Monday 6/27/22
I was at the 7-Eleven tonight, acquiring no fat milk for my blood pressure, when this large, middle-aged man from Texas stepped to the counter, and loudly asked--it was kind of a proclamation, I'd say--for two tins of chewing tobacco. The clerk said there was only one of this preferred brand, to which the Texan said, "One is better than none!" He looked at me, and I honestly came quite close to saying, "Yeehawwwww!" Or else: "Is it? Because it seems like zero would be best, with your disgusting habit. Maybe dispense with it?" He doesn't leave. The clerk wants to know how much the Texan usually pays for his chewing tobacco in Texas. It's like a low rent game show. "I'll tell you what I do, sir. I get me a big old log. A log's gonna be five tins. That's $29 for a log. Guess I should start bringing a log up here with me next time."
I don't know, man. I feel like when something comes in a unit of measurement called a log, it's probably a better idea to avoid it? Yes? No? Seems like a yes? Pretty sure it's a yes. Unless you were an actual logger.
Yeehawwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!
Somehow I then stumbled across an old Red Sox game from 1992 on TV, with Ned Martin doing the call and Jerry Remy the color. It was good to hear Remy at this early stage of his announcing career. Martin sounded like he was done and just wanted to go home. Retire, too. The 1992 Red Sox sucked. Even Wade Boggs only hit .259. I think they had like one guy with an OPS+ over 100. Jack Clark had somewhere around five home runs. They had a 7-0 lead in the game, in which Clemens went eight. There was an hour-long rain delay. Sox blew the whole lead, and walked it off--in front of maybe 500 people--in the bottom of the 13th. Martin was not pleased with any of it.
There is, let us say, an extensive and decimating entry--an obliteration--coming on here. I've been at work on it throughout the day. Among many other things. I was just talking to someone about whether it's okay to do. Everything here is weighed. There is no caprice, and nothing is done out of emotion. There is nothing that is done without planning, evidence, and it is always bulletproof. When I do something like this, it's because I have no choice, and it's gone on so long, and I have the evidence, and no one out there can say, "That's not true" or defend what is being illustrated and proven. But I run that past people. And this person, after reading it, said, "It's like you have a vodka-drinking uncle who fucks your fifteen-year-old daughter, and he's over the house again, for the 100th time, with a fresh new bottle of vodka, ready to rape, and you slap it out of his hands, and then ask after, 'Was that okay to do?' When the fuck is enough enough with these fucking people? So yeah, put it up."
