An Oscar Campaign Promise™!

If Oscar is elected president, he promises to take pretzels off the enemy combatant list, where they have been ever since January 14, 2002, when a brave pretzel (coincidentally named Dennis Kucinich) tried to, um, "serve articles of impeachment" on the President, as an actor said to a bishop.

You have to be very careful with your wording when mentioning what Dennis Kucinich, the Pretzel was really trying to do.

Note to the government: these are all jokes. I just wanted to spell that out, because I know how easy it would be to, um, "be misread and sent to Guantanamo," as an actor said to a bishop.

Anyway, that's an Oscar Promise™!

And because this isn't getting nearly enough media coverage, here's Oscar's campaign poster again:

The Oscar '08 Endgame

Heaveno, people. Oscar '08 update comin' atcha.

It's crunch time at the Oscar '08 campaign headquarters, and you know what that means. It's time to name our vice president, and map out our final strategy for defeating both Barack Obama and George W. Bush. Oops, I mean John W. McBush.

First off, a little managing expectations.

Yes, I believe that Oscar is a better candidate than either of these men, if for no other reason than he's a Jim Henson puppet, so people already know whose hand is up his ass. But Oscar has a significant electoral problem that neither Obama nor McBain has, and that problem is this: no one reads this fucking blog. How in the hell I managed to scare up 3,152 votes for Kenny Crandle in 2004 remains a mystery. If Oscar manages to get TWO votes, I would consider that a victory. And if he manages to actually carry a state, then I will buy everyone in that state pizza. (I'm talking to you, Texas and California!)

Now, on to the main events.

1. Oscar's vice presidential pick.

Seems like a lot of the emphasis with the VP picks centers on experience - specifically, foreign policy experience. One little crisis with the Russians in Georgia, and there's, like, a stampede of contenders to get to the nearest airport: Joe Lieberman, Lindsay Graham (who is a dude, by the way, despite the name), Joe Biden, Cindy McCain, Lou Diamond Phillips, and Sherman Helmsley, each one jockeying to prove that he is the man who can pull the world back from the brink of collapse.

But Georgia is a lot like the actress who played Kimmy Gibler on Full House, in that they are both overrun by undersized Slavic men with poor personal hygiene. Also, because no one in America really has any idea where they are. (Republican VP hopeful Tim Pawlenty would have been on his way to Georgia too, but having been educated in the American public school system, he bought a plane ticket to Atlanta. Zing.) And while it's easy to crack jokes about how dumb Americans are and how remote and useless and stinky Georgia is, the point is that there are other countries in the world with more John-Stamos-esque global statures, where a candidate for Vice President could reasonably hope to glean some meaningful foreign policy experience. Countries like Pakistan, for example.

Therefore, it is with great pride that we announce that Oscar the Grouch's running mate for Vice President of the United States shall be...

Pervez Musharraf.

Think about it. You can't beat him for foreign policy experience. He's been the president of an entirely separate country for most of this millennium! And his credentials keep looking stronger and stronger since the government of Pakistan took about four days to collapse after he left office - a fact which also provides a fantastic contrast with George W. Bush, whose government collapse occurred not only while he was on the job, but also because he was on the job.

I know that given my longstanding friendship with Pervez, not to mention our mutual affection for all things Ben and/or Jerry, people will scream patronage. Also, they will scream for ice cream. And you know what, those people will be right. They'll be absolutely right.

2. How to beat Obama.

This one is simple. So simple that it's a wonder the Republican party hasn't figured it out already. Then again, the Republican party is pretty dumb. I mean, we're talking about an "organization" (I use the term loosely) of "people" (I use the term even more loosely) that has actually fielded Dan Quayle and George W. Bush - two men whose combined IQ would be easily outdistanced by a mentally retarded stick of chewing gum - as candidates for high public office. Translation: Republicans are very dumb.

So here's some help. This is the new slogan of the campaign to elect John McCain:

John McCain already got beaten by a bunch of Asians. Let's not let him get beaten by a black guy too.

It's that simple. No one will vote for teh Obama now.

3. How to beat John McCain.

I really don't know how to beat John McCain. Maybe we can ask his Viet Cong captors for some tips. Zing.

No, seriously, let's ask them. My bet is that they're working at Guantanamo right now - as janitors, though, because their torture résumés aren't nearly extreme enough to qualify them as interrogators. It's true! And it's also today's fun fact for the day: the "torture" practiced by John McCain's captors in Vietnam is actually significantly less severe than the "interrogation techniques" sanctioned by the Bush Administration for use in prisoner questioning in Guantanamo!

Nothing but the best for our enemy combatants!

But unfortunately, this still doesn't answer the question of how to win against John McCain. Maybe it's like that old riddle about the minister, the rabbi, and John McCain being on an airplane together, and the airplane starts to crash, but with only two parachutes available, and bearing in mind that this is after John McCain was tortured but before he met Cindy, the minister says he has a wife who loves him and he just wants to see her again, and the rabbi says he has a wife who loves him and he just wants to see her again, and John McCain says, "I'm married to a former model who's now five-foot-four and big as a house; you guys take the parachutes." Maybe that's how you beat John McCain. I'm not sure.

Mao's Successor Hua Dies; Number to Be Retired

Hua Guofeng, former Chairman of the Communist Party of China, Premier of the People's Republic of China, and NHL left winger, died today at the age of 87. Hua is most remembered for being Mao's handpicked successor, and for his two-year stint as a left wing on the Stanley-Cup winning New York Islander teams in 1982 and '83. In tribute to his memory, the Islanders announced today that they will retire his number 43 sweater at a ceremony in the Nassau Colliseum this October.

Hua joined the Communist Party in 1938 and rose through the ranks, becoming minister of public security in 1975, and ascending to the premiership of China following the death of the super-sexy Chou En-Lai in early 1976. He assumed the chairmanship of the Communist Party in China after Mao died later in the year. But the Triple Crown (Premier of China, Chairman of the Communist Party, World's Greatest Grandpa) eluded him, the third title having been granted, via coffee mug, to 88,000 men across the United States, but never to Hua despite being really, really, really nice to his daughter's brats in Guangzhou.

After being ousted from power by the sinister wiles of Deng Xiao Ping, Hua went west all the way to Long Island to live out his childhood fantasy of playing in the NHL. He joined the New York Islanders in the midst of their run of four straight Stanley Cups, playing along such notables as Denis Potvin, Mike Bossy, and Jesus Christ. Although Hua was mostly known as a bruising, checking-line forward and penalty killer, he occasionally managed to dazzle with his skating and his stickwork. His 28-goal campaign in 1981-82 included nearly a dozen goals that would have been included in highlight reels, if anyone in America watched hockey highlight reels in the first place, which they didn't.

His most spectacular moment on the ice, however, came in the second period of game 3 of the 1982 Stanley Cup finals, when Hua leapt eight feet into the air and pirouetted over Vancouver Canucks defenseman Lars Lindgren near his own blue line, landing immediately behind him. Hua then stole the puck from the confused Lindgren, skated into the Canucks' zone unmolested, and floated a wrist shot past a gaping Richard Brodeur for an easy goal.

For his career, he amassed 52 goals and 159 points in two NHL seasons with New York, winning the Stanley Cup both years, all while retaining his title as junior Vice Chairman of the Communist Party until the position was eliminated in the middle of the 1982-83 season. He spent the end of 1983 and most of 1984 backpacking across Europe, returning to China in December after having discovered the joy that is Michael Jackson's Thriller.

In addition to being remembered and celebrated in his own country, the Islanders have announced that Hua's number, 43, will be retired by the team on Monday, October 27th before a game against the New York Rangers. Hua will also be posthumously given the World's Greatest Grandpa award that he coveted for so much of his adult life.

When Metaphorical Hurdles Become Actual Hurdles, or Vice Versa

Chances are you've never heard of Lolo Jones. No, it's not the name of a Chris Tucker character in a wacky, multi-racial cop movie. No, it's not the gimmicky, redneck mascot for a chain of midwestern discount stores ("Lolo Jones says low, low prices!"). No, it's not my pornstar name either. Lolo Jones is an American hurdler at a small local sporting event called "the Olympics," which I believe is taking place right now somewhere in the world. It's kind of hard to tell, though, from the almost total lack of attention they're getting.

Lolo overcame a constant stream of hurdles in her quest to reach the Olympics this year - most notably, homelessness, living in Iowa, and being a girl.

But there was one hurdle Lolo couldn't overcome.

A hurdle.


FYI, My pornstar name is either James Cooper or Sadie Melrose, depending on your particular methodology for determining pornstar names. Lolo Jones is pretty good though. I might start using that instead. I wonder if anyone else is named that?

Oh, right! The hurdler! Sorry, it's just that it's the Olympics, so I just abruptly stopped caring. Wake me up when they get to the hot-dog eating contest.

My poor former dictator buddy...

Just saw this on facebook:



Poor Old Perv. That's what me and A-Rod call him. And the best part is that old Perv doesn't even know it's a goof! Of course, A-Rod doesn't know it's a goof either. Or should I say, "Even Though I Like Madonna, I Swear I'm Not Gay-Rod" doesn't know it's a goof either.

Speaking of Madonna and Mr. Rod, I couldn't help noticing that he was conspicuously absent from her 50th birthday party on Saturday. I know there was a Yankee game scheduled that day, and that the team is clinging to its delusions of making the playoffs by a gossamer thread, but couldn't you call out sick and take her to Chuck E. Cheese for a couple hours?

That's what a real friend would do. That's what Old Perv did for your birthday last month, even though his authoritarian grip on power was crumbling and he was being threatened with impeachment. That trip probably cost him his job. But he came anyway, and he did the whole Chuck E. Cheese bit even though he really didn't want to, and then he gave you all his Skee-Ball tickets so you could get that stupid fucking kazoo that I bet you threw out already. Remember? Don't you want Madonna to have memories like that too?

Some people can be so selfish.

Some Advice on Being an Out-Of-Work Quasi-Dictator

If you live in Pakistan and you don't live under a rock, chances are pretty good that you've already heard the news about my good buddy Pervez Musharraf. That's right, he bought a dog.

Unfortunately, that news was eclipsed today with the announcement of his resignation as the President of Pakistan. Needless to say, he's pretty distraught, not only because it means he has to file for unemployment - and those Pakistani unemployment forms are about three miles long and read like they're written in a foreign language - but also because Mr. Fluffles (that's the dog's name) wasn't even properly housebroken yet. And now he needs to start the whole breaking process over again in a new house.

Still, at least he'll have a house in which to break Mr. Fluffles, unlike the millions of Pakistanis who live under rocks.

Pervez can be a pretty emotional guy when things aren't going his way. Last year, for instance, during Game 2 of the American League Divisional Series between New York and Cleveland, Pervez was literally tearing his hair out when Joba Chamberlain pitched through a storm cloud of Lake Erie midges in the 8th inning instead of calling a timeout. "What the hell is he doing?" Pervez kept screaming. "Why does he persevere? Why doesn't Torre pull him off the mound and refuse to continue? He is fucking blind from these gnats!"

"They're midges," I said.

"Fuck you! I'm calling A-Rod!" Pervez screamed back at me, the veins in his forehead and neck pressing to escape the surface of his creamy brown skin. "What the hell is he doing?"

"A-Rod's on the field right now, dude," I said. "You need to relax."

"Shit! I got his fucking voicemail!"

"Alex is on the field right now," I said plaintively, in my best voicemail system voice. "He can't take your call."

"Alex! It's Pervez! Call me right away, it's very important!" He hung up and waited, staring alternately at the television screen and the phone, absently fingering a merit medal near the lapel of his jacket. "Fuck this, I'll send him a text message."

"Dude, you need to chill out. Maybe you should get a dog or something," I sagely, and somewhat contrivedly advised him.

"Fuck you!" he crowed. "Don't fucking tell me what to do, you buzzard!"

In the spirit of that comment, and out of my desire not to be called a buzzard again, I am not going to offer Pervez any advice on what to do with his life now that the whole President of Pakistan thing didn't pan out. I know he's always entertained the fanciful notion of taking eight months to backpack through Europe till he got to Amsterdam, where he would load up on weed and have sex with as many hookers as his considerable personal wealth would allow. But I also know he's something of an ice cream connosieur, and that he has a longstanding wish to tour the Ben & Jerry's factory in Waterbury, Vermont.

They give you free samples on that factory tour, which, in my opinion, makes it totally worthwhile. I couldn't care less what temperature the milk is reduced to, or how they add a ripple of fudge to their fudge ripple. The movie they show about the personal history of Ben and Jerry might as well be called "nap time." But bring on the free scoop of Chubby Hubby, you know what I'm saying?

They also give you free samples at the Guinness factory in Dublin, Ireland. Anyone else smell a theme trip idea? Not for Pervez Musharraf necessarily - it's an idea that anyone could use, whether he happens to be a recently deposed leader of a semi-authoritarian regime in southwest Asia, or, say, a 22-year-old with a freshly minted diploma from Brown.

Unrelated: I'm looking for some assistance with the Oscar '08 campaign, just in case there's any former Asian heads of state who suddenly have a lot of free time on their hands. No dogs allowed, though. Sorry, Mr. F.

Will We Still Dress All Retro in the Future? Yes.

These people, who look like ordinary, run-of-the-mill white people, are more than just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill white people. Why, you ask? Take a gander at the name of the building, which is emblazoned in futuristic-looking letters. It says, in case I didn't just give it away blatantly enough, "The Future."



These people are from The Future.


Weird how they dress the same as people from like, eight years ago, right? I mean, that's the first thing I thought, was that wow, they are really nailing the 2000 summer fashions. Then again, I was coming down pretty hard from some primo anesthetic after an early-morning medical procedure. On a Thursday.

Speaking of which,

Dear [redacted] Center,

Many, many thanks for your fine quality drugs. I'm sure their street value must have far exceeded what my insurance company is going to pay you, so thank you for holding onto them and forfeiting the vast sums of cash you could have gotten in a local high school cafeteria.

Anyway, awesome stuff. You could have molested me in my sleep, and I would still have woken up smiling and laughing.

Yours in Christ,
Smokey Robinson.

But back to the future. (Zing!)



This is what the future looks like. I know, it's bright, right? So bright that you gotta wear shades. (Zing! 2)

Also, I'm pretty sure Michael J. Fox and/or Christopher Lloyd lives in this building, because from just down the street, I overheard the following conversation, in New York:

Marty McFly: Oh, shit, I forgot my wallet.
Girl with Marty (Jennifer?): You forgot your wallet?
Marty: Yeah, we have to go back to The Future to get it.
Jennifer (the Elisabeth Shue version, not the other one): Back to the Future? That's catchy!
Doc Brown: Great Scott!

(Zing!, 3)

Three zing!s. That's a pretty good day at the plate for old Smokey here. I'm going to go shop local high school cafeterias for more of that mind-numbingly good anesthesia. (Zing!, 4)

Zings:

Robinson, S .... 4

Quick thought: they should totally make a tv show about The Future. A reality show, maybe. On Bravo, this fall, after My Life on the D-List.

WELCOME TO THE FUTURE:

Why I'm Boycotting the Beijing Olympics

I read this morning that Joey Cheek, the former Olympic speedskater, had his visa revoked by the Chinese government, meaning that he won't be able to go through with his planned demonstration to urge China to help establish peace in Darfur.

News flash for any activists out there: next time you have a chance to protest in China, DON'T TELL THEM IN ADVANCE. Just show up like you're any other world famous speedskater, disappear into a phone booth, and pop out with a big sign that says

Dear China,

I want you to make peace in Darfur.

With affection,
Joey Cheek.

It also helps if you're not as high-profile as former Olympic speedskater Joey Cheek, the man who once held entire nations in thrall with his former Olympic speedskating prowess. (Though he's less well known for it, Joey Cheek is also famous for his barbecue sauce, which he claims is his grandmother's recipe. Tastes a lot like KC Masterpiece to me though...)

Joey Cheek is not a guy who can sneak around, not even in a country as big as China. Someone is going to spot him on a street corner somewhere, and there's going to be a full-scale Joey Cheek riot once that happens, and that could seriously fuck with your Darfur peace protest mojo if you're even a little bit unlucky.

Still, I'm just saying. If you want to "get your protest on" during the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, you should think long and hard* about what you write in the "Reason for Visit" box on your visa applications.

Personally, I think you're much better off saying you're coming to China just to see the sights, then springing a surprise protest on them after you get there. From everything I've read, the Chinese authorities just LOVE surprises. Especially protest-flavored ones!

But the Sino-Cheek conflict is not the reason I'm boycotting the Olympics this year. I'm boycotting the Olympics for the following two reasons:

1. There's no hot dog eating contest.
2. THERE'S NO FREAKING HOT DOG EATING CONTEST!!!!!!!

It's a total outrage! It's a travesty! Give me one good reason why that dude who wins the Nathan's contest every July 4th doesn't deserve to be an Olympian.

See? You can't. Because he totally deserves it. He deserves it at least as much as Joey Cheek deserves the medals of some color that he won back when he was a current Olympic speedskater, if not more.

I think this calls for a protest. First stop: the nearest Pearl art supply store for oak tag and magic markers. Second stop: China.

*that is so totally what she said...

Vote for Oscar, Or This Could Happen to You

John McCain's campaign staff was up in arms about this unwarranted, unprovoked, and irresponsible attack on the candidate's ankles by a row of jars of Mott's brand applesauce. Imagine how pissed they'd be if they discovered that this attack was politically motivated, though.

That's right, folks, the Oscar campaign funds are finally going to use!

Sadly, the applesauce barrage is about as high profile as we can afford. In fact, after the $8 bribe we paid the ham-fisted stock clerk to stack the jars just so, the Oscar '08 campaign war chest is now down to a quarter, two nickels, and a parking token from the West Windsor Parking Authority intended for use at the Princeton Junction train station.

We would obviously have vastly preferred for McCain to be buried underneath an avalanche of Oscar Meyer hot dogs, bologna, and other packaged cold cuts (available in your grocer's refrigerator section - ask for them by name!), but that would have cost an extra dollar, and we just didn't have it.

So you probably won't be seeing any national ad buys (or any regional or local ad buys, for that matter), unless those stingy rat jerks at the Children's Television Workshop come through with the donation I have been begging and pleading for, but obviously in a very dignified way.

As for Obama, he's been a little bit harder to get to, what with all the muscular, athletic, rippling-muscled Secret Service men he surrounds himself with. I wonder why he likes to be around so many chiseled guys? And also, why did he need to go to a gym full of similarly mouth-watering dudes on his overseas trip, instead of going to visit our hot and sexy American soldiers?

Audible gasp! Could Obama be teh gay?

Dear Obama,

Ha ha ha ha ha, I just convinced America that you are teh gay. Now you will never win the president because everyone will be scared that you are going to sodomize their children and make them marry other children in the same sex as they are.

I am laughing all the way to the bank, in the sense that the bank is politics and the money inside the bank is Oscar the Grouch winning the president and you not winning the president.

You are not winning the president though. No-bama.

Go check out some more guys!

Love,
Smokey D. Robinson
Chairman
Campaign to Get Oscar the Grouch Elected President, or at Least to Make The Other Candidates Look Stupid and/or Gay

How far has your once-vaunted reputation sunk when the New York Times decides to run a picture of you shaking a crying baby? I remember back in the day when President Bush was merely a cute, cuddly, monkey-faced liar and terror-monger. But this... I mean, sure he defrauded millions of people out of jobs, money, their sense of security, their national pride and reputation, and the sanctity of the English language, but this makes him look like a monster.

Therefore, behold the new Oscar '08 campaign poster:

Note the clever, surgically precise removal of George Bush's disguise. Now you can see him brandish his bloody fangs while his angry eyes glow red, just the way Zod in heaven intended.

Monsters in the White House. Power to the people in trash cans. Let's make this happen, people. Let's dare to act on my dreams.

Almost as good as John McCain's balls...

Need I say anything at all?

You can also read the definitive story of the controversy surrounding John McCain's balls here. I love you, Gawker.

True story:

NEW YORK - Rapper 50 Cent has sued Taco Bell, claiming the fast-food restaurant chain is using his name without permission in advertising that asks him to call himself 99 Cent.

The rapper says in a federal lawsuit filed Wednesday that the Mexican-themed chain features him in an ad asking him to change his name to 79 Cent, 89 Cent or 99 Cent. His real name is Curtis Jackson.

The rapper's court papers say the ad is part of Taco Bell's "Why Pay More?" campaign, which promotes items for under a dollar, including Cinnamon Twists for 79 cents, Crunchy Tacos for 89 cents and Bean Burritos for 99 cents. The papers say the Irvine, Calif.-based company sent a bogus letter requesting the name change to the news media but not to the rapper.

The rapper's lawyer, Peter D. Raymond, said his client didn't learn about the letter or that he was featured in the ad campaign until he saw a news report about it. Raymond said his client is seeking $4 million in damages.

from amNewYork

I get that he's upset about Taco Bell using his name. I'd be pissed off too. I just hope this lawsuit lands on the to-do list of some judge with a sense of humor, and he/she awards damages totaling 49 cents, or arranged to have the settlement paid entirely in Chalupas or something. Because if either of those highly likely outcomes were to occur, then real news would finally have a chance to out-Onion the Onion, and out-The-Daily-Show-with-Jon-Stewart The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I think it's high time their tyrannical rule over the world of news parody came to an abrupt and ignominious conclusion.

Seriously, a $4 million lawsuit over a crack about his name? How does this jackass have any street cred at all? Isn't he supposed to like, decapitate the Chihuahua who used to say "yo quiero Taco Bell" in the moving picture advertisements on my television, and then impale its adorable, smart-alecky little head on the gatepost of some snooty Taco Bell executive's mansion?

Do Taco Bell executives even have mansions?

This is SO not how Tupac would have settled the score. [INSERT JOKE ABOUT TUPAC'S HIGHLY SUCCESSFUL POSTHUMOUS RECORDING CAREER HERE, MAKING SURE TO INCLUDE A HILARIOUS SEGUE FROM ONE RAPPER TO THE OTHER ONE, BUT BEING CAREFUL TO AVOID INSINUATING THAT THEY'RE HARD TO TELL APART, BECAUSE THAT WOULD PROBABLY BE RACIST.]

You kind of have to know my sister for this to be funny, and even then, it's not THAT funny

My sister thinks I'm Batman. In part, this is because we were at Great Adventure in 2001, and I spent the better part of an afternoon insisting, in fact exulting, in the fact that I was, in fact, Batman. Quite an afternoon, let me tell you. I believe I also managed to report that "my shoes hurt," and spill a creamsicle-flavored ice cream cone.

In case you're curious, I was being myself that day. I really am retarded, I'm just playing smart/normal most of the time.

Spoiler alert, by the way: this post contains the word "retarded," used in a personally derogatory fashion. An example of such retardation is putting a spoiler alert in the paragraph after the spoiler, and then finding it hilarious that you did that.

Anyway, this is my text message conversation my sister, doing my best to recreate the aesthetic of the iPhone (Knickers) on which it took place:

Bro

BATMAN!

I'm Robin

WHAT's uP?
-batman.

Nothing. You? - Robin

Oh, you know. Fightin crime.
Saving Gotham The yoozh.

Me too. Wanna join forces?

Join forces? Pul-lease!
I'm batman, for crying out
loud. I don't join forces,
you ask to be my ward!

BATMAN!?!? More like
butt man

Robin, like bobbin' for
Batman's butt!

This reminds me of my funny joke idea about a Jewish guy whose last name is Batman - not a combination of "bat" and "man," but in the sense like Goldman or Silverman or Pearlman have the "-man" appended to them, even though it could just as easily be "-stein."

Spoiler alert: this post contains some language about Judaism that could be misconstrued as derogatory, although you would have to be retarded not to get it.

Anyway, this guy keeps getting all these urgent phone calls in the middle of the night, "Batman, help, my cat is up a tree," and "Riddle me this, is your refrigerator running?" (to which he obviously responded, "that is NOT A RIDDLE!"), and "hey Batman, do you know where I can score some crack?" and "is this really Batman? Because I thought of calling 9-1-1, but you always seem to have better luck with traffic, and I'm bleeding pretty severely."

Finally, he decides he has to pack up and move out of Gotham. And he ends up living in a town where his next door neighbor is ironically named Hitler, who's actually a sweet, old hippie dude like Jerry Garcia. And they do this charitable boxing match, billed as "Batman vs. Hitler (For Real!)" that tanks when Hitler wins one night.

Much like the above text message conversation, it didn't have a perfect ending. I apologize for the both of them.

Clusterflock.com? More like Cluster-steal ideas from other blogs just because noboody reads them so it's easy to get away with.com

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The Yankees' Battle Plan For the Second Half of the Season

High up in a tower in the Bronx, on a video link with the team's executive offices in Tampa, the top brass of the New York Yankees sat down early this week to map out their strategy for climbing back into the American League East race against the rival Boston Red Sox and the upstart Tampa Bay Rays (look, Mom, no Devil anymore!).

Step 1 in the strategy: let Boston Red Sox outfielder and perennial late-season disappointment J.D. Drew win the MVP award at this year's All-Star Game, which conveniently enough, was being held in Yankee Stadium. Mission accomplished as of Wednesday morning, 2:00 AM.

Step 2 is a little more complicated. It involves jumping out of the gate and winning at least 11 out of their next 12 games, including consecutive 3-game sweeps against Boston (in Fenway Park) and Baltimore (in Yankee Stadium).

After that is a 12-game stretch against teams from the American League West division, out of which they are conservatively planning to get 8 wins.

Once all that's done, they can start looking toward the returns of outfielders Hideki Matsui and Johnny Damon, and promising young pitcher Phil Hughes, whose 0-4 record and 9.00 ERA put quite a strain on the term "promising."

Not that that will matter once the Yankee bats start getting hot, which is slated to happen starting in mid-August. After that they can reasonably expect to win 2 out of every 3 games the rest of the way, which should be enough to put them 6-8 games ahead of Boston for the AL East crown, and give them home-field advantage throughout the playoffs and the World Series.

Now, after forming such an ambitious plan, some of the clearer-thinking executives probably looked up and down the current lineup and gulped in sudden terror, or quaked with total pants-shitting fear. As of last Sunday's 4-1 loss in Toronto, the Yankees' lineup featured four players hitting below .250 for the season, and a fifth player (Jason Giambi) hitting just a shade above (.253)*. Of the 12 batters currently on the Yankees 25-man roster, a whopping SEVEN are currently hitting under .250, with an eighth (Giambi) hitting just a shade above (still .253, duh). And being the fantastically talented and intelligent executives that they are (this is the New York Yankees after all), they probably sat down for a serious discussion about offense as soon as they got their pants cleaned from the fear shit.

And lo and behold, a mere two days after the All-Star game, a paltry 36 hours after J.D. Drew accepted his award and then was interviewed by Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard Jeanne Zelasko, the Yankee execs solved the problem, and delivered unto their championship-starved fans the final piece in the 2008 Yankee puzzle...

Mr. Richie Sexson.

Bring on championship #27, guys.

I'm going to go stake out my spot in the Canyon of Heroes tomorrow, just as soon as the Fruit Plant closes its doors for the day. I know the ticker-tape parade isn't until late October, but come on. They signed Richie Sexson! World Series victory is as sure a thing as death, or taxes, or Walter Mondale winning the '84 presidential election.

Yankee fans, looks like it's time to get to work on those craft projects and home repairs you've been putting off. Fix that gutter! Build that model Corvette! Become a colorful fashion critic and start your own blog!

You're welcome for the suggestions.

*For those of you who are not fans of baseball, hitting below .250 is considered "not good," because half the job of a professional baseball player is to get hits, and a sub-.250 average means they're not even managing to do that job 25% of the time. Think about how long you would keep your job if you only managed to succeed at it 25% of the time. Then think about the fact that if you manage to succeed 30% of the time for your entire career, you will go to the Hall of Fame. Makes you want to shoot yourself, doesn't it?

Some smooth Jesus love

Dear Jesus,

Two hearts, two of a kind
Love at first sight, why do they say love is blind
Slow down, We don't have to move fast
‘Cause the love that is real is made to last

Take it one heartbeat at a time
Close Your eyes and let Your Holy Spirit unwind
Sooner or later it'll all fall in line
If We take it one heartbeat at a time
One heartbeat

Ooh...

We paint a picture walkin' down the street
Leaves are fallin', Baby Jesus, so are We
Hand in hand, that's the way it should be
How could somethin' so easy make me feel so complete

Take it one heartbeat at a time
Close Your eyes and let Your Holy Spirit unwind
Sooner or later it'll all fall in line
If We take it one heartbeat at a time
One heartbeat

Take it easy, ooh
I want o feel Your every emotion
Shh...don't talk
And We'll be makin' love in slow motion
Ooh...slow motion, J.C.
Ooh...slow motion, Baby

Take it one heartbeat at a time
Close Your eyes and let Your Holy Spirit unwind
Sooner or later it'll all fall in line
If We take it one heartbeat at a time
One heartbeat

One heartbeat at a time (slow motion, Baby)
One heartbeat (oh, slow motion, J.C.)
Sooner or later it'll all fall in line
If We take it one heartbeat

One heartbeat (yeah)
One heartbeat (ooh, Baby)
Sooner or later it'll all fall in line
If We take it one heartbeat...

Whaddya say, Jesus? Wanna take it one heartbeat at a time with me?

Anxiously,
Smokey.