Soviet Letter to the Blue Jays

After my recent invention of the time machine, I went back in time to the cold war and started World War III. No nukes were used, because every time somebody did use one I just went back in time and deactivated it. Just watching people lunch a bunch of missiles is no fun. The war was evenly matched and the Soviets, not learning from Germany, sent a message asking the Toronto Blue Jays to attack the United States. The letter is presented to you unedited, and translated from Russian.

Dear Toronto Blue Jays management,

As I’m sure you are aware, we are currently engaged in an armed conflict with the United States. Due to our recent nuclear malfunctions we have not been able to gain any ground on the capitalist menace. We ask for your involvement in the war on the side of Communism. In return for your military support we promise to help you regain what is rightfully yours; the fan base of western New York, which was stolen from you by the Mets.

Sincerely,
Leonid Brezhnev

In the end, the Blue Jays entered the war on the side of the United States, along with the Expos and Canucks. With the additional baseball bats, hockey sticks, maple syrup, and strange bacon the North American Allies prevailed and the war was won. In order to repay the Canadian teams for their help the Mets were contracted by Executive order.

Now, you may ask why you don’t remember this. It’s because it never happened. I went back in time again and convinced myself not to build the time machine. Because even though the Mets were contracted(which was awesome), a war was just too much of price to do so. You may also ask why I remember building the time machine and what I did with it if I never built it. Matt Wieters told me what happened, because he knows all.

The Toronto Blue Jays In: Every '90s TV Show Ever

Canada is internationally renowned for being a place of wonder, and opportunity, and sweet, sweet cherry pie. It's a vast, icy, frigid expanse, inhabited only by those guilty of the most heinous offenses against man, their descendents, and the clinically insane (American term: hippie). It's also the Mother Superior of all lands across Earth.

As such, its baseball team gets a TV show. A cultured, intelligent, quirky, witty one that douchebag hipsters can ironically enjoy 10 years from now. Fuck you.

Overbay Bay

(Spandau Ballet song plays, because we're cultured, as intro credits show stars doing cheesy things. Rod Barajas is chasing a dog with nothing but a bowler hat on. Vernon Wells plays an accordion. Scott Rolen wears an old San Francisco Giants jacket.)

Rolen: Hey gang, I'm making breakfast.

Adam Lind: Dad, I need $5.

B.J. Ryan: Why, Adam? Men don't need $5. Men need TOOLS! Grr!

Lind: Right, well, the annoying, creepy neighbor girl with halitosis is taking me...somewhere. Somewhere that will get us in mountains of not-very-serious trouble. (pouts) Now I need my $5. Pleeeeease!

Ryan: Rawr! Manly job! Come with me to fix a car today, Adam! Just the two of us...MEN! Grr!

Lind: Oh for fuck's sake, that hasn't been funny since 1994! Can you please shut up?!

Ryan: No! My cock is NOT small!

(B.J. Ryan runs off crying in a fit of insecurity. Laugh track)

Matt Stairs: He's right, Adam, what you need is a job. Discipline. You could use it.

Lind: Shut up, Uncle Phil. Fat joke!

(laugh track)

Stairs: (growls)

Rolen: Now, Matt, you know violence is not the answer here.

Stairs: Don't you make rape jokes for a living?

(Pitching coach Brad Arnsberg comes over)

Rolen: (to camera) Look, kids! It's our friendly neighbor, Mr. Arnsby from WallaGullaBulla Dickstroke Island! Do you know what Mr. Arnsby can do? He can count to 10! Yay!

(Children track cheers)

Rolen: (sings) Mr. Arnsby...what brings you over?

Arnsberg: Rolen, why do you regress 25 years every time I come over? (to Lind) I'm here because of you, Mr. Lind. Your grades have been suffering as of late. But I trust you've prepared for your exam today? If you don't get a C, Mr. Lind, it's summer school (echo: summer school) for you.

Lind: (in mind) Oh, mylanta! Subplot! I don't know Eastern Europe! What am I gonna do?! What am I gonna do?! (out loud) Of course, Mr. Arnsby! You can count on me! Sofia, Ukraine. (pause) I wouldn't miss the Juvenile Penis PukeSprinkles in concert for anything in the world.

Arnsberg: ...I look forward to this, Mr. Lind. (leaves)

(Lind's rebel friend Dustin McGowan enters)

McGowan: Adam, Adam! Arnsby dropped the keys to his cabin outside. Let's drive up there and look for the answers!

Lind: How?

McGowan: In my dad's pickup, man!

Lind: Won't he be mad?

McGowan: Nah, he took the trailer off to track down my runaway, alcoholic mother.

Lind: Oh my God, this is perfect! We're gonna pass!

McGowan: We're gonna be front and center. At the Juvenile Penis PukeSprinkles! While your idiot lookalike keeps chasing Winnie Cooper!

(Lind and McGowan start dancing to a certain Tom Jones song. Laugh track)

(Jesse Litsch walks down the stairs with Blue Jay Groupie Trenni Kusnierek. Queen's Crazy Little Thing Called Love plays on the radio. Women cheer ravenously)

Jesse Litsch: Have mercy! The Juvenile Penis PukeSprinkles? That's not rock 'n roll. Come by room later tonight and I'll show you rock 'n roll.

(Travis Snider- played by Mary Kate Olsen- walks in)

Snider: You got it, dude!

(laugh track)

Blue Jay Groupie Trenni Kusnierek: (to Snider) I think he was talking to Adam, Travis.

Jesse Litsch: Yeah, sorry Travis. It'll just be me and Lind tonight, capisch? I'm callin' up the boys and getting the band together again for the 8th time this season.

Blue Jay Groupie Trenni Kusnierek: Like hell you are, Jesse. (ruffles hair) I've got work to get done. No noise tonight.

Jesse Litsch: Hey, watch the hair! (rolls eyes) Women! AmIright?

(Men cheer)

Blue Jay Groupie Trenni Kusnierek: (sighs) Men...

(women cheer)

Blue Jay Groupie Trenni Kusnierek: I've gotta be on my way, though. Traffic won't clear itself. You comin', Jesse?

Rolen: Wait, Jesse? Why are you going?

Jesse Litsch: Oh, I got a job at the local radio station impersonating the same 4 people with Joe Carter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Ichiro enters...unexpectedly)

Lind: Dude, the Simpsons are being shot next door...

(And with that, we've hit a new low)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jesse Litsch: By the way, there's a donkey in the living room.

(There's a donkey in the living room. Laugh track)

Rolen: What?! How?!

(Mark Mulder and Vin Scully enter)

Mulder: Cancer man. Not your average donkey.

Rolen: ...What? Who are you?

Mulder: Don't worry. Just get out. Scully, what's your take?

Scully: I want to believe. What I. Just. Saw.

Mulder: Ever the skeptic, Scully. And in such a cute skirt. This has Squeeze written all over it.

Scully: You think it's...the cigarette smok-

Rolen: Anna! Wh-how...you don't even sleep with this team!

Mulder: Right. I think we're gonna just head out then...

(Muler and Scully leave)

(Anna Benson is wearing fishnet stockings and smoking a cigarette on the couch)

Anna: Yeah? So?

Rolen: Don't "yeah," me! You dirtied the couch!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Beavis: Hehheh. Hehheh. I dirtied the couch, too.

Butthead: Uh...that's gay, Beavis. No. Wait. Score. Uh...huhuh.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anna: So? Get the butler to clean it up...

(Cito Gaston walks by)

Gaston: Yes, and if David Eckstein were still on this team, you could've made a Seinfeld joke as well, Master Benson.

(laugh track)

Anna: Oh, stop talking and clean, Cito.

Gaston: (rolls eyes) As you wish...Wait, Master Benson. Is...is that...a belly you've got?

Anna: What? Huh? Of course not!

Rolen: No, I think it is! You wanna explain that, Anna?

Anna: Huh? Of course not!

(Roy Halladay and Alex Rios enter)

Voiceover: In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equal entities: The police who investigate the crime, and the District Attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories.

Rolen: (looking around in confusion) What the hell?!

(Familiar bassline plays)

Halladay: If you won't tell him, you'll have to tell us.

Rios: No more games.

Halladay: This is a crime scene now, Benson. You can spill here or downtown. Your call.

Rios: And don't think we won't do whatever it takes to find out, Benson.

Rolen: Listen, guys, I appreciate the help, but there were already 2 cops here today...and I just want my-

Rios: Your quiet, sir? Your "quiet" can come once you're safe. Right now, Benson is behind something, and we have a warrant to investigate.

Anna: Look. I'm not behind anything! You two are doing the same shit you always do. Start out harrassing the wrong person, arrest someone totally unrelated, and then watch the real perps get off on some bullshit technicality. Don't you ever learn? It's the Nationals blog you should be going after! The Nationals blog!

Halladay: Hey! That's enough out of you!

Anna: (rolls eyes) I thought you wanted me to talk...

Rios: Oh, a wise ass, eh?

(Vernon Wells enters)

Wells: (nasal tone) Hey Mr. Rolen, Mr. Cops...Anna. You guys promised me we'd go skydiving 8 years ago. And here's today!

(laugh track)

Rios: Who is this?

Rolen: Ignore him. That's our idiot neighbor.

Rios: The one you can't see over the fence?

Rolen: No, no, he moved away months ago.

Halladay: (sigh) You seen one black sitcom character safe enough for white T.V., you seen 'em all.

Wells: (playing a saxophone now) Hey, now...I resent that, ya dig?

Halladay: Never mind, he's guilty of something! Get his ass!

(Rios and Halladay chase Wells outside. Laugh track, bassline)

Anna: ...morons.

Rolen: Look, Anna, right or wrong, you're still pregnant. And you're still smoking cigarettes. Now I understand this must be a difficult time for you but-

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(this is the part we let David Lynch direct)

Rolen: -but you're still going to help me find that friend of yours.

Anna: No!

Rolen: (laughs) See these cards? They mean you're all dead!

(Rolen laughs maniacally)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rolen: -but you can't go around acting like this. It's unsafe. You could get hurt out there, Anna.

(sentimental music plays)

Anna: You mean...you really care?

Rolen: Of course I do. We all do. (pause) Now...why don't you tell me who got you into this whole pregnant mess?

Anna: (long pause) F-fine...It happened by the dock...

Rolen: With? Anna, I won't be mad, I promise.

Anna: With...with...

(Lind walks back in)

Lind: (singing) We run, we jump, we swim and play. We row and go on trips. But the things that last forever are our dear friendships...

Rolen: Hey, Adam! Back so soon? Pull up a chair! Why don't ya join us so we can circumvent half the plot development and reach a climax before the next commercial break?

Lind: (noticing Anna, becoming visibly nervous) Love to, but whatever it is...I have homework! Gotta go!

Rolen: No, wait, why don't you stick around for this?

Lind: Can't, really...so much math, science, histor-

(Pitching coach Brad Arnsberg enters again)

Rolen: Oh, lookie, children! Mr. Arnsby's back! And what's that? You're going to tell us Adam took the keys to your cabin? Well, how 'bout we pull out our handy-dandy notebooks and find out why?

Arnsberg: Will you stop calling me that retarded name?! (to Lind) Where are the-

Rolen: So far we've found a raging libido. Is that a clue? Yes it is! A broken condom! Also a clue? Oh,you bet'cha!

Anna: Ok, ok...stop with the clues. It was him! (pointing to Lind) Fuck! Adam Lind, my brother on this sitcom, got me pregnant! We did in the shower while Jesse Litsch's rockabilly stuff played! He stuffed Snider's ducky in my pus-dripping pussy and that's how it happened!

Rolen: (dropping the notebook) WHAT?!

Anna: Everything about needing $5 and the keys to the cabin were a setup so we could skip town...but I got second thoughts. (breaking down) I'm sorry!

Arnsberg: (to Lind) You fuckjello!

Lind: Imagine that...4 P.M.? Time for me to, uh...be somewhere else!

Rolen and Arnsberg: No, no, no, no, no!

(Instead of talking this out, Rolen calls Ryan down again, who brings a chainsaw and a machete. Handing them over to Arnsberg and Rolen, he sits back, opens a beer, and congratulates himself on being manly while they proceed to treat Lind as if he were a rainforest standing in the way of a monstrous new hotel.)

(laugh track)

Rolen: You wanna see what getting fucked is, Lind?!

Arnsberg: The capital of Hungary is NOT McDonalds!

(Rios and Halladay re-enter)

Rios and Halladay: You were right abo- (pause)...The fuck?!

(bassline plays)

(A bell sounds just as Rolen and Arnsberg are about to lay the final blows on Lind)

Studio Assistant: That's a wrap, guys! Time constraints. (patting Arnsberg on the ass) But good job out there. All of you.

How Canada Will Save The Economy

Let's face it, America is weak. Right now, it's the child in the grocery store crying because you won't buy him six boxes of Chips Ahoy cookies. It has been spoiled rotten by years of being able to piss away whatever it had and now finds itself at our porch, with a bottle of whiskey in hand, freezing. Its coat is ripped, its hair a mess. It wants to come in.

Fuck that, says Canada. We're not in the business of bailouts here. We'll fix America, while it gets fucked skinny out in the frigid snow. Let it build a snowman, or something, to pass the time. If its a pretty one, we'll send it off with 5 extra dollars, in Angolan money.

Anyways, here are OJBO's plans:

Solution A: Buy The Colorado Rockies For Cheap

• The Problem- American banks are currently swimming in rancid pools of more toxic waste than a Miley Cyrus album. This is mostly because back when the inflammed retards who run the places were rich, they thought it'd be funny to lend money to families so they could buy up nuclear waste site properties and then hide the profit in Aruba (Sidney Ponson's basement, to be exact). If this isn't what happened, it's what I think happened.
• The Solution- From here on out, OJBO will exert dominant reasoning and declare the Colorado Rockies the eptiome of these toxic wastes. We will then buy the Colorado Rockies. What will this do? It'll give America $30, in Angolan money, and OJBO a place to dump used cups of Tim Horton's. Everyone wins.

Solution B: Circulate A Tim Geithner Sex Tape

• The Problem- Tim Geithner is a flaccid little cockbristle who refuses to pay his taxes or come up with any plan that doesn't seem like a Flutie pass without wide receivers in the end-zone. To put it in simpler terms, if Tim Geithner were given the chance to fly an airplane, he'd probably choose the one without wings and forget to fuel it. Tim Geithner sucked at Pilot Wings for the N64.
• The Solution- Sex sells. Barbie made a fortune out of being the only other piece of plastic 13 year old boys would shamelessly rub all over their dicks, after the Nintendo PowerGlove and the cover to Guns 'N Roses' Appetite For Destruction. By applying the same principles, and photoshopping a set of gorgeous tits onto Geithner, we can film him fucking a donkey in the backyard of the White House while eating dollar bills off the shit covered ground. People will watch this, because people like to watch other people- especially ones on TV- fuck a lot. Each view will cost $2.

Solution C: Disguise Men In Masks of U.S. Presidents, Have Them Take Over Banks

• The Problem- You ever walked down Chinatown and had to dodge 8,000 requests to buy Louis Vitton purses made of burnt rubber and Rolex watches that are actually a bunch of glass shards and bottlecaps glued together? No? Then have you ever gone to a record store and seen a Kenny Chesney album at the front? You didn't buy it, did you? Of course not, becuase that'd be idiotic. Those are all products comparable to a stomach virus, or some shit like that. That's exactly how most people not retarded see the putrid feces banks are hocking right now. They all suck more than Li'l Kim trying to get a promotion.
• The Solution- If the people won't take the products, they'll gladly take the producers. Remember in Escape From New York when the rebels overtook Air Force One to make a statement? This is vaguely similar in principle. And it's only fair. If the banks suck this fucking much, we'll exert communism at full force. OJBO is willing to dress up six men in masks of U.S. Presidents, arm them, and send them off to take control of these banks through force. The one dressed as Nixon will bust in, shoot some caps at the ceiling, and claim the bank for the underground Canadian government (us). If he is initally laughed at, the five others will come through with pipe bombs and exposed penises. Since anyone running a bank right now is a ponzi-scheming pussy, we'll be more than successful. Once we own these funhouses of fecal matter, we'll turn them into concentration camps, embassies, and hostels. They'll be sold to the Russians for $17 billion each. We'll be rich.

Solution D: Send A Lesbian FBI Agent to Ask Hannibal Where the Extra Money Is

• The Problem- The FBI has lost touch with its deviant side. It needs lesbians who act like whores who get presidents shot at. And Hannibal is still eating children. Plus, did I mention America is poor and he is smart enough to know where some hidden money might be?
• The Solution- This won't work. I'm just killing space.

Solution E: Go Ellen Ripley On a Motherfucker

• The Problem- Screw a background. Just know that this is drastic as shit. And we're really close. Maybe too close.
• The Solution-

When the light's out, it's less dangerous. And at least we'd have bigger things to worry about. Also, John Connor could finally rise.

"It's the only way to be sure."

This is a joke. Please don't think we mean this.

We're Going To Live On, We're Going To Survive

My Fellow OJBOjians,

I don't mean to alarm anyone, but it has been brought to my attention that an attempted breach of security was caught early this morning by our highly advanced Gates of Shadownight defense system. GoS, using deductive reasoning, Occam's Razor, and what little evidence it had to go on, has reported to all the high ranking lieutenants of this movement that it believes the perpetrators of such a heinous action to be none other than our mortal enemies, the partisan hacks over at Wilton's Wild-N-Wacky Washington Blog, a source of all things biased anti-Canadianism and Ryan Zimmerman's RBI total.

Why they felt compelled to try and spit in my cereal, no one can tell us yet. In other words, the motives are still unknown. They probably wanted our secret Pizza Pizza recipe, which they'll have to get by Kung-Lao's hat for.

Rest assured, mates, OJBO will not stand for this. Our troops have been mobilized. They are ready to go at any moment's notice, should we be spammed with Lastings Milledge's 2B total in '08 again.

But, of course, in keeping with the Canadian tradition of peacetime preservation, and sex by the fireplace during the NHL postseason, OJBO has first mailed out this letter to those parties responsible for the flatulent content farted out daily through Wilton's:




Press-Time Edit: As of lunchtime, we believe the pacakge was delivered and the message well received. In fact, as we speak, spy satelites and Google Earth tell us those prickly bitches are cowering in fear beneath their desks. Fucking good, I say. Now they know what kind of ice cold, ruthless blood we are made of in Canada.

A modern-day warrior
Mean, mean stride,
Today's Tom Sawyer
WILL MICROWAVE YOUR SOUL.
-- Prime Minister Snowball

See what I mean, shitpumpkins?

We did not go quietly into the night! We did not go without a fight! This is our moment of nuking Houston!

TODAY WE CELEBRATE...FOUR DAYS SINCE MATT MCWOP SLEPT WITH AN ALIEN BITCH!

Standing Strong As Always,
Fearless Rusty

Red Eye Dares Bash Canada, Gets Fucked Stupid by OJBO

Comrades, I write to you in a rage this early morning.



Just watch that bowl of Ramen Turd. Stare at it. Let it sink the fuck in.

Then, Canadians, ask yourselves: Does this sort of arrogant imperialist crap from those heartless Cowboy Yankees even need an explanation? Does it need to be tolerated any longer? Hell, does it even warrant our words? Hell Fuck No!

This...this cock bufoonery requires nothing short of our full range of Great Canadian action. If a spectre is haunting the Blue Jays, why can't it haunt those pansy Americans, too?

If Red Eye, a stoolie show for the United States to swing its tiny media cock around, wants to fuck with Great Motherland Canada, then Great Motherland Canada will Nixon-bomb every last staple of Petulant, Inferior America's culture.

The yellow-blooded bastards will rue the day they fucked with Shaun Wax On Marcum or Dustin Grease Lightning McGowan. Our brave ships will crash upon the shores of Lake Erie and proceed to bring them down systematically from the deepest pools of their wretched souls.

With the help of our spies, Section Eh, Plan Flapping Head Is Racist will be officially underway once we inflitrate their filthy McDonalds from the inside. Gone will be Quarter Macs, or whatever the fuckbuckets call it. And in their place will rest a salad.

I can picture it now, patriots. The youth of America's eyes will explode, their hair will melt, and their disgusting, fake orange tan skin will boil. "Ranch dressing? What the fuck is ranch dressing?!" they'll ask in a flurry of deep-fried fat panic, before our Special-Ops forces- headed valiantly by Adam Lind and His Majesty Matt Stairs- bust through bearing freshly planted trees and clear skies.

At this point, this third-rate nation of self indulgent PenisPenguins will be at our absolute mercy. We'll demand $40 and sell Texas to the highest bidder. We'll ban Lynyrd Skynyrd. We'll put lipstick on that hideous, unspayed healthcare bitch.

These fuckers will drink Labatt Blue and watch Raptors, Leafs, Jays, and old Grizzlie, Nordique, Jet or Expo games only. Not to mention, we'll of course take the 'Spos, Nordiques, Jets and Grizz back to where they rightfully belong- Great VanCity, Marvelous Manitoba, and Decent Quebec.

The shitbuckets will smoke copious amounts of weed, free of police persecution. NHL '94 will be a staple of every family. Motherfuckers gon' listen to Rush, and Neil Young, and all them other good shit. Sunglasses will only be worn from the hours of 8 P.M. to 6:30 A.M.

They'll spell harbour with a U, Centre like I just did, and pronounce schedule without that retardo-fuck "K" sound in the middle. They'll know the metric system, and fucking know it well...unless they want to be placed in a really fucking polite concentration camp, where every morning they'll be asked if they'd like to be burnt to a flaming crisp.

Americans, the revolution is on. We have the power. Fear an angry Canuck- this is a Milton Bradley one. We ain't just mounties. OJBO is a pack of raging lunatic nationalist-communist Jays fans with a strict agenda to follow. We're like fuckin' Riot Grrls, without a bunch of average bands and tampons. Stand in our way and pay the consequences.

And don't forget our ultimate secret weapon, if one of you freetards has the blind audacity to try goin' Die Hard on a brotha:

WE WILL GARBLE THE MEANING OF IRONY BEYOND ANY FUCKER'S RECOGNITION.

Other than that, though, we come in relative peace.

Oh, Canada! Oh, Canada! Joe Carter sleeps with thee!

Closer Music Roundtable

J. P. Ricciardi recently sat down with the best music that Canada has to offer in a secret meeting at the local Tim Horton’s. Luckily, Matt McWop was on the scene and able to shoe horn himself into a trash can with a tape recorder to bring you this breaking news. Apparently, closer BJ Ryan will have new entry music this season, and Canadian artists were jumping to be the ones with this prestigious honor. Here’s how it went down:

Ricciardi: So, what do you all have to offer me?

Chad Kroeger: S.E.X.

Ricciardi: I was looking for something a little more family appropriate.

Kroeger: Strippers?

Ricciardi: Anybody else have ideas?

Corey Hart: I wear my sunglasses at night. So I can, So I can, keep track of the visions in my eyes!!!!

Ricciardi: We play in a dome. Come on, we need better than this.

Avril Lavigne: He was a sk8er boi she said see ya later boi.

Ricciardi: If BJ Ryan had a sex change while I wasn’t looking and if it turns out A-rod and Jeter are actually Sean White and Bob Burnquist, then yes.

Kroeger: May I add something?

Ricciardi: *sigh* Go ahead Chad.

Kroeger: Avril, you’d look so much cuter with something in your mouth.

Ricciardi: Do you ever not think with your dick?

Deryck Whibley: Don’t count on meeeeeeee.

Ricciardi: Exactly the opposite message we want to send, do you have anything that would inspire more confidence?

Whibley: In Too Deep?

Kroeger: I could make a sexual reference about that.

Whibley: Walking Disaster?

Ricciardi: BJ Ryan is our closer, not Byung Hyun Kim.

Kroeger: Kim's the first girl I kissed, I was so nervous that I nearly missed.

Ricciardi: Chad, will you shutup about anything sexual for five minutes?

Kroeger: That would require me not to talk for about 4 minutes and 43 seconds.

Ricciardi: I know that.

Kroeger: I can try.

Ricciardi: Alright, how about you Miss Morissette? What do you have to add?

Morissete: It's a death row pardon two minutes too late.

Ricciardi: I hope you’re talking about Chad’s no talking rule.

Morissete: I am.

Ricciardi: Well, then what are your thoughts about Mr. Ryan’s entry music?

Morissete: You lose you learn.

Ricciardi: Something a little more gritty?

Morissete: You bleed you learn.

Ricciardi: Maybe we need to head in more classic direction.

Neil Young: But there's a warnin' sign on the road ahead. There's a lot of people sayin' we'd be better off dead.

Ricciardi: We are not the Nationals.

Young: Oh, right. Keep on rockin’ in the free world.

Ricciardi: Holy shit, a not half bad idea. I’d like to hear something from another genre before I make my decision though.

Snow: LICKEY BOOM BOOM DOWN!

Kroeger: Pretty-little-lady-with-the-pretty-pink-thong-Every-sugar-daddy-hittin-on-her-all-night-long-Doesn't-care-about-the-money-she-could-be-with-anybody-Ain't-it-funny-how-the-honey-wanted-you-all-along?

Ricciardi: PLEASE MAKE THIS END!!!!!!

Neil Peart: *Drum solo using an unsharpened pencil, a plastic spork, a Blue Jays program, Chad Kroger’s libido, a styrofoam cup, and a doughnut*

Ricciardi: Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner!

Marcum's Journal: March 19th, 2009

As our transition into fighting by air for the right to party grows and evolves, one thing will always remain constant: Shaun Fucking Marcum. A man, a warrior, a patriot. Shaun is a red blooded Canadian, awash with the pride of a thousand communist nations. With a careful eye, he can be seen prowling the night, watching over these unwelcome Yankee oppressors, making sure they don't overstep their bounds.

But who watches him, you ask? OJBO, of course.

Here are his words.

1 Blue Jay Way: Grit, hustle strewn across field. Smells of infield fly. Overbay stands on first. Hot dog man chokes a child.

Was offered Dominican love and Puerto Rican love...

...But not Canadian love. Canadian love- like Ernie Whitt on glass tables. They don't make it anymore.

Thought about Barajas's call for slider on 0-2 on way back to mound. Could all be wrong. Could all be part of misjudged call, planned during his decade behind American plates. But if right, then what? Victorino won't swing. Is it Victorino? Puzzling reference to an island. Also to Aaron Hill. Might man on first be stealing in some way? Hate interleague Spring Training.

So many questions. Never mind, pick off throw good. Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless.

Not while there's Canada.