Friday 5/31/19
Scene: Dog park. Dusk.
C: Good Christ, would you control your dog?
E: Benny! Stop humping. No humps!
C: That's just wonderful.
E: Is that woman staring at us in a scornful way?
C: Mmmmm.
E: What? He's a dog, man.
C: He takes it too far.
E: Benny! Ben! Stop humping that dog! You have your blanket! Don't cheat on your blanket!
C: Clearly that is not deterring him.
E: He's a playa.
Barring a Red Sox rally--not going to happen--Chris Sale is about to drop to 1-7. He's useless. But maybe, just maybe, Dave O'Brien can tell me seventeen more times tonight how many strikeouts Chris Sale had. Strikeouts are meaningless. It's like when Alexander Ovechkin scores fifty goals. No one says, "Well, twenty-seven of his goals were on dekes, twenty were one-timers." Because all goals, like all outs (unless you are a reliever entering a game with a man on third and less than two out), are created equal. If we were to rank outs, the best outs, for starting pitchers, are pop-ups and ground-outs early in the count. A first pitch 4-3 is better than any strikeout. Because you get to pitch longer. Chris Sale was dead weight last year. Sick of this guy.
Tonight a fine woman said to me, "If I know anything about you, it's that you're a man of few words." Yeah. That's clearly it. That's totally my salient quality. I struggle with the words, and every other week or two, I manage to emit a manful, forlorn sigh. God people are crazy. Someone else: "Less is always more, right?" Now, I was going to say--I would have once--"what about with Proust? Tolstoy?" I don't say this now. My spirit is broken in these matters. So I go with, "Is it?" And I get this back: "Yeah, because when people levitate on your level no one has words." I have one: Goodbye.
I won't leave the fellas out of this. Three meatheads recently in the Bunker Hill Monument. One meathead says, "You know, George Washington, like, he used to come in here and go to the top, and it liked strengthened his legs, and that is why they called him George Calfington." Having said that, even meatheads this stupid would love Meatheads Say the Realest Things: Satire from the End of Civilization, which is actually very smart.
