Rays Routed In World Series Game Four; Phanatic Arrested on Felony Rape Charges

Hold your butt up to your television and spank your cheeks in applause of the Phillies’ performance thus far.  

I watched the game last night at my place.  Naturally it was on mute so I could listen to Beyonce’s new single, “If I Were a Boy,” on repeat at ear-shattering volume.  When that shameless coward, J period Blanton, homered in the fifth, my frustration was peaking.

Angrily munching on these just plain delicious cheesy jalapeno poppers, I turned to my oldest friend, who was watching the game and grasping his ears in pain. 

“Hey, Legendary Larry," I said.  “Nothing makes me angrier than an aborted Cinderella Story.” 

“It ain’t over until the obese mother from ‘What’s Eating, Gilbert Grape’ sings, Tim.”

I sneered, “What the hell do you know, Legendary Larry?”

“Well, that I’m just a figment of your imagination, for one. When you were six years old you manifested me to cope with your terror at having picked your first boog.  You thought you’d extracted a vital organ.  I know that you're 100% bat-shit insane.   Oh, also, that’s dog food, not simply delicious cheesy jalapeno poppers.”

My eyes were glued open, astonished.  “F...fo....for reals?”                    

“You know that you wouldn’t lie to you, man.”

I proceeded to sit through the rest of the game, watching the Rays get destroyed, scowling at that smug Philly Phanatic when he mock-raped that poor child in the seventh inning stretch.  It was all so terrible.  I’ve been on a diet lately, but I had to have another round of wow-delicious cheesy jalapeno poppers for comfort.   

Before midnight the bloodletting was over.  

Per usual, I had to walk my dog before falling asleep to the happy sounds of my iTunes movie rental, “Saw II: Sawtooth.”  I swear, my damned mutt, Mr. Caligula 2007!, has to pee constantly.  The second I bring her back in from a walk, she starts whining because she has to go again.  

I was making the block, staring at my dog and saying forcefully, “O-U-T-S-I-D-E”!!!   Also as my routine goes, I was texting 911 encouraging words just to let them know they have my support; I bet the night shift at the station can be really tough:

“GO GET EM CHAMPS!” and “WHO’S MY SPECIAL LIL GUY IN BLUE?  U R!  U R!” and, “REMEMBER TO WEAR GLOVES WHEN UR SCOOPING UP BODIES TONIGHT!  LUVS!”  (I’ve actually gotten three tickets for this...the nerve; bafflingly, the police are seeking a restraining order against me, whatever that would mean).  

Yes, I was minding my own business, hoping Tampa will turn this faltering series around, when this reeking homeless guy grabbed me by the shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.  Just by the look in his eye, you could tell that he was as crazy as Animal from the Muppet Show.  (In his defense, this was not totally unexpected.  It’s been scientifically proven that one in every three New Yorkers is Animal-from-the-Muppet-Show insane; two people had walked past me already).  

His hair was wrapped in chicken wire in tall stalks that pointed in every possible direction, like the rays of a sun drawn by a three-year-old.  You could tell by the way his face was structured that he had never blinked in his life.  He smelled like a Jersey Shore bar at four am on a Saturday.        

“Say man,” he rasped, an extreme amount of intensity behind each word.  “SAY...PLEASE H...HELP ME.”  He had one tooth.  

All New Yorkers have a couple scripted responses to pleas from your typical sidewalk mendicants, like, “”Sorry, sir,” or “Oooo, I just spent my last bit of change,” or “Away with you, you revolting drag on civilization!”  

I was about to deliver one when, with even more energy than the last time, and flapping his arms about and twitching all over, the man spat out, “I NEED A C...C...C...I NEED A C..."—he was foaming at the mouth at this point—”C...CAN OF TUNA!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Caligula in tow, I sprinted back to my apartment, not caring if my dog had gone number two or not.  As I fled, I could hear the man screaming in my direction, “NEEDS TO BE OIL B...B...BASED! I C...CAN”T STAND WATER-BASED TUNA!”

It’s truly remarkable how off-the-charts some people are in this city, and how I seem to be the only one who notices it.  Everybody else just walks by people like this, not deigning to glance.  

If I were a boy...I’d solemnly swear that I would never, under any circumstances, EVER become anything slightly resembling that filthy wild man.  Well, unless Legendary Larry demanded it.  

Go Rays.