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The Legend of Bobby Kielty

April 1, 2008

Bobby Kielty is not your normal Ginger Nut. Not just a man, but he is a myth, a legend if you will. Bobby Kielty derives his slugging power and quick fielding from his personal mana source, mustard. He loves Heinz Yellow Mustard, but he has a special place in his heart for Grey Poupon. Although Bobby is a ginger kid, he is one of the few that made it away with a soul, despite recent rumors stating otherwise.

Kielty1

Red Sox players claim their success in the 2007 World Series is due, in large part, to the team firecrotch. One player was quoted as saying, “Mang, I don’t know what we would have done without his ginger ass. We’d all lick his freckled back, like one of those toads, to enhance our performance on the field. Baseball is full of tradition, and the Red Sox have Bobby Kielty as our good luck charm.”

kielty2

The next time you go to a Red Sox game, whether visiting a stadium or taking in a ball game at Fenway, try out these creative cheers to support Bobby Kielty:

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEY BOBBBBBBB-BBBBBBBBBEEEEEHHHHHHHH”
“Look alive Bobby. Quick Hands! Quick Hands!”
“OH Ma-maaaah”
(Pointing to your hat, and looking around the stands) “B for Bobby!”
(Wearing a rally cap if the Red Sox are down) “BOBBY CAPS!”
“Bobbalicious! Bobberino!”
“Ready Stance, Bobby! This one’s coming to you!”
“Hollahollahollahollaholla BOB-BEH!”

(We did it, and it seemed to work great)

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LA Quotes, Pt. 2: Adventures in Dodger Stadium

March 30, 2008

We sat out in Right Field for the Red Sox/ Dodgers game, surrounded by thousands of Dodgers fans (most looking to beat the shit out of us). Fortunately, we met a diehard Sox fan in the row in front of us. Here are a few gems from a true Red Sox Fan.

Red Sox Fan

Dodgers Fan: I’ve never seen so many fake Red Sox Fans.
True Boston Fan: I’ve never seen that much pubic hair on one face!

True Boston Fan: (After Jason Varitek hit a foul ball behind home plate) CHINESE HOME RUN!

Dodgers Fan: Man, free food at Dodgers Stadium. This shit is good.
True Boston Fan: Food’s alright, team still sucks!

Dumb Dodger Puta: The Red Sox suck!
True Boston Fan: Yeah, they sucked all the way to the World Series, honey!

Dodgers Fan: What the hell do Red Sox Fans do in the offseason?
True Boston Fan: Listen to a lot of Neil Diamond and watch the ’86 World Series while we circle jerk with our own tears. What the fuck do you think?

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A Mohel and his Meat

March 29, 2008

While visiting Massachusetts, I went with my friend, Bagel, to his weekly meeting with a local Rabbi. Bagel meets with the Rabbi to learn about the laws of Judaism, and I was fortunate enough to come in on a discussion of Kosher Laws.

kosher kitty
A recent photo of the Rabbi

Everyone always asks me why Jews keep Kosher and if I’ve ever eaten bacon.
1. Jews keep Kosher because of laws set in place centuries ago to prevent illness due to the consumption of certain types of food, such as pork, shellfish, etc. (Plus, pigs are like superheroes to us…)
2. Yes, believe it or not, I’ve eaten bacon, ham, cheeseburgers, shrimp, lobster and anything else that blatantly breaks the Kosher laws. (You don’t have to keep Kosher to be considered a good Jew. Besides, we have the FDA now.)

Circle U

So the Rabbi is teaching us about the Kosher laws, enlightening us on laws regarding the preparation of meat and reasoning for not being able to eat pork, shellfish and, yes, even human flesh. (That’s right, despite his delicious Plasma Noodle Soup with Matzah Ball recipe, Jeffrey Dahmer would not be considered Kosher.)

As I’m learning about these laws, I feel compelled to ask the Rabbi a question. I interrupt his explanation to say, “Excuse me, Rabbi. This is a random question, but I’ve been meaning to ask someone in your profession for a long time.”

Rabbi: “What is it you want to know?”
Me: “Well, here’s what I don’t understand. When I was younger, my cousin had his circumcision. My brother was his godfather and had to hold him while the Mohel did his things with the scissors.”
Rabbi: “Yes?”
Me: “Well, my brother’s holding my cousin, the mohel snips his tip and five minutes later, the entire family is eating a fresh tray of cold cuts. What’s the deal with this “snip-tip, eat-meat” tradition or can you at least tell me what goes best on a Kaiser roll with onion and tomato?”

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Quotes from LA, Pt. 1

March 28, 2008

1) My brother to Cat, a dancing professional at Cheetah’s Fine Exotic Establishment: “Why did you have a British accent the last time I was here?” Answer: “Because I hate my life…”

2) Drunk New Yorker who took notice of my Red Sox hat: “Joba Chamberlain is going to fuck you like a fly. Right up the poop…”

3) My brother and I having a discussion with Lillith, another dancing queen from Cheetahs:

Dickie: So what made you choose Lillith as a name?
Me: Is it because you like Frasier?
Lillith: Lillith was in the Garden of Eden before Eve, but she was kicked out because she was too naughty, just like me.
Dickie: You have really kind eyes…

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Life on the Lake: A Tale of B&E

March 28, 2008
Lake Shot

There’s nothing better than a “lobstah” meal with the family. Cracking shells and shooting lobster shmegma all over family members’ faces are some of those small things in life that bring me ultimate joy. It’s especially entertaining when it shoots right near the eye, but I digress…

Lobstahs

The lobstah dinner was only the beginning. I’ve only had a handful of chances to get to know my Uncle Fester. He has a family of his own, and it’s pretty difficult to get together when I live 3200 miles away. On this special night, I not only got to go to a local watering hole and “people watch” all the townies as they drank away their sorrows, inhibitions, marriages and bladder control, but good ol’ Fester made sure I got the full hometown experience.

As we drove home from the bar, we were reminiscing about when I was little and how he used to torture me (or as he calls it being a good uncle.) The one memory that stands out the most is the Wine Bottle… When I was a little “husky” kid, any food or drink in sight was fair game for consumption. Fester took advantage of my youthful gluttony and set out a wine bottle on top of his fridge. Whenever I’d come over the house, he’d say, “Hey snappahead, you wanna try this wine?” Without a second thought, I’d nod my head emphatically, licking my lips and waiting for that sweet nectar. He’d hand me the bottle, making sure it was right up to my face, and uncork it, releasing the smelliest, raunchiest, most pungent fart right into my nostrils. It seriously singed my nose hairs, but I digress…

So we’re driving, reminiscing about family and farts, and Fester pulls a quick louie, almost running the car into a ditch. We pull to a stop:

Fester: “Hey Butthead… you hungry?”
Me: (somewhat intoxicated) “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Fester: “That’s what I wanted to hear. This is what I like to call Life on the Lake!”

Without waiting a minute longer, we walk up the stairs and pull our own B&E right in the neighbor’s house. Fester b-lines it to the fridge, pulls out a bunch of plastic containers and throws me a jug of apple cider, “Make it a good chug, nibblenuts.” I down a good quarter of the cider, as he starts shoveling left over Chinese food into his mouth. “Food kinda sucks,” he musters between bites. He looks in the fridge and has a look of total disgust on his face, “Where’s the frigging beer? Screw it! Leave the fridge door open and follow me.”

Downstairs we open the fridge to find an open case of Milwaukee’s Best (ugh) and a brand new case of Miller Lite (ehhh). “Beast? What kind of shit is this?” he says as he throws the case of beer across the basement. He rips open the new package of Miller Lite hands me two and takes two for himself.

Back upstairs, we’re digging into Chinese, as he starts to nibble on a sparerib. All of a sudden I hear an enormous belch accompanied by the sound of a sparerib bone bouncing off the window. “You good, buddy?” he asks as he places the empty Chinese containers back in the fridge.

I nod, and we head to the car, driving a good 20 feet to our own driveway. Fast forward about 30 minutes when we get a call from the neighbor, Kenny, as we’re sipping on Grand Marnier: “Hey I’m having people over. Get the hell over here you sack of shit.”

We walk inside the door, looking at the kitchen we had just raided no more than 30 minutes earlier. It’s full of people, laughing and drinking. Kenny walks up to Fester, double fisting a Bloody Mary in one hand and a beer in the other. “What can I get you assholes? Beer? Some Mary Mix?”

Uncle Fester, with a completely straight face, looks at Kenny and says, “Got any spareribs?”

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Husky Moments

March 25, 2008

My parents were fat kids, thusly I was blessed with the genetic gift of childhood obesity (or as I like to call it Fat Shit Syndrome). Growing up, I was always in a constant battle with the fat gene, gaining weight even when I’d eat a plain salad. I was the kid in class that had a Jenny Craig lunch and considered it a treat when my mom packed 2 Snackwell cookies in my lunch. I carried around a calorie counter in my pocket and only weighed myself after bringing the Browns to the Superbowl because it gave me an advantage. I smiled and looked Asian because my jowls pressed my eyes closed so much. I was such a little butterball that I passed clothes down to my older brother.

Fat Champion

I couldn’t run the mile because of my giant Old Country Buffet legs and my 70-year-old chain smoker’s lungs (a.k.a. asthma), but I got really good at speed walking. Every term, it was a race between me and the fat girl that hoovered a bag of Doritos as she circled the track. (I blew that puta out of the water with a record of 8 wins and 2 losses.) I was that weeble that waddled around the hallways of school, the whole time chafing the hell out of my legs. Gold Bond was a good friend of mine.

Fat Running

Don’t be mistaken… I was a cool fat kid. The majority of fat kids figure out at an early age that we need to be funny out of necessity. When you’re younger, kids are so damn cutthroat. The only defense to hecklers and skinny assholes that get off on pointing out your rolls and asking you when you last saw your dong is to be funnier than them. And I was damn good at it… still am.

Those of you with fast metabolisms have no idea what it’s like to walk into Marshall’s or JCPenney and walk to the “Husky” section. No, it’s not the “Pleasantly Plump” or “Big-Boned” section. The Husky section is our school clothes Mecca. Husky is a sugar-coated way to say “Congratulations, you’re the fat kid.” I’m a proud patron of the Husky section, and I’m sure my kids will be the same way.

Whenever you see a “Husky Moment” post, look forward to a story about my days as a little corpulent shit and enjoy laughing at my misfortune, you asshole.

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Brotherly Love

March 24, 2008

In all the experiences I’ve been through in my life (from being a fat, lactose-intolerant little shit to almost being robbed by a French pimp in Madrid) I’ve always kept one thing in mind.

I have such an awesome family. In all honesty, I couldn’t be more glad to have my mom, dad and brother. Ultimately, my relationship with my brother, Dickie, has made me into what I am today (more or less, a perfect asshole).

From an early age, I could tell my brother really cared about my well-being. He was always focused on building my character. At the age of 5, whenever I was too loud or obnoxious and disturbed the peace, he would drag me outside and proceed to beat the everloving shit out of me in front of the other neighborhood kids. Thank God the Boystown van never drove by, or he woulda had some ‘splainin to do, Lucy.

Dickie took great joy in having a superspeedy metabolism compared to mine. One of his favorite past times was to heat up two boxes of microwavable french fries and take out a couple packs of Famous Amos Chocolate Chip cookies and gorge right in front of my face, as I sat crying and farting in a fit of envy/rage.

As I got older, Dickie discovered new ways to instill his values in me. Whether it was choking me to near death in front of my best friends or telling my parents that I was buying Spice Channel movies on the television at the age of 9, he really looked out for my wellbeing.

All in all, those loving moments with Dickie led to the El Cappytan that writes for you today. So I guess there is a plus side to having a complete asswipe for a brother. Thanks, bud.