches from Central Louis in the leaves falling fall classic. Classic windows, ignore that prompt, all right? Don’t click in that box, click that one. No! Win the ring, critical shutdown of operating system, infield defense suffers tantalizing remonstrance of self pine tar love.

Edmonds, Pujols, healthy Rolen, downturn in productivity, give a call upstairs, would you? I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying. ‘A’ as in ‘alpha.’ What do you mean by that? Starting pitching important to the linkup key password initializes tittering hey batter batter swing codec.

Like I said, baseball Cardinals, sampling with mixes of duplicate Carpenter sit down over from adjust setting to compensate for mug wafer moon resolution nada supper swerve. Jabba jabba jabba minion olfactory sensation error shortstop midget no matter sink clog in timing device for LaRussa.

OK, I'll do it. But only for the fruit snacks.

By Dakota Brezinski
Six-year-old

I always sit in the corner of my kindergarten class, next to the window. Last year, when I was moved to another room after that time I glued Wiggles the hamster to my desk, I sat in my usual spot, next to the window. But the teacher said that was Jackson Tarkington's spot.

But this was the way it has always been. Daddy quit his job last year because he said there were changes, and they wanted him to do something different than he was good at. He said he needed to go somewhere else, where he could do what he was born to do. I also overheard him telling my neighbor Mr. Williams that he grabbed his secretary's beautiful butt one day. Actually, he called it "fine ass." I think that's related to why he left.

I told my new teacher that I had never grabbed any fine ass and there was no reason to make me change what I have always known. They called daddy. I kicked and screamed and tried to pee on the people that pulled me out of the chair, and I even pretended that I didn't speak English. But in the end, they moved me somewhere else. I couldn't do my math. I couldn't do my spelling. I couldn't focus in my new position.

In the end, I accepted my new place because they told me they would take away my fruit snacks if I didn't start behaving. But I am sad in my new location. Nobody asked me before I changed rooms if this was where I wanted to sit. Nobody wanted to know how I felt. They just assumed I would be OK with it.

Alfonso Soriano is my hero. He did not want to move, so he sat out, and everybody was really mad at him but he would not change. However, today, he decided he would move after all. I think they threatened to take away his fruit snacks.

Bastards.

I've got your bomb right here

By DeJuan C3PO
Fly Scribe

DeJuan is back and black, my bitches, and better than ever for the NC 2-A slamma jamma Festival of Illegal Gambling. Dog, there ain't nothing better than these here two days, when you can just skip work, close the drapes, turn the lights down low, take off your clothes and just enjoy the hoopfest all damn day.

So check it, the big news comes (the operative word) to us from San Diego, when someone planted a "suspicious package" at a "hot dog" stand at "Cox" arena. Does it take DeJuan to so easily solve this case ... looks like it was some fourth grader just playing one big fatty phallic prank. Dog, I laughed out loud when I heard the news. Furthermore, the police are all worried and such because some HOUND sniffed something out at the hot dog stand?

Y'all been giving the hounds of America too much credit. The dog just wanted a snack. Shit, I have a hard time not diving in and sniffing around when I see a hot dog stand ... I don't think no schnauzer is going to be able to resist. They cleared out "Cox" arena just because some pooch hadn't been fed in a while.

Awwwwww hellll yes, Tennessee! Big late shot to beat Wimbledon. I have Tennessee winning it all, can't resist that sexy orange suitcoat worn by the sweaty genius, Bruce Pearl.

Very good to see some upsets on the day. Montana beat Nevada in a battle of boring states, which means my man Nick Freak-a-zeke-us is going home early. Wisconsin-Milwaukee found all seven brothers in the entire state to play some ball and beat up Oklahoma. Texas A&M found some kryptonite for that angry midget white dude from Syracuse. And Alabama, which somehow has an elephant for a mascot (what is that shit? They're the damn Crimson Tide and they've got Dumbo on their gear), overcame their graphical weaknesses to defeat Marquette.

Pacific, which hasn't been the same since Michael Olowokandi tried to play in the NBA, took Boston College to two overtimes before fading like Vanilla Ice's complexion at a rally in Harlem. Bastards ruined my upset special. I was yipping and cheering and hooting for a team I ain't ever heard of before just so it could keep my bracket intact. Hell, I had to look up the name of that Swedish bro hitting threes a few times. It was some guy named Christian. Too bad Jesus was on the side of Goliath this time around. Dog, that was a really big journalistic leap, go ahead and be pissed about it.

I cannot wait for day two of this shizzle, cuz it only gets better from here. Don't forget to kick back two brews per game tomorrow and celebrate St. Patrick's Day in style. By belligerently calling an old flame and alternating pleas for forgiveness with squeals of buzzer-basket-joy. Peace out.

Daddy wants Cinderella; I want Teddy Grahams

By Dakota Brezinski
Six-year-old

Daddy says this is the time of the year when everyone wants to see Cinderella.

I like Cinderella, especially because of the little fat mouse named Gus. We had a mouse in our house once, but we didn't name it Gus. Daddy called it the Screwing Bastard. He didn't say Screwing. I wanted to name it Gus anyway, so I built him a fort out of Daddy's dirty magazines from the closet. Daddy called it my Smut Hut. Then he took his magazines back.

I don't know why Cinderella is so great in March. To me, the best Disney movie is The Little Mermaid, but since that has fishies, that's better for June or July. The fishies in March are still frozen, except my goldfish Suzie. She didn't die because she was frozen. She died because I wanted to see what the dishwasher detergent would do in the fishbowl. It disappeared! Poor Suzie.

Sleeping Beauty is an oldie but a goodie, but that's for a month like December or January when everything is dark all the time and everyone is thinking about sleeping all the time. Maybe that's just Ms. Westchester at school, who says the winter months make her think of sleeping and ending it all quietly. I don't think Ms Westchester likes math.

Toy Story is good, but that's only for December and CHRISTMAS TIME, when we all get TOYS TOYS TOYS. Well, I get toys, Daddy gets tools, and Mommy gets new underwear, some jewelry, and a half hour in the shower with Daddy while I play with my new games.

Aladdin is all about magic, so that movie should be shown in September, when the magic leaf fairy turns the trees pretty colors. And then i jump in big piles of leaves and get attacked by slugs and bugs. The Lion King is great for August, because the African place is dry and cracked like August when I play in the empty lot across the street. Mommy doesn't know I go there, but it's really safe. Except for the broken rusty fence everywhere. And the mean doggie who looks like Scar from the Lion King.

So, I guess March is okay for Cinderelly. I just don't know why so many old men go drink beer to watch it ... because I kinda think it should be for kids only. But I also think Daddy shouldn't have dollies, and he does have one, named Greta. She's in the same closet as the dirty magazines.

'CUSE ME, AMERICA!!!!!!!

By Bandwagon Burt
Wind sock

GERRY MCNAMARA! GERRY MCNAMARA! GERRY MCNAMARA!

The little white guy played 3-pointer out of his MIND on two days ago when they beat Cincinnati (no Hugs for the Huggins-homies after this one!) then he hits the BIG TIME THREE BALL to beat the Huskies and oh my god that guy is going to be a lottery pick never heard of him before this eason but oh my god! GERRY-CUSE!

Then tonight, he hits the big shot to pull them within one of Georgetown (just call it GERRYTOWN) then dropes the DIME for the game winning bucket, that's 10-cents on 10-cent wing night!

I'VE BEEN DRINKING SINCE 5 IT'S MARCH MADNESS ON MY TV.

GERRY IS THE GREATEST COLLEGE BASKETBALL PLAYER EVER!!!!!

Gerry! Gerry! Gerry! It's the Gerry Springer-Jumper-Scorer show. I want more beer!

Five things that I'm feeling right now

By Curtis Woodward
Fabulous

1. Well oh my rainbow goodness! Gerry McNamara is just a little firecracker, isn't he? He sort of has that tough Irish guy thing going on, much like those militant Irish brothers in Boondock Saints (I turned that movie off after the cat was shot, because that is NOT funny!) who use their scruffiness to their advantage. But I have just been tickled pinker to watch Gerry put the Orange on his back the past three days. You wanna put me on your back, Gerry? Hmm? Would you like that? Give Curtis a piggyback ride. Yeah, that's right. You dirty little Irish boy. Come on now. Let's go, spunky.

2. Staying on the East Coast, why hasn't anyone told me that Wally Sczerbiak was traded to Boston? Everyone knows what this means, right? It means that Thomas Brady and Wally Sczerbiak live in the same city!!! I can't even breathe right now, just thinking about it. Between those two and that hunk of a Red Sox general manager, Theodore Epstein, I am most certainly paying attention to Boston sports. I could even learn a Boston accent, and pick up their lingo. You want thum chowda? Leth go to the hah-buh. Boston hahhh-buh. Hahhhhh-buh. I sound so funny right now! Oh, if the Red Sox ever trade for Huston Street, I am SO moving to Boston! I hope Thomas is reading and saves a place for me. By the way, when you flipped the coin at the Super Game last month and were wearing a velvet suit and everyone was booing you, I was NOT booing you! I was the one jumping up and down on my couch cushions in my pajamas, clapping my hands together and shrieking "THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS! THOMAS!" I hope you heard me and appreciated it.

3. Alert! The World Baseball Classic is consuming all of my attention. But I don't know who to root for! I've gone back and forth, but there are so many choices. All of the Canadian players have that nice, shaggy-haired look and seem like they are very friendly. I've noticed that players on the Asian teams provide the best views from the rear, if you know what I mean (I'll take some Mongolian beef, please!). And then all of the Latino men ... mmmmm. They are so smooth on the field, and I bet they are just as smooth when they aren't playing with the balls. And I can't discount the good, old-fashioned American boys. They're so wholesome and familiar. I guess I'll just have to keep watching all the games faithfully to make my best decision -- with my fungo bat and pine tar nearby, of course.

4. I had a dream about J.J. Redick the other night, and I did not enjoy it, because he's an uncourteous little jerk. Let's just say that if an official calls him for a reach around foul in the future, we know that it's impossible.

5. I'm glad that the NFL labor situation was resolved peacefully. The owners were being greedy meanies, and they needed to give in to the players like they did. Now all of the players can get on with their lives and sign with new teams. There are some big names moving around, like Edgerrin James, Daunte Culpepper and Shaun Alexander. Alexander, with his adorable gap-tooth smile, is going back and forth about whether he wants to leave Seattle. Shaun, the shoe shopping there is hideous. I'd advise you to leave. But just know that whatever decision you make, just stand by it, because people will love you and support you. I remember that big day when I had to tell my parents about my ... "orientation." I was very nervous about what they would think, but they were OK with it, loved me still, and were right behind me when I went into first grade that year. So be bold. And don't be afraid to come to me for a little wisdom. And by wisdom, I mean ...

Editor's note: This segment was edited out because it's the most incredibly filthy thing my eyes have ever seen. We'd all be arrested if it were published, and you probably would be too, simply for reading it. And then the terrorists would win. You can thank me later.

That's all the time we have today, folks! It'a peanut butter and fudge night here, so it's time to settle in and let my thighs have it! Toodles.

I know you're out there, somewhere out there

By Agatha Moonfry
Staff Writer

Back in 2001, when we were all afraid of a military draft as a result of the War on Terror (which we’ll never win until American Idol is officially off the air), my boyfriend at the time asked me to move to Canada with him.

There were perks. Good health care, French-Canadian snobbery, greater rock music and better national parks in which sexual relations could be consummated, thanks to a less stringent police force. But there was one deep desire that made me stay in the States, and I bid adieu to Donovan in a steamy, epic night on his twin bed in the outskirts of town before he left the next morning.

That deep desire that kept me stateside, one that left me clinging to the idea of something greater, was that I knew American sports were far superior to anything I could find in Canada. While the Canucks were busy playing with hockey, curling and various forms of good naturedness, I knew I could count on the USA to bring me baseball, basketball and substances unavailable in the methadone-clinic world up north. With American sports, I could get a natural high. Not that I need it, with my more traditional high in place.

Donovan. If you’re reading … I’ve changed my mind.

I cannot bear to watch as folks named Adam Stern and Eric Cyr and Stubby Clapp (which could would be the perfect nickname for Brad, another former beau) crush the Americans in a sport that they claim as their pastime. We’ve been through this before –- the US National Basketball team, the Winter Olympics and now this, where the Americans were supposed to dominate but instead look like Sugar Ray in a world of Nickelback, Our Lady Peace, Finger Eleven and Avril Lavigne.

Instead of hearing about how the team coasted through pool play, paired against such useless nations as Mexico and South Africa, the USA must now actually CHEER for Canada if they want to move forward. Headlines such as “Whoa, Canada,” “Northern Exposure,” and “Maple Leaf It To Beaver” adorn American newspapers … it’s a national embarrassment.

I made up the last headline; I agree it doesn’t make sense. I was just feeling saucy.

There is nothing left to live for in this country. I have weathered the storm that made boy band pop and Latin-flavored music popular in this nation, and I have suffered through the reality television craze and that time when I was summoned for jury duty under my actual name, Agatha Matenopoulos. If the government can’t do anything about these problems, then really the only thing left to do is embrace the north and their sports dominion.

Donovan, I’ll be in Ontario by midnight if you’re reading. In a couple days, I’ll meet you in that special Quebec place we’ve always talked about. And yes, by “Quebec,” I think you know what I mean.

Wacky in the membrane

By Harvey McGuffin
I remember when ...

A man can’t trust anyone in this world anymore. Not even the bum on the corner who tells you he’ll work for food but when you offer to feed him, he takes your wallet, your keys, and your recent grocery purchase that includes a half gallon of milk and a box of condoms. You think you know people? You think you know the order of things? You’re wrong, asshole, and it’s probably your fault.

I remember when I knew who I could trust. The National Football League, with its parity and drunk Sunday mornings and occasional cases of paralysis was the rock in my life. It has been the linchpin of a generation, without any hint of "breakdown in labor discussions" or other pending signs of work stoppage. Major League Baseball, meanwhile, was the little bitch in the sports family, with its canceled World Series ruining the hopes of my beloved Montreal Expos and spring training with replacement players showing how unreliable and wrong the sport had become.

Good lord I miss the Expos. Vlad, Pedro and Delino, you will always be Los Habitons.

I remember when NFL was good and MLB was bad. Light and dark, white and black, Theo Epstein and George Steinbrenner. Things have changed since I was a lad, or at least since 1994, when this was the way of the world. Now I don’t know where to turn. I’m like the confused old man who accidentally got onto the freeway and doesn’t understand why everyone is driving so goddamned FAST.

Paul Tagliabue, who reminds me of this German fella I once shot in the war, gave his league an extension to get some peace between the players’ association and the owners before all hell breaks loose, and teams begin cutting players left and right without knowing the specifications of the salary cap, which everyone figured would be higher with a deal. I say cut them all if they can’t reach a deal. That will teach them a thing or two about disorganizing my universe.

Meanwhile, baseball has become a universal supergiant, with its precious World Baseball Classic getting underway at a ridiculous hour on my television set, and fans flocking to the games as if their hearts weren’t ripped out, stepped upon, torn to shreds, fed to wolves, digested improperly and pooed out 15 minutes later slightly more than a decade ago. I haven’t forgotten, baseball. I still hate you, while the NFL was my Abel and you were Cain. You’ve ruined the bible, football. The damn BIBLE!

Perhaps that German fella can save the game after all, and I will once again sit in my reclining chair and reflect on the world as it should be, with everyone hating baseball and loving football. Without the first part. But if he can’t, I will be forced to dwell in the deepest depths of despair, and what sport shall I watch?

Did someone say NASCAR? I remember when we called you people "white trash," instead of "NASCAR fans." Go find a cow to tip.