O'Simspon Rules

Allright, I'd like to give you more (meaning cut and paste shit off Drudge), but I think I am going to die, thanks to a lovely evening with the FFMD, the human drinking machine Geoff Butt (I have no idea how he is going to be able to do his picks) and the lovely young lady who hangs out with Butt but doesn't like the nickname I previously gave her so make up a new nickname please...what I have is a follow-up to yesterday's Padres post...I know, less people watch "Still Standing" than read this thing, but whatever, this just epitomizes the donkey 2005 Padres:

Robert Fick took celebrating to a new level Wednesday night, all the way down to the aviator-style goggles he wore to protect himself against the sting of champagne. Fick doused everyone he could find, although he might have stepped over the line when he poured a bottle of very expensive tequila over manager Bruce Bochy's head. Tequila is flammable. And the manager felt a burning sensation when it got in his eyes. "I thought he threw acid on me," said Bochy, who steered clear of anyone lighting up a celebratory cigar.

Oh yeah, I am still afraid to jinx the AL Playoffs, so I won't mention that the Yankees are 1 up with 3 to play (in Boston), and I will certainly forget to watch the 3 most important regular season baseball games in 30 years (man, people that hate the Red Sox and Yankees have a good point don't they?). I need some Advil...(for the hangover, not for the baseball series...we all know the Yankees have this one in the bag...)

You stay classy, San Diego...***

Trust me, this is in no way a post about the National League Playoffs. HOWEVAH, the trifling San Diego Padres did clinch a playoff birth last night, giving me the rare opportunity to beat Anchorman lines into the ground. I was gonna go with "I'm Ron Burgundy, go fuck yourself, San Diego" but decided not to work blue (for once). You never know if Gracie's kids are secretly visiting this blogosphere (though I would assume Lukewarm Action would be their first stop). Moving on, the Padres (just 79-79) are poised to enter the playoffs with the fewest wins of a division champion EVAH, but, according to some donkey on the radio (does it count as "value-added" if it's regurgitated info?), the team they are bumping from that distinction, the 1973 New York Mets (82-79), made the World Series, for what it's worth (for all you country music fans, the closer on that team was Tim McGraw's daddy).

Congrats as well to the Cardinals and Braves for clinching playoff berths. I look forward to an early exit from either one or both of those teams (I'm telling you, that Cardinals pitching staff is completely exhausted - Chris Carpenter, 17 ER in his last 15.2 IP, and we all know the Braves history)...hold on, when did this become a post about the NL Playoffs?

I'm almost afraid to discuss the three-horse race for the AL East and AL Wild Card, in fear of jinxing my team's hopes. Perhaps today's fancy lunch (and subsequent libations) will loosen me up enough to bash the Red Sox and Indians and praise the Yankees (I am wearing my Yankees tie today, which I'm sure makes Butt cringe). Who knows, we'll just have to see. One AL Playoff note - It looks like the White Sox will clinch their berth tonight or tomorrow, and frankly, that's a real shame, because we were sure to get a historic meltdown from manager Ozzie Guillen...something Hal McRae-esque for sure. There is a slight chance we see the Ozzie Meltdown in the playoffs, but it might take Chicago blowing a 3-0 lead in the ALCS or something, and we all know no team is gonna blow a 3-0 lead in the ALCS (wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more).

***It should be noted I just heard Mike and Mike use this quote on their show, and that is horseshit, because I've been hammering away at this keyboard (4 fingers at a time) long before they tried to be all hip and funny and ruin my title line.

Afternoon Update: The White Sox just clinched. Ms. Lippy's car is green. And I have indigestion.

Lav Coles really misses you...

Herm Edwards: "YOU PLAY TO WIN THE GAME!"
Coach Gibbs: "Hello?? Herm, is that you?"
Herm Edwards: "HOW THE JETS WIN!"
Coach Gibbs: "Herm, why are you calling me at 3:30am?"
Herm Edwards: "P-RAM, P-RAM, P-RAM..."
****
Chad Pennington has a torn right rotator cuff. His season is most definitely over. His career might be over (thought I certainly hope that isn't the case). Backup Jay Fiedler is hurting (in more ways than one), so he's out this week as well. Brooks Bollinger will be starting this week in Baltimore against crazed murderer Ray Lewis and Co. Bad times my friends. Bad times. The 2005 New York Jets season might already be over (it's not even October yet), and that is god damn depressing. Go get 'em Brooks!
UPDATE: All righty then - looks like Jay Fiedler is also out for the rest of the year. The Jets are apparently bringing in six to nine QBs today for tryouts. Some of the donekys on the list:
-- Former Giant (and hunky Bachelor) Jesse Palmer
-- Former Falcon Doug Johnson (and Doug Davies' least favorite player ever)
-- Former Miami Hurricane Brock Berlin (excellent, the Brooks and Brock Show)
-- The corpse of Vinny Testaverde
****
Question: Didn't I already see this movie "A History of Violence", starring Viggo Mortensen? Yep, I'm pretty sure I did - it was called "The Long Kiss Goodnight", and starred Geena Davis in the Viggo role (and Sam Jackson).

****

The next time I am bitching about all the important work I do down here at Kramerica, someone remind me I just spent 120 seconds of my day ON THIS.

Cashing In on the New Blogtrend

Okay, so apparently this is the week for football picks around the blogosphere. Gheorghe usually strays away from whatever is "trendy," "cool," "interesting," or "comprehensible," but I'm feeling the vibe.

My picks, much like those of the lasses at MLT and EM, aren't based on actual thought about the games. Butt and Jeppy have covered that way too well, as their records don't indicate. My angle: in which city have I gotten more outlandishly intoxicated? I'm as eager as anyone to see these results. here goes:

Atlanta (+3) @ Buffalo - In Atlanta, I got loaded enough to pose as Chris Chandler and sign autographs and get free beers in a bar called Atkins Park. Nice football-related drunk. Never been to Buffalo, though some say I look like Frank Reich, so maybe I should. Easy win. FALCONS.

Carolina (-3.5) @ Miami - I've had a few drunken nights in Miami, but the Outer Banks Fishing Trip is in Carolina. Enough said. Exposing myself in a bar and placing a certain something on someone's hat gets the nod. Charlotte is a drag, but they called this team the Carolina Panthers to get the state-wide pull. PANTHERS.

Cincinnati (-3) @ Chicago - Got too drunk partying in Wrigleyville after a Cubs game and I was three hours late for work on a regional trip. The people in the office said they had almost called the police until I showed up. Then they almost called an ambulance. BEARS.

Dallas (-6.5) @ San Francisco - The only two times my Division Chief has seen me knee-walking drunk were during consecutive years' visits to our office there. Headed there next Wednesday for three nights, minus the Chief. Katy bar the city gates. 49ERS.

Cleveland (+13.5) @ Indianapolis - Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Museum Inaugural Concert, 1995. Boozing in The Flats all day, passed out standing up during the Allman Brothers. Slept in my car somewhere on the side of the highway. Never made it to the museum. BROWNS.

New Orleans (+3.5) @ Minnesota - Oh, my. Landslide pick of the week. True Fact: I am "literally" still hung over from JazzFest in April. Actual True Fact: Last week a bartender from Igor's in N.O. called me out of the blue (twice, drunk) to say the bar is still standing and the staff are all okay. He figured I was concerned. He was right. SAINTS.

Jacksonville (+3) @ NY Jets - Jacksonville could get some Daytona points, where I almost swam across the Intracoastal Waterway (one-armed sidestroke, with my wallet held above my head) to meet a stripper back at my hotel pool. But New York is New York, and even just a pair of Santa Stumbles would take it over the top. JETS.

Oakland (+7.5) @ Philadelphia - McGillin's. Since 1860. Blurry. A lot of falling down. In the rain. In puddles. In work clothes. EAGLES.

New England (+3) @ Pittsburgh - The marquee match-up of the week. Cape Cod, two summers of drunk and disorderly among the Smails of the world. Had a bad habit of passing out ON people in mid-sentence. Kicked out of bars for being too drunk before I could order a drink. Brewed my own beer, drank it, barfed it. AND YET -- Pittsburgh, 1995, staying with a friend's brother in a Pitt Seminary School dorm. Vomited all over the dorm lobby, and while he had to clean it, stumbled into some random person's room and passed out. Campus-wide search goes on for me for most of the night. I wake up in some horror movie and see boy scout uniforms tacked to the wall amid odd paintings of Jesus. Stumble across the hall where the group is, they're relieved/pissed. Find out the kid whose room I invaded is out of town, hence the lack of backdoor soreness. Just 12 hours spent in steel town, but prolific asininity. STEELERS.

NY Giants (+5.5) @San Diego - Ordered a round of buttery nipples for an entire bar in S.D., brilliantly, but again, I have a consistent New York track record. A bartender in Doc Holliday's grabbed the hair on top of my head (I had some then), yanked my head back, and poured liquor down my throat. I heart NY. GIANTS.

Arizona (+6.5) @ Seattle - Never been to either place. I'm betting I'd get more obnoxiously drunk in Seattle, what with all the rain. SEAHAWKS.

Tennessee (+6.5) @ St. Louis - Crap game. Got loaded in Memphis and Nashville, blah blah blah. So did Elvis. TITANS.

Tampa Bay (-3.5) @ Green Bay - Got hammered at a good friend's rehearsal dinner in Clearwater, just outside of Tampa. During the toasts, some big fat sixtysomething who was sitting across the way at Table 8 stood up and issued the edict that every couple deserves a limerick, so he delivered one that he'd written. Except that he got to the last line and completely forgot it. (In case you don't remember, a limerick IS the last line, for all intents and purposes. ) It was hilariously awkward as he stood there in agony, wishing the line would come to him. It never did, and when he sat down in great embarrassment, I stood right up and just started in with no intro:

Stew and Christine are great
Some would even say it's fate
It's great to be in Clearwater
But I think that I oughter
Acknowledge the drunk at Table 8.

Sat down and finished my cocktail. Later on in the evening, as I was engineering things out of control, the bride's cousins indicated I'd better cool down or they were going to take me outside for a beating. I pretended they were kidding and laughed as if I'd never heard something so funny. The next day I was late to the wedding and was later accused of setting off a fire alarm in the night. Groomsman of the Year. BUCS.

Kansas City (+3) @ Denver - Colorado Air has a huge advantage. I remember trying to start a bulldozer, swinging a samurai sword, breaking a friend's golf club, and giving the worst toast I've ever delivered, which happened to be the worst toast in the world. BRONCOS.

Bad week to have Washington and Baltimore on a bye. Would have been easy picks. Anyway, it's time to go across the street, so have a good weekend, people.

Third times a charm

For only the third time this year, the New York Yankees are in 1st place in the AL East (and, in fact, they are now in 1st place in the Wild Card race as well). Twelve days ago the Yankees were 4 games out (having just lost to Boston)...now they have a half game lead with 11 games to play (the Red Sox have 10 games left). Kudos to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays - after treating NY like their bitches for much of the year, the Devil Rays have now kicked Boston in the nuts as well (quick aside - why in the hell would any manager pitch to David Ortiz late in a game? Ever? that guy is a fucking beast). Well done Sweet Lou (who can't get out of town fast enough - no doubt he gets tossed in the 1st inning of the last game of the year and disappears like Sosa into the night). Randy Johnson finally looked good last night, that line-up is scoring runs at will, and Mo Rivera is the hammer. I like what I'm seeing (and if you think I'm totally ignoring the AL Central race, I am - I can't even discuss what is going on with the Indians and White Sox - perhaps Jay Mariotti can help us out). Enough from me...I am sure Rob will have a more comprehensive and better written take on this at MLC (who am I, Rome?)...it's just too bad he roots for the wrong team.

-Anxiously awaiting September 30 - October 2, 2005
***
It also needs to be mentioned that today is GTB contributor and MLC co-founder Whitney Ricard's birthday (they even opened the Dubliner early today for the birthday boy). He and his wife will be celebrating tonight with some wine, frozen yogurt and a whole meal of food.

You know, I'm a rather brilliant surgeon...Perhaps I can help you with that hump...

What hump?

It's a lovely humpday here at GTB...

Barry Bonds, you just don't know when to quit do you? The balloon-headed wonder feels we should all contribute more money to Katrina victims and spend less time wondering when exactly he started taking performance enhancing drugs (a chilled Bonds '86 anyone?)? Can we please get a VH1 reality show with Raffy and Barry visiting a different town each week, lying through their teeth while taking batting practice with local youths? Good work Nats fans too for booing that arrogant fuck...

Not good for the Nats, though, is their playoff outlook. Yep, that is indeed a giant fork sticking out of Joey Eischen's back. As if their struggles weren't bad enough, apparently we have some issues in the Nats locker room...
The Washington Nationals suspended a volunteer chaplain and distributed an apology from outfielder Ryan Church yesterday, two days after Church was quoted in a front-page Post article as suggesting that Jews are headed for eternal damnation.
You'd think the guy named Church would avoid stuff like this. I seriously cannot believe Frank Robinson's head hasn't exploded yet.

And for anyone out there looking for a career change, how would you like to JOIN THE MOST ELECTRIFYING COMPANY IN THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY TODAY!

Too much of a good thing? NEVER. Keep it coming VH1...I know Carrot Top and Yahoo Serious have their fingers crossed for Season 7...
NEW YORK, Sept. 20 -- Here's the story of seven celebrities who are moving on up to a de-luxe mansion in the Hollywood hills into television's most incredibly 'surreal' viewing experience. The mammoth sixth season cast of VH1's ratings juggernaut "The Surreal Life" includes the man who's band made Shrek rock, STEVE HARWELL of Smashmouth; the actor who made George Jefferson more famous than that other Jefferson, SHERMAN HEMSLEY; the original video vixen, TAWNY KITAEN; the wildest rock and roll axeman ever, C.C. DEVILLE from Poison; Playboy TV's covergirl, ANDREA LOWELL; and the XX and XY of the Arquette family, ALEXIS ARQUETTE.
And this season, SPECIAL GUEST STAR FLORENCE HENDERSON joins the show as the cast's full time and on-call therapist/advisor. Yes, America's number one television mom will take this wild bunch under her wing and help them through the strains of reality television.
Who writes these press releases? The guy who DIDN'T get the WWE job? C.C. Deville is the wildest rock and roll axeman ever? Really? And didn't Tawny Kitaen try to kill Chuck Finley last year?

Cue the Chuck Mangione

Wow. Last night, sometime close to 1 AM, when I was holding my fists in the air, yelping with glee, and generally acting like a dancing nancy in front of my television, I realized the benefit of never having let my allegiance to the team waver. Yep, I loathe the owner with all of the venom of any good fan. Sure, I realize the squad is mediocre, having wagered a case of beer on their finishing with 7 or fewer wins this season -- and still feeling safe. But at no point did I even pay lip service to the notion of reducing my 100% all-in fan status, unlike some of my esteemed colleagues. I can't actually say I blamed them, but it really shouldn't be an option. (I learned that during baseball season.) So when last night's win appeared out of nowhere -- and make no mistake, in an otherwise dreary season, a win like that can make the season -- I reveled in the moment like it was 1999. (The last time the Washington Redskins made the playoffs, duh.)

Because the Redskins' last decade has made me a spiteful, bitter shell of my former self, I had begun compiling a list of F-U's to be issued this morning, from the Cowboys [who, as Joe Gibbs said, were treating the Skins like a Homecoming patsy, what with retiring the numbers of "The Triplets" (appropriately candy-assed moniker) at halftime] to Madden & Michaels for their one-sided telecast for 56 minutes, to the legion of columnists and reporters who mocked the Ramsey/Brunell exchange and treated Coach Gibbs like he was a confused old man who belonged somewhere other than a football sideline. I had ill will for all of these people, but then I remembered that up until the last four glorious minutes of ball last night, they were right. So I pocketed my nastiness and decided to simply smile about the outcome.

And I'll be doing that all day.

How The Jets Win

In case you missed Herm Edwards the other day, he has decided his football team needs to stick to basics, or else they will get pummeled much like last week at KC. How does Herm plan to stick to the basics? Why with a sheet of paper labeled "How The Jets Win" of course. Read up boys, and hope Nick Saban doesn't get a hold of these gems:
*Smart/fast/physical.
*Run the ball/stop the run.
*Protect the ball/take it away.
*Solid special teams/no foolish fouls.
*****
How about those Washington Nationals? Just when I had given them up for dead and accepted the fact I was buying Whitney a case of beer, they go and sweep Whit's Mets and position themselves to (possibly) squeak into the playoffs. Starting relievers two days in a row certainly doesn't cry peak performance, but hell, they're hanging around, 2.5 back in the Wild Card standings (3 back in the Loss column). If they can go to San Diego and take 2 of 3, they are in prime shape to steal the WC in the final weekend (when they get Philly at home, and it's well documented the entire world hates Philadelphia). Got Wilk?
*****
Has it occurred to anyone else that Curt Schilling and Keith Foulke might've signed the same boilerplate agreement with Satan as Kurt Warner once did (and to a lesser degree Voshon Leonard)? I realize Red Sox fans can die happy now, but it sure seems to me like those two guys will never be the same again...and I guess to Boston fans it doesn't really matter...and of course in two weeks time as Schilling and Foulke dominate the Yankees to keep them out of the playoffs this will seem like an absurd paragraph, but what the hell, just wanted to throw it out there.

What, no happy ending?

Apparently, today is the Health Fair at work (Butt, you came by the Cracker Factory a day late), and my boss just sent me upstairs for a massage. And let me just tell you, that...was...fantastic. However, I now have absolutely no desire to do any work at all. I just want to take a nap. Where's Costanza's carpenter when you need him?
***
As if we needed more proof that he is the weirdest guy on the planet, I give you this Michael Jackson nugget...
Michael Jackson rented out an entire water park in Dubai so children and their parents could have fun for free. The reclusive superstar, now based in the middle east, baffled onlookers at the Wild Wadi park, wearing a white lycra body suit that exposed just his nose and eyes. A lifeguard tells British newspaper the Daily Express, "He looked even stranger than usual. His body is very skinny and lycra does him no favours."

Tuxedo Tom Simspon Checking In

OK, I am indeed back, and I am now a married guy, having wed the FMD in the Outer Banks on Saturday (which I guess makes her the FFMD*). The winds of Ophelia were strong to quite strong, but that didn't prevent the regularly scheduled beach wedding from occurring. Special thanks to the law firm of Simspon, Dennis, Broka, Carlino & Sharkey for their solid work as best-man/grooms-dudes. I'd thank my family for coming as well, but they are about as likely to read GTB as Carrot Top is to win an Oscar. While I'm on the thanking train, credit must go to Arthur Murray, as the FFMD and I took a few cram session lessons so we (who am I kidding, so I) wouldn't embarrass myself on the dance floor (and yes, it cost me one Angry doubleheader, but as you can see, my no glove/no hit approach obviously wasn't needed). Fred and Ginger we ain't, but it went pretty well (meaning I didn't fall down or throw the new wifey into the band set-up). I am pretty sure a good time was had by all, but frankly, that was the fastest week of my life and everything is a complete blur. It's a shame there won't be many photos or video of the event...oh wait, my bad, did you say 7 hours of unedited video? Right...props to Whit for the wedding scenarios below, I got quite a kick out of them while I checked my email on the worst computer ever made in the Dare County Library (I assume Whit made it safely to the Cape and didn't tear his sac jumping fences in restaurant parking lots?). GTB should be back to it's regularly scheduled nonsense by tomorrow - right now I need to sift through 212 emails and voicemails, and most importantly, catch up on the prose at the Wheelhouse, MLC, Hot Action, MLT and Duffman Speaks (just wanted to see if you were paying attention). Seacrest out.

*Kudos to DC reader MH, Esq. for the new acronym (it's Former Future Mrs. D - wordy but effective)

And now I introduce, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas James Simspon!

In a delightful, yet breezy, ceremony in Nags Head, NC, the Senator Tom Simspon of New York was married to Jennifer (danger is her middle name) Wilson. Among featured guests were your humble author, Dennis (who, along with fellow lammie/usher, Derek Broka, performed masterfully at escorting 69% of the female wedding attendants to their seats, including TJ's almost 18-year old unnamed cousin - whoah), one James Freeland, about 25 slightly overweight Alabamans, Satan, the usual slew of uncomfortable Aunts and Uncles, everyone's good friend Ophelia, and Vanilla Ice (whose female stunt double performed at the reception in one of the greatest live renditions of "Ice Ice Baby" ever witnessed - brought the house down).

The entire weekend was a whirlwind affair with a pleasant mixture of responsibility and silliness. We managed to behave as badly as possible amidst the commands of our senior drill instructor/wedding coordinator. The cottage which played host to nearly 20 guests, the welcome dinner, rehearsal/rehearsal dinner, and ceremony was an ideal setting. Complete with a gourmet kitchen for Tom to indulge in his culinary delights and a game room on the bottom floor, which provided the backdrop for 2005's beerpong Comback Players of the Year (keep an eye out for the season on DVD entitled: "3D: Dennis, Derek, Domination".

My complements to all involved - even with backstage passes all seemed well put together - the little touches always tickle me too, like the personalized M&M's, the flip flops that leave an imprint in the sand reading "Just Married", the bite-sized meatball subs as appetizers, etc. Even the foxtrot lessons appeared to have paid off...

So, from GTB, congrats my man.

And there was much rejoycing.

TJ's Wedding Week, Part 2

Today's scenario:

TJ and Jennifer are getting ready to tie the knot at their destination wedding. Unbeknownst to them, an old flame has just realized for the first time that he still has those old feelings and has decided to attend the wedding at the last second and reveal his love, even though he regretted the original invitation. Once he arrives, however, it's clear that this wedding is supposed to happen, and that the happy couple are truly that. He sits quietly in the congregation as the vows are exchanged. Stunningly, however, when it's TJ's turn, he is heard to utter, "I take thee, Swint." The guests are aghast, and the minister turns to Jennifer, asking, "Shall I continue?"

TJ's Wedding Week, Part 1

In honor of Gheorghe workhorse TJ Simspon's wedding next Saturday, we're sending him off with a series of congratulatory posts. In them, we who cannot attend the North Carolina wedding will theorize how the big day is going to go down.

Today's projected scenario:

After engaging in a torrid, illicit affair with his girlfriend's mother over Labor Day weekend, TJ and his bride-to-be are torn apart mid-week. Her parents arrange for her to marry someone else (Dennis in a cameo role) on Saturday, but TJ shows up during the ceremony, bangs on the windows overlooking the church nave, and they run out of the church and into his beat-up, K-car jalopy that he starts with a screwdriver. After a quick hit off a potato, they drive off together.

Chances of this becoming reality: 53% Stay tuned for other possible outcomes.

George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People

At least that's what Kanye West thinks. See, the problem with live television is that it's, well, live. That thunking sound you heard last night was the result of several dozen jaws hitting network control panels and executive desks in unison as West capped off his bizarre screed on NBC's disaster relief telethon. Think Mike Myers beat his agent with a used Wayne's World t-shirt after having to stand next to West, dumbly transfixed and clearly wondering why his Canadian ass got dragged into this shit?

We're not gonna get all political on ya'll in this space - lots of digital ink is getting spilled in the service of power in plenty of other corners of the blogosphere - but the Hurricane Katrina race card is on the table now, and the next week will be interesting to watch. Good thing TeeJay's headed somewhere without an internet thingy.

Introducing Mr. and Mrs. T.J. Wilson

Oh, wow, did I find TJ Wilson. Now you HAVE to take her name . . . you've always been"The Stampede Kid" to us, anyway.

I'm looking for Ray Finkle...

So much to type, so little strength to do it. This is my last day at GTB for awhile, as I am off to marry the FMD in Nags Head, NC. A week at the beach of boozing and schmoozing is just what the doctor ordered (and the wedding thing is a nice touch too). In my absence I hope Dennis and Whitney can hold down the fort (and maybe founder Rob can pop in as well). I plan on hitting the local library once or twice, and if some wedding week wisdom comes to mind, I'll share it with the world wide web. Seriously, write more stuff about your wedding...tool.

And that's right folks, I'm drunk right now (courtesy of a great time with Butt, FMB, and FMD) (ooh, second parenthesis - Whit, beer at Noon time?) I forgot to mention that the DJ last night at the Ugly Mug is the best DJ ever to walk the planet Earth. Apparently, he's also the DJ at the Mad Hatter (Jerry's REAL Nirvana) and he's the king of classic rock. Journey, Chicago, Boston...Foreigner. The man's a god damn genius.

Raaaaaaaanch!

Happy Fucking Birthday Mr. F-B-I Agent Keanu Reeves...I found this humorous...
Sometimes Credited As:
Norman Kreeves
K.C. Reeves
Chuck Spidena

If Snoop Were a 17th Century Poet...

The following quote is from an upcoming Johnny Depp film about an infamous poet, the Earl of Rochester:

Rochester: You've cut me down, I must confess; but in your mouth my balls must rest.

I might have to see this one. Could be alot of poop jokes in a British accent - always gets a laugh out of me. Then again, I think American Dad is funny...

Jerry's Nirvana

I think young Flantzini is going to make lots of friends here.

I am alive and well, brain seems to be functioning a bit better, which means I hope to bore you later on with tales of OJ and Lohan. First, I need a big cup of java and an artery-clogging breakfast sandwich (which reminds me, how fucking freaky is that Burger King "guy"? He recovers fumbles for TDs?). Second, anyone got a generic/sample RFP they want to send GTB? He seems to have something called "work" to do today. Bumming...
...
...
...
Raaaaaaaaaaaanch!

Update: Thanks to the world wide web for several "suggestions" of RFPs. I must say though, I think I've found a winner.