OBPO, in sticking to its principles of value, honor, and cherry-apple daquiries, recently scored a hot interview with former Phillie great, and clubhouse leader during the magical 1995 season, Jim Eisenreich on his Phils career and militant Black Panther views. Being a gracious guest, Mr. Eisenreich had brought us donuts, until he realized our interviewer- the lovely Alanis Morrissette- was white. At which point the donuts were just thrown all over the place. Small animals were hurt.
In trying to diffuse the situation, Alanis allowed Eisenreich to blaze a blunt thick enough to feed a small town. Always being a good pressure guy, himself, Jim soon started demanding Ms. Morrissette take some monstrous hits herself, lest he slice a ho up. Shit nearly went down, but Alanis took him up on the offer, skeptically. Astonishingly enough, the guy didn't have schwag-dirt shit laced with, like, Lysol. All was good, but the principles of journalism kind of went out the window relatively quickly. And Eisenreich tried to start a riot.
Here's all we managed to salvage.
Morrissette: How about some Denny's, then, Jim? Can we go there?
Eisenreich: Denny's?! Motherfuckin' Denny's, you cracker skank?! Do you have any ounce of a fuckin' clue who's backs the fuckin' Denny's franchise was built on?!
Morrissette: ...A guy called Denny's?
Eisenreich: Word, bitch! But the dude was a motherfuckin' brotha! I ain't gettin' behin' no place that impedes the advacement of my peoples, ya digg?
Morrissette: ...I just want a fucking Grand Slam.
Eisenreich: Course ya do, ya fuckin' two dollar wonderbread ho! But the brothers ain't standin' down for Whitey's requests no more, bitch. We gon' fuckin' get our respect. By ANY means necessary!
Morrissette: Man, you're being a real high killer right now...
Eisenreich: Nah, bitch! White Devils is all this Zulu Nation motherfucker hunts. Ya digg?
Morrissette: Not in the least of bits, can you try that in-
Eisenreich: Course ya don't, slut! Y'all people's was all hidin' in caves, scared of the sun, an' shit when the beautiful black man was buildin' an empire-
Morrissette: And that's got to do with...what?
Eisenreich: -Then one day y'all ups and comes on motherfuckin' gun powder, an' shit. Next thing a brother knows, we on ships headed to some far'way land, an' shit. Motherfuckin' Whiteys think they gots themselves a gun, so they runnin' this shit now-
Morrissette: Will you shut up?!
Eisenreich: -Motherfucker, we didn't land on no Plymouth Rock! Plymouth Rock landed on US! And it just goes on an' on an' on, an' shit like that-
(Rahm Emmanuel comes on set) <- He's our boss
Rahm: For fuck's sake...is he gonna talk Phillies or not? Cause if he's not, I got people waiting in line like it's a fucking Hustler garage sale outside.
Morrissette: I'm trying, seriously. He's just...I don't know
Eisenreich: -An' who the fuck is this Yahweh motherfucker?!
Rahm: (to Morrissette) Retarded?
Eisenreich: You poke any fuckin' eyes out with that thing on your face, Jerusalem?
Rahm: Listen, dickfairy, another fucking word from you, and I'll show you why in fucking hell everyone else COWERS at the sight of a pissed off Jew!
Eisenreich: Yeah...you gon' tell me 'bout how you lost that middle finger, too?
Rahm: Mother of Kosher Blowjobs...I will have you off this set before the fucking Einstein Bagels commercial is over...ya digg?
Eisenreich: Oh, look at this big an' mighty, media-controllin' Jew. You done exploitin' poor nations now so you gone back to sheltering your white viewin' audience from the brotha man's truth?! Ready to drive out the black element...again?! Now what the fuck you call that?!
Morrissette: Inter-galactic civil war?
Eisenreich: GENTRIFICATION!
Rahm: Man...you're FUCKING WHITE! ARE YOU NOT AWARE OF THIS, ASSHOLE?!
Morrissette: That's what I told him! But he went off on a rant about "racist-ass Boston Celtic shit" and "cutting me, buttermilk crackwhore"
Eisenreich: (to Rahm) The fuck you say to me, Shylock?!
Rahm: Oh, diggin' deep for that anti-semitism, aren't we?
Morrissette: ...I quit. Screw this. I'm not waiting any longer. Denny's it is. Send the check to my publicist, Rahm.
(Eisenreich pulls out a gun and starts shooting the lights)
Eisenreich: Dark as a motherfucker now! Jim X FOREVER! ZULU FUCKIN' NATION!
Rahm: ...This is so dumb.
Eisenreich: Shut the fuck up! FREE MUMIA! FREE HUEY-
Rahm: He's dead...
Eisenreich: I said...SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. THE BROTHERS GON' BE FREE!
(Eisenreich starts throwing things around, and Rahm takes a seat on a couch)
Eisenreich: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STONE ME AND SPIT IN MY EYE?!
Rahm: ...Eh?
Eisenreich: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN LOVE ME AND LEAVE ME TO DIE?!
Rahm: Now there's street-cred. Bo-Rhap makes you wanna up and riot for Rodney, white boy?
(Eisenreich walks up to Rahm, pulls out his cock and smacks him across the face with it, knocking him out cold. On his way off set, a black tech assistant walks up to Eisenreich, punches him out cold, strips him, and drags the body out to the street, leaving him to fend for himself in the frigid cold Philly road- during rush hour traffic)
Fin.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Steve Carlton Saves The Day! Boo!
Whilst recently stuck on the phone with one of our, um, emotionally needy sponsors- Bubba Gump Shrimp's Monroe- OBPO worked out the perfect twist cinematic ending to The Sixth Sense. To show them the act of "having been dead the whole time," Shyamafuck would simply play the entire movie up until the reveal, and once there just play another film's length of time just showing what it(the film) would've looked like from the perspective of having been dead the whole time. So, in essence, you spend an entire Sixth Sense of time staring at the "ceiling" of a coffin. Would've urged someone to fucking massacre Shyamalan. "Director mutilated by movie-going extremists..." Have a good day, make millions...die. Maybe Fred Durst would be having lunch with him at the time. THAT'D be a fucking twist.
I am unbelievably high right now.
Of course, from the position of being stoned beyond dimensions- "Getting Daulton'd"- on the phone with Bubba Gump's retarded spokesperson...(not him...) comes more than just shitty film endings. There's also some moderately entertaining snippets to share (in the way you share a trainwreck). For example: As it appears, our Friendly Neighborhood Algernon likes to web sling across Manhattan- wondering if Cubans are Mexican and ending every noun or verb with "-sies." So that, in essence, what we end up with is "worksies," "schoolsies," "fucksies"...and you get the picture.
You should invest in a Sham-Wow(sies).
But anyways, fuck all that. Here's a conversation from PBS Sports- For Those With Slightly Communistic Tendencies:
Kermit the Frog: So you don't want your room smelling of putrid pussy?
Street-Fighter Guile: Fuckin' serious? This shit really happenin'?!
Kermit: It's merely a psychoanalysis, sir.
Guile: Psychoanalysis, faggot?! Psychoanalysis?! I will fucking communicate myself with a system of cocktubes inserted through your shining pearl rectum like Sherman's fuckin' March if you fucking try to "psychoanalysis" me again. We don't play that shit here, dickbagel! Is that clear, you intellectual Pinko Panther? This is fuckin' America! America, you understand?!
Rachel Nichols: Look, fuckhead, my husband didn't come on here for a fucking survey, alright? If he doesn't want his- our- room smelling vaguely of vaginally dipped fishsticks, you just accept that he doesn't! (pause) Rachel Nichols...ESPN!
Kermit: M'am, sir, I promise...no harm is meant. But let's just move along. The crowd has been intently waiting (nervous chuckle).
I am unbelievably high right now.
Of course, from the position of being stoned beyond dimensions- "Getting Daulton'd"- on the phone with Bubba Gump's retarded spokesperson...(not him...) comes more than just shitty film endings. There's also some moderately entertaining snippets to share (in the way you share a trainwreck). For example: As it appears, our Friendly Neighborhood Algernon likes to web sling across Manhattan- wondering if Cubans are Mexican and ending every noun or verb with "-sies." So that, in essence, what we end up with is "worksies," "schoolsies," "fucksies"...and you get the picture.
You should invest in a Sham-Wow(sies).
But anyways, fuck all that. Here's a conversation from PBS Sports- For Those With Slightly Communistic Tendencies:
Kermit the Frog: So you don't want your room smelling of putrid pussy?
Street-Fighter Guile: Fuckin' serious? This shit really happenin'?!
Kermit: It's merely a psychoanalysis, sir.
Guile: Psychoanalysis, faggot?! Psychoanalysis?! I will fucking communicate myself with a system of cocktubes inserted through your shining pearl rectum like Sherman's fuckin' March if you fucking try to "psychoanalysis" me again. We don't play that shit here, dickbagel! Is that clear, you intellectual Pinko Panther? This is fuckin' America! America, you understand?!
Rachel Nichols: Look, fuckhead, my husband didn't come on here for a fucking survey, alright? If he doesn't want his- our- room smelling vaguely of vaginally dipped fishsticks, you just accept that he doesn't! (pause) Rachel Nichols...ESPN!
Kermit: M'am, sir, I promise...no harm is meant. But let's just move along. The crowd has been intently waiting (nervous chuckle).
Nichols: No, no, no, no, no! We are not fuckin' moving anywhere until you drop this Oprah shit. I've already got enough reasons at home to watch a Ted Bundy biopic and go Camp Crystal Lake on a group of moronic, Gonzaga obsessed teens too entranced by my tits to run anywhere. (lights a cigarette) You'd think 8 shitbag motherfuckers and one wishing-well of a cunt would be enough for retribution, right? Jesus fuckin' Christ... (pause) Rachel Nichols...ESPN!
Guile: Damned fuckin' right, cocksailor! What she said!
(Phillies pitcher Steve Carlton walks on the set and removes the cigarette from Nichols)
Carlton: Hey, now...don't you know that smoking rots your teeth, stinks your breath, and wears you out? Not to mention its proven cancerous effects. If you think this makes you "cool," we'll see how hip you look in your funeral. Remember, stay safe; don't smoke.
Guile: And who the fuck is this guido-lookin', assraid motherfucker?
Carlton: (sings) G.I. JOE!
Guile: G.I. Joe? Motherfucker, you ain't shit till you fly with the Air Force...
(Sarah Palin and Zach de la Rocha walk on)
Palin: Don'cha know it! Real America! Country first!
Kermit: H-hey! Some new guests!
(De la Rocha punches Palin)
Zach de la Rocha: (to Kermit) SHUT THE FUCK UP! (to Palin) SOME OF THOSE THAT WORK FORCES! ARE THE SAME THAT BURN CROSSES!
Nichols: Oh, and look at this menstrual, communist fuck-o! You're so radical...and real. (pause) Rachel Nichols...ESPN!
Guile: Yeah, I'll bet you he chokes on party-bags of cocks! Right, Stalin?
Kermit: People, I urge of you! Settle down!
Zach de la Rocha: FUCK YOU, I WON'T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!
(Zach de la Rocha punches Kermit and starts eating a potted flower)
Zach de la Rocha: I AM THE KING OF FRANCE!
(De la Rocha drops the pot- shattering it all over the floor- and starts doing a worm dance on the jagged ceramic)
Guile: ...The FUCK?!
(Guile cranks back and fires...a redwood log of a turd towards him. Or a Sonic Boom. Whichever works best for you. But it accidentaly nails Palin) <- I just noticed that, and I'm mildly amused, and impressed, by my subconscious for it.
Palin: (sparks fly) Grayayayauwauaayaya!!! I'M BURNING UP! I'M HOT! I'M DEAD! I CAN FLY, DAMMIT! I'VE GOT THE KIND OF EYES THAT WRITE HIT PIANO SONGS! POUND ME, PLUMBER, POUND ME! I'M A MOUND OF TOASTED ASHES! AND I AM A MATERIAL GIRL! (slouches over, shuts off, smoke is coming out)
Zach de la Rocha: A BULLET IN YA HEAD! A BULLET IN YA HEAD! A BULLET IN YA HEAD!
(Hans Gruber storms over angrily from the backstage area)
Hans Gruber: Shit! Tits! Balls! These Skynet models are always bloody- hey! cool it, Rickman! I'm running this show now- screwing up! I'm so going yippie-ki-yay on that worthless Dan Quayle motherfucker's woman tonight!
(Kermit gets up, frustratedly, and marches over to the camera people)
Kermit: What the hell is going on here, everyone?! What's happening to my show?!
(Gruber makes off with Palin over to the backstage)
Guile: (sings) Papa don't preach! I'm in trouble deep! Papa don't preach! I've been losin' sleep!
Carlton: That's two Madonna references in one broadcast. You all should really explore your local libraries. It pays to have a broad vocabulary. Remember, knowledge is always power. (sings) G.I. J-
Guile: Fuck you, Coast Guard!
(Guile sonic booms again, but hits a lamp hanging over, which falls directly on Zach de la Rocha, seemingly "frying" him to his death)
Carlton: Hey now kids, violence is never the answer. Don't hurt yourselves; you should be storing that in for the commies. Remember, I'm not a hero because I shoot people; I'm a hero because I save lives. (sings) G.I. JOE!
(Kermit turns around and shoots Carlton)
Kermit: Fuck that...I'm the goddamn hero...Now can we get the goddamn hell back to the show, please?!
Guile: Fine. Hit me.
(Kermit reaches back to punch Guile)
Guile: Not like that, retard! With your fuckin' psycho-whatever shit.
Kermit: Oh, um, ok...well...
Guile: For today, cocksucker...
Kermit: Alright, alright...Um, let's see...Oh, wait, here's a good one for you: You inherit 5 million dollars the same day aliens land on the earth and say they're going to blow it up in 2 days. What do you do?
Guile: (laughs) Hey Kermit, what would you do if I told you your commie, pinko mother sucked so much dick, her face looked like an egg?
Kermit: Eh?
(Guile sonic booms Kermit, but hits a gas drum next to him, instead, which promptly explodes and engulfs him and all the camera assistants in the flames)Guile: (to Kermit) Just some'a that psychowork, bonertoaster. (to Nichols) Alright Rach, this shit's our now. Let's get to fuckin' work on that pussy. Right here on commiefag T.V...
Nichols: (sigh) Whatever keeps you from jerking it all over the IKEA catalogs. (pause) Rachel Nichols...ESPN!
(Guile excitedly whips out his cock)
Guile: Oh, you're gonna need a bigger fuckin' boat for this.
Nichols: (pause) ...Rachel Nichols...ESPN!
Sal Paolantonio: (from off-set) Sal Paolantonio, BITCH! (loud crash)
(Nichols reveals her bare ass, bends over, and Guile seamlessly works his way into that backdoor like it's last place in the NL Central and his cock is the Pittsburgh Pirates)
Guile: HUCK IT! CHUCK IT! FOOTBALL!
(Guile lets out a sonic boom by accident that unleashes the bear being kept in the room next door for the following show. Once it finds its way on set, it proceeds to first tear every member of the crowd to Cheerios in a furious rage...and then goes Sigfried and Roy on the pornstars. Once said bear goes off to the streets, Zach de la Rocha gets up and walks away, apparently unscathed)
Commercials.
...Less suitable for work or children than the Old Testament.
My World: Boooo!
During the frigid winter of 2007, before OBPO was delivering the kind of objective reporting that the Greater Halifax area has become accustomed to, I worked as a survey filler for a local Philadelphia Sports questionnaire service. Times were rough back then, with the economy being stable enough to keep me from getting fired from that war crime of a job, but I managed to work with the diligence of a young Ivan DeJesus crossed with Gob Bluth. I was granted many-a-blowjob while answering "Is Andre Iguodala really the next A.I.?" My response was always NO, of course. There can only be one true A.I., and we'll never fucking see it because Stanley Kubrick died while production was underway. Fuck you, Speilberg; you Deus Ex Machina whore! (just kidding, but your car is parked in front of mines)
Anyhow, here's some questions that stood out to me.
Q: An extraterrestrial race invades the Philly area and challenges you to assemble a team of the five most capable local athletes, lest you face the extermination of Philadelphia itself. Who do you go with?
A: I hate Philly. Eric Lindross, Freddie Mitchell, Pat Burrell, Ty Detmer, and Chris Webber circa 2006.
Q: Which Philly sports title has meant the most to you?
A: I don't know...which German World War victory has meant the most to them? See what I did there?
Q: The Vet or Citizens Bank?
A: The Vet. At least there I could pour beer down an innocent 12 year old boy's training bra and not get slapped with some bullshit PC charges. Times were different, ya know? BOOOOO!
Q: Phamous Philly Phans. How do you Pheel about them?
A: Who the fuck wrote this? Dr. Seuss? "One Phish, Two Phish, Red Phish...Hey, We're Eliminated Phrom Playoff Contention Again!" And why should I give a fuck whether or not Cory and Eric Matthews still ravenously masturbate on camera to Curt Schilling?
Q: You're given the chance to watch ONE defining moment in Philadelphia sports history live. Which is it?
A: Between the Sixers blowing the Finals, the Eagles forgetting the NFL works on clocks, or the Phils and Flyers royally fucking shit up...I think I'll just settle for a Billy Mays commercial and cut my losses (pun sort of intended).
Q: PBS Sports. Yay or Nay?
A: Yay. The interview they did with Mike Lieberthal for PBS Sports- For Those Who Can No Longer Control Their Own Bowel Movements was ace.
Q: The Phillies are an out away from winning it all, but face a runner on second, a one run lead, and the opposing team's MVP candidate hitter is coming to the plate. If you're allowed to make one call to the bullpen and bring in any Phamous Philadelphian...ever, who do you call upon?
A: Mitch Williams, so I can commiserate with a whole new generation. Or Rodney Anonymous of the Dead Milkmen. At least there'll be no delusions there. BOOOO!
Q: In the film era, what has been the most accurate portrayal of what it feels like to remain loyal to your Philly teams?
A: Tom Hanks.
Q: Assuming the day will come, is your championship celebration being practiced?
A: Practiced? Practiced?! Nah...fuck it. Too easy.
Anyhow, here's some questions that stood out to me.
Q: An extraterrestrial race invades the Philly area and challenges you to assemble a team of the five most capable local athletes, lest you face the extermination of Philadelphia itself. Who do you go with?
A: I hate Philly. Eric Lindross, Freddie Mitchell, Pat Burrell, Ty Detmer, and Chris Webber circa 2006.
Q: Which Philly sports title has meant the most to you?
A: I don't know...which German World War victory has meant the most to them? See what I did there?
Q: The Vet or Citizens Bank?
A: The Vet. At least there I could pour beer down an innocent 12 year old boy's training bra and not get slapped with some bullshit PC charges. Times were different, ya know? BOOOOO!
Q: Phamous Philly Phans. How do you Pheel about them?
A: Who the fuck wrote this? Dr. Seuss? "One Phish, Two Phish, Red Phish...Hey, We're Eliminated Phrom Playoff Contention Again!" And why should I give a fuck whether or not Cory and Eric Matthews still ravenously masturbate on camera to Curt Schilling?
Q: You're given the chance to watch ONE defining moment in Philadelphia sports history live. Which is it?
A: Between the Sixers blowing the Finals, the Eagles forgetting the NFL works on clocks, or the Phils and Flyers royally fucking shit up...I think I'll just settle for a Billy Mays commercial and cut my losses (pun sort of intended).
Q: PBS Sports. Yay or Nay?
A: Yay. The interview they did with Mike Lieberthal for PBS Sports- For Those Who Can No Longer Control Their Own Bowel Movements was ace.
Q: The Phillies are an out away from winning it all, but face a runner on second, a one run lead, and the opposing team's MVP candidate hitter is coming to the plate. If you're allowed to make one call to the bullpen and bring in any Phamous Philadelphian...ever, who do you call upon?
A: Mitch Williams, so I can commiserate with a whole new generation. Or Rodney Anonymous of the Dead Milkmen. At least there'll be no delusions there. BOOOO!
Q: In the film era, what has been the most accurate portrayal of what it feels like to remain loyal to your Philly teams?
A: Tom Hanks.
Q: Assuming the day will come, is your championship celebration being practiced?
A: Practiced? Practiced?! Nah...fuck it. Too easy.
To Our Loyal Readers
Dearest Objectiveites,
It has been recently brought to my immediate attention- on this, our hallowed anniversary- that the post directly beneath this one has been generating very negative publicity for us across the world of broke-ass sports media- thanks in no small part to the negative reactions of an offshore test-audience. So as Rusty KuntzWhale- the brains behind this operation- I feel it is my civic duty to apologize to the reading public for what has been taken as a general loss of funny all of a sudden (overreactions by the blood-thirsty media, I promise) and reassure you all that this is certainly not the case. Our mojo is everlasting, titslappers.
We began this modest little site 3 days ago with two simple, but lofty goals: a) to be objective in our coverage (boo!) and b) to don't not don't neglect the humor. So far, our ideals, and the pristine value which we place on hard hitting, quality journalism has netted us interviews with John Kruk and the currently MIA Darren Daulton, along with giving us the inside scoop on Michael Bay's next work. A week ago, it was all a dream. I used to read Word Up! Magazine. I'd be lying if I said I didn't appreciate all the luck we've had in the time since.
It is my sincere promise to you that Morose Cockwasher will spend the next 48 hours licking lint off the underbelly of my iguana, Freddie Mitchell's Abortion Route, to further learn the virtues of good posting. He is a quality poster, and an effective interviewer, but his vision is sometimes clouded by success and meth. He just needs a bit of a shakedown- like 12 year old hand watching Return of The Jedi shakedown- and OPBO will deliver it. On this you have my word, good Phaithphul.
So, with all that said...here's a picture from us to you, to show that we still remain on the same wavelength:
We still value your continued support of this little corner of the Phillie world.
Standing Strong,
Your Fearless Leader
It has been recently brought to my immediate attention- on this, our hallowed anniversary- that the post directly beneath this one has been generating very negative publicity for us across the world of broke-ass sports media- thanks in no small part to the negative reactions of an offshore test-audience. So as Rusty KuntzWhale- the brains behind this operation- I feel it is my civic duty to apologize to the reading public for what has been taken as a general loss of funny all of a sudden (overreactions by the blood-thirsty media, I promise) and reassure you all that this is certainly not the case. Our mojo is everlasting, titslappers.
We began this modest little site 3 days ago with two simple, but lofty goals: a) to be objective in our coverage (boo!) and b) to don't not don't neglect the humor. So far, our ideals, and the pristine value which we place on hard hitting, quality journalism has netted us interviews with John Kruk and the currently MIA Darren Daulton, along with giving us the inside scoop on Michael Bay's next work. A week ago, it was all a dream. I used to read Word Up! Magazine. I'd be lying if I said I didn't appreciate all the luck we've had in the time since.
It is my sincere promise to you that Morose Cockwasher will spend the next 48 hours licking lint off the underbelly of my iguana, Freddie Mitchell's Abortion Route, to further learn the virtues of good posting. He is a quality poster, and an effective interviewer, but his vision is sometimes clouded by success and meth. He just needs a bit of a shakedown- like 12 year old hand watching Return of The Jedi shakedown- and OPBO will deliver it. On this you have my word, good Phaithphul.
So, with all that said...here's a picture from us to you, to show that we still remain on the same wavelength:
We still value your continued support of this little corner of the Phillie world.
Standing Strong,
Your Fearless Leader
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The 2008 Philadelphia Phillies
A Michael Bay Film
Apparently this is the next big blockbuster we're being treated to. PBS Sports- For Movie Pirates stole a sneak peak on the upcoming script and sent it along our way.
The Cast
Apparently this is the next big blockbuster we're being treated to. PBS Sports- For Movie Pirates stole a sneak peak on the upcoming script and sent it along our way.
The Cast
- Cole Hamels played by Shia LaBeouf
- Carlos Ruiz played by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson
- Jayson Werth played by Martin Lawrence
- Brad Lidge played by Nicholas Cage
- Jimmy Rollins and Ryan Howard played by Cuba Gooding Jr.
- Charlie Manuel played by Sean Connery
- Citizens Bank Park played by Ben Affleck
EXT. Citizens Bank Park- Night.
Having overcome a 2-70 start, Albanian separatists hijacking the team plane, and a strange alien craft landing in RF during a mid-July game and blowing everything in sight up, the Philadelphia Phillies stand in position to clinch the NL East with a record of 92-70 on the season's final game. This against the hated Mets, no less, who were coming off a 132-30 season in which they swept the Phils out of the NLCS by using cybernetic organisms out of the bullpen and distributing performance enhancing drugs around the clubhouse. We are in the 5th inning, where the Phillies hold a comfortable 6-2 lead. But unbeknownst to the movie-going denizens of cold, dreary Philadelphia, those mysterious Mets still have something up their sleeves (EDIT: Shyamalan, get the fuck out of my script...).
Ruiz: Alright, Cole, baby, give it to your catcher.
Hamels: WOAH! HEY! WOAHHEY!
Ruiz: Just settle in there, Cole. This game belongs to Ruiz.
Hamels: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
Rollins: Come on you...crazy crazed pitcher, you. Strike this guy out so I can go do something quirky in the batter's box.
Howard: Yeah, hahaha! We'll all go to my momma's house and try real hard to be generally inoffensive after this, Hamels, in a really loveably funny way! But get us through, my man!
Werth: I AIN'T LIKIN' THIS, GUYS! WHY THE HELL THEY GOTTA BE TAKIN SO LONG? CHAAAARLIE?! CHAAAAAARLIE?!?!
Hamels: HEY! HEY! HEYHEY! WE ARE NOT THROWING THE FASTBALL! THEY'LL HIT IT OUT OF THE PARK AND THE UMPS WILL GIVE THEM 5 RUNS INSTEAD OF 4 ON SOME BULLSHIT TECHNICALITY!
Ruiz: (monotonous tone) Alright, now we're not throwing the fastball. But this is a funny situation now, because I'm so big and in control of everything, but I can't decide what pitch to call. It's like if I were a prima donna quarterback and an illegitimate child of mine showed up one day.
Manuel: I tell ya, Richie, m'boy, if he don't throw that fastball here, we're doomed. Doomed, I say. But I'll rise above it all in a rare moment of courageous leadership.
Megan Fox: Oops? Am I streaking on the field? Hey, look, a penny! Maybe I'll bend over to pick it up...like this.
(Megan Fox bends over seductively to pick up the penny, giving Ebert a heart attack in theaters- thus guaranteeing box office success for at least 2 weeks)
Hamels: WHY DON'T WE ALL GO TO THE DRIVE IN MOVIE FOR SOME CHEESEBURGERS AND FRIES AFTER THIS, GUYS?!?!?!
Ruiz: Because the underlying plot of this film is that we really don't like you all that much and you must overcome that. Now put it in my glove like a real man would, so The Ruiz can take over at the plate.
(Hamels delivers a fastball down the plate, which is smashed into the upper deck for a grand slam. Meanwhile, Werth bends over for something which can't be seen clearly by the audience, but the end result is a rather large explosion down the third base line)
Umpire: Hey, Werth, that's a bullshit technicality, as it says so right here in the rulebook! (umpire pulls out a rulebook) Tack on an extra run!
(Tension is felt. Charlie Manuel goes to the mound)
Ruiz: I feel tension.
Manuel: Gentlemen, we are down but never out. Beaten but never destroyed. Tread upon, but never trampled. We stand here at the gates of our demise, wondering when's gonna be our time. Our time to rise above everything we've faced, men, and come together as a...Aww, fuck it. Someone get Lidge.
(Bullpen phone rings. Lidge is summoned)
Lidge: I hate my career...
It looks to be a classic.
A Kind Word To Your Editor
To properly celebrate our hard earned 72 hour anniversary, Objective Phillies Blog of Objective decided to turn the pens over to you, our loyal readership. While all the letters we received were more than magnificent, and leave me without a doubt in my mind that I'm in the right business, we just don't have the time or space to get them all up here. So all this small town, real America, Christian values, guns ahoy, tax cuts for the rich! blog is left to do is publish our absolute, desert island favorite ones. And here they are. Apologies to those who didn't make it; we promise reach-arounds galore at the next signing.
We sincerely thank you all for your continued support of OPBO, the end-result of a tumultous 4 hour marijuana and ether binge.
My Dearest Phanatics,
I write to you with a heavy heart and a limp dick. In recent times, I've fallen deep into the depression of knowing that not only is my wife's Louis Vitton bag a counterfeit, but the new Kings of Leon album I thought I'd bought turned out to be a tribute album by Kings of The Bucket, a shitty kazoo & oboe cover band of McFearless (a less shitty KoL cover band). Not only has this brought distress to my inner soul and led me into relapsing on my Tylenol addiction, but my wife has since fallen for our gardener, Oaxacal, a 12 year old immigrant protected by city statute from me reporting his ass. With nothing left to turn to, I've been praying relentlessly for some salvation for days on end now. I've even taken to wearing a rosary, a pope hat I got at Burger King, and some old bed sheets to work, but all that's gotten me is extreme ridicule and a demotion to Erroneous Errors Payable, where I have to work with Donna (whom I can't quite tell what sex she/he really is) and Wilbur Thompkins, a clinical retard hired on the Good Faith Policy. To add insult to injury, fucking God doesn't even answer my prayers for a goddamn cheeseburger! A fucking 99 cent burger from McDonalds, and his almighty, omnipotent ass can't leave it on my doorstep. It could even be subtle, like "woops, Oaxacal had a heart attack while cutting the grass due to the blowjob he was simultaneously receiving from Janet- that slut- and, hey, is that a cheeseburger he left?"
How many wins do you see the Phillies ending next season with? They're all I've got left.
Thanks,
Sleepless In Seattle
Wow. Thank fuck I'm not you. 85 wins.
Hey Assholes,
I've been readin ur blog since it first came up, and while I used to be a big fan of your insight, ur recent posts hav pisst me off. U guys hav sunk to tabloyd material, u know that?? I bet if i told u guys that Arod was on roids or there was a brotha in the White Hoyse, u'd run with it...without checkin anything. How dare u guys publish privat material of Dug Glavill, Desi Realford, and Larry Bowa like that??? THATS SICK!!! I hope u rasit asshole r happy with ruining a marrige and mayb a family too, since Realford had to split with his wife of 2 years thanks to U!!!! If u guys got sumthin agenst him, say it to him...OR ME AND ILL TELL HIM!! This shit isnt funny...that was a private interview with that Loggins faggot- fuck that pussycake- but now its out in the open! Hav sum fuckin risponsibilty, u kno?!?!
Fuck U,
Now-Single Mother
Um...it's Relaford.
Keepers of the Gate,
For the past few months, since a buddy of mine mentioned this name at a Phils game, it's been nagging at me like mental porn in my 8th grade english class. I figured if anyone would know, it'd be you guys. Who the hell is "Keyser Söze?"
Thanks again,
D. Keaton
Pedro Feliz. As soon as you look away, that OBP skyrockets.
Dear Rusty,
You still aint called or wrote, I hope you have a chance. I aint mad - I just think it' s fucked up you dont answer fans. If you didnt wanna talk to me outside your Q&A session, uou didnt have to, but you coulda signed an autograph for Matthew. That's my little brother man, he's convinced he has a degenerative condition which leads him to believe he's an octopus. We waited in the blistering Philly riots for you; four hours and you just said no. That's pretty shitty man - you're like his fuckin idol (actually, you're just the only human being besides himself he's aware of). He wants to be just like you man, he likes you more than I do (and I write fanfics about you and Stephen Drew). I ain't that mad, though, I just dont like bein lied to. Remember when we met in Denver - you said if Cory Sullivan got a hit off Ryan Madson you'd suck me dry. See I'm just like you in a way, I never "knew" father neither; he used to always cheat on my mom but simultaneously beat it to her- confused guy. I can relate to what you're saying in your blogs, so when I have a shitty day, I drift away and boo household appliances. 'Cause I don't really got shit else- no, really, this economy blows- so that shit helps when baseball season starts. I even got a tattoo of this blog's name across the chest. Sometimes I even cut myself when Tom Gordon comes in to pitch, it's like adrenaline, the distraction from a blown lead is such a sudden rush for me. See everything you say is real, and I respect you 'cause you tell it objectively. My girlfriend's jealous cause I talk about you 24/7, but she dont know you like I know you Rusty, no one does. She's a fuckin' Mets fan. You gotta call me man, I'll be the biggest fan you'll ever lose.
Sincerely yours,
Stan
P.S: We should be together too
Remember how that song ends? Try that.
Thanks again, everyone. We'll see you in 3 days for our next anniversary. Something special's already being planned for then, too. Stick around.
We sincerely thank you all for your continued support of OPBO, the end-result of a tumultous 4 hour marijuana and ether binge.
My Dearest Phanatics,
I write to you with a heavy heart and a limp dick. In recent times, I've fallen deep into the depression of knowing that not only is my wife's Louis Vitton bag a counterfeit, but the new Kings of Leon album I thought I'd bought turned out to be a tribute album by Kings of The Bucket, a shitty kazoo & oboe cover band of McFearless (a less shitty KoL cover band). Not only has this brought distress to my inner soul and led me into relapsing on my Tylenol addiction, but my wife has since fallen for our gardener, Oaxacal, a 12 year old immigrant protected by city statute from me reporting his ass. With nothing left to turn to, I've been praying relentlessly for some salvation for days on end now. I've even taken to wearing a rosary, a pope hat I got at Burger King, and some old bed sheets to work, but all that's gotten me is extreme ridicule and a demotion to Erroneous Errors Payable, where I have to work with Donna (whom I can't quite tell what sex she/he really is) and Wilbur Thompkins, a clinical retard hired on the Good Faith Policy. To add insult to injury, fucking God doesn't even answer my prayers for a goddamn cheeseburger! A fucking 99 cent burger from McDonalds, and his almighty, omnipotent ass can't leave it on my doorstep. It could even be subtle, like "woops, Oaxacal had a heart attack while cutting the grass due to the blowjob he was simultaneously receiving from Janet- that slut- and, hey, is that a cheeseburger he left?"
How many wins do you see the Phillies ending next season with? They're all I've got left.
Thanks,
Sleepless In Seattle
Wow. Thank fuck I'm not you. 85 wins.
Hey Assholes,
I've been readin ur blog since it first came up, and while I used to be a big fan of your insight, ur recent posts hav pisst me off. U guys hav sunk to tabloyd material, u know that?? I bet if i told u guys that Arod was on roids or there was a brotha in the White Hoyse, u'd run with it...without checkin anything. How dare u guys publish privat material of Dug Glavill, Desi Realford, and Larry Bowa like that??? THATS SICK!!! I hope u rasit asshole r happy with ruining a marrige and mayb a family too, since Realford had to split with his wife of 2 years thanks to U!!!! If u guys got sumthin agenst him, say it to him...OR ME AND ILL TELL HIM!! This shit isnt funny...that was a private interview with that Loggins faggot- fuck that pussycake- but now its out in the open! Hav sum fuckin risponsibilty, u kno?!?!
Fuck U,
Now-Single Mother
Um...it's Relaford.
Keepers of the Gate,
For the past few months, since a buddy of mine mentioned this name at a Phils game, it's been nagging at me like mental porn in my 8th grade english class. I figured if anyone would know, it'd be you guys. Who the hell is "Keyser Söze?"
Thanks again,
D. Keaton
Pedro Feliz. As soon as you look away, that OBP skyrockets.
Dear Rusty,
You still aint called or wrote, I hope you have a chance. I aint mad - I just think it' s fucked up you dont answer fans. If you didnt wanna talk to me outside your Q&A session, uou didnt have to, but you coulda signed an autograph for Matthew. That's my little brother man, he's convinced he has a degenerative condition which leads him to believe he's an octopus. We waited in the blistering Philly riots for you; four hours and you just said no. That's pretty shitty man - you're like his fuckin idol (actually, you're just the only human being besides himself he's aware of). He wants to be just like you man, he likes you more than I do (and I write fanfics about you and Stephen Drew). I ain't that mad, though, I just dont like bein lied to. Remember when we met in Denver - you said if Cory Sullivan got a hit off Ryan Madson you'd suck me dry. See I'm just like you in a way, I never "knew" father neither; he used to always cheat on my mom but simultaneously beat it to her- confused guy. I can relate to what you're saying in your blogs, so when I have a shitty day, I drift away and boo household appliances. 'Cause I don't really got shit else- no, really, this economy blows- so that shit helps when baseball season starts. I even got a tattoo of this blog's name across the chest. Sometimes I even cut myself when Tom Gordon comes in to pitch, it's like adrenaline, the distraction from a blown lead is such a sudden rush for me. See everything you say is real, and I respect you 'cause you tell it objectively. My girlfriend's jealous cause I talk about you 24/7, but she dont know you like I know you Rusty, no one does. She's a fuckin' Mets fan. You gotta call me man, I'll be the biggest fan you'll ever lose.
Sincerely yours,
Stan
P.S: We should be together too
Remember how that song ends? Try that.
Thanks again, everyone. We'll see you in 3 days for our next anniversary. Something special's already being planned for then, too. Stick around.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Daulton In The Sky With Diamonds
Being that we are the leading source for objective, nonbiased Philadelphia Phillies information in the greater Halifax, Nova Scotia area, we at Objective Phillies Blog of Objective recently got the chance to sit down with former Philadelphia Phillie greats Darren Daulton and John Kruk in between takes of PBS Sports- For Those Who've Been To Mars...Naked for an enjoyable hour and a half of cocaine, baseball talk, and more rancid pussy than a third-rate gangsta rapper's attempted hit single.
We hereby dub this moment Tha Lil 'D Tapez.
KuntzWhale: Darren, Krukie, nice of you to take time out of your busy schedules to sit with me this morning.
Kruk: Oh, it's no problem, I don't have to go in-
Daulton: Of course. Having defeated Xergonan VI on his home planet of Kanesia last night, I thought this was the only logical step left.
KuntzWhale: Sure...So moving along then, everyone in the greater Halifax, Nova Scotia area remembers fondly the times you both spent with the Phranchise. What moments as a Phillie stand out for the two of you?
Kruk: For me it has to be-
Daulton: Hitting all those balls over the phence? Haha! Get it? Balls!
Kruk: Yeah, I got it...
Daulton: Ahahaha! Then you must be dying inside! Ahahaha! Balls! But anyways, I still remember like tomorrow the day the Great Sewer Rat Craphesius tried to take Mitch Williams hostage before Game 6 of the '93 Series. Using only a paperclip and the lessons taught to me in the Dimension of Askasia, I was able to wrangle the rodent down with its own tentacles, thus freeing Mitch before he was due to enter the game.
KuntzWhale: ...Weren't you at catcher right before he came in?
Daulton: I move at the speed of thunder!
Kruk: (laughing) He was probably baked at the time.
Daulton: Baked is what you'll be if you once again tempt the wrath of my Lord, Resgortas, Kruk. You one ball one strike count.
Kruk: (stares blankly)
(Daulton falls on the floor in laughter)
KuntzWhale: ...With all that said, Krukie, we've seen how your post ballplaying career has gone.
(Kruk smiles and acknowledges. Then releases a firebomb of a fart. The room has to be cleared for 10 minutes and 2 camera men lose their lives.)
10 MINUTES LATER
KuntzWhale: Hoo boy! That was a rough one, and trust me...I've dealt some of my own!
Daulton: Venonat! I caught a wild Venonat!
Kruk: ...?
Daulton: Pokemon, you simpleton! Don't you see its majestic splendor, its grandiose grandeur?
Kruk: Grandiose grandeur...you're the next Poe.
Daulton: Fuck you, Krukie! I sense sarcasm in your words. You're lucky I don't use all my strength to banish you forever behind the 70 foot golden-laser walls of the Magnomia Kingdom.
KuntzWhale: Darren, for just a se-
Daulton: Call me King Frinkle or don't call me at all.
KuntzWhale: King Frinkle...if you could please, for a moment...
Daulton: Uh huh...
Kruk: KuntzWhale, don't bother, man. This is a lost cause. The man lacks grit, hustle, and all the determination necessary for a solid interview.
Daulton: At least someone can tickle my balls, fatty.
KuntzWhale: Darren, I'm serious. I nee-
Daulton: Not my name.
KuntzWhale: (sigh) King Frinkle...I need this-
Daulton: Empress Trudalania.
KuntzWhale: What...?
Daulton: You heard me. Call me Empress Trudalania.
KuntzWhale: But you told me to call you King Frinkle...
Daulton: Well, I changed my mind.
KuntzWhale: Alright then...Empress Trudalania.
Daulton: Senator Franken.
KuntzWhale: WHAT THE FUCK?! LOOK, I DON'T GIVE A HOLY SCREAMING SORCERER'S FUCK WHO YOU ARE AT THIS POINT, DARREN, YOU DEPRAVED SHITBEAR! I JUST NEED A FUCKING INTERVIEW DONE BY THE EVENING, AND ALL I HAVE SO FAR IS ENOUGH EVIDENCE TO GET YOU STUDIED BY EXPERTS IN SOME FANCY UNIVERSITY I CAN'T GET INTO! BUT IS THAT A FUCKING INTERVIEW THE NOVA SCOTIANS WANT? IS IT?! ASSHOLE, IT'S FUCKING NOT! SO YOU'D BETTER TUCK YOUR RAMPANT INSANITY AWAY LIKE I IMAGINE YOU DO WITH YOUR COCK FOR JUST A FLYING DRAGON'S FUCKING SECOND AND ANSWER SOME SIMPLE GODDAMN BASEBALL QUESTIONS! IS THAT TOO MOTHERFUCKING HARD, JIZZSTOOLIE?!
(Daulton starts crying)
Intern: CuntWhale! The pizza and hookers are here!
KuntzWhale: It's KuntzWhale!
Kruk: Oh my God! Oh my Jesus! Oh my Yahweh! Oh my Buddha! Oh my Denny's Grand Slam! Did someone say PIZZA?!
Intern: Huh? Yeah...there's pi-
Kruk: KRUK HUNGRY! KRUK EAT!
(KuntzWhale- me- buries his head in his hands)
Daulton: (crying) Why can't anybody love me? Why must I be laughed at in all my dimensional forms?
(While running to the pizza, Kruk trips over a camera assistant, thus killing her)
Kruk: What the fuck, whore?! Can't you see a man is starving here?! You and me, we're done...PROFESSIONALY!
(KuntzWhale throws his notes up and walks away, dejected)
Fin.
We hereby dub this moment Tha Lil 'D Tapez.
KuntzWhale: Darren, Krukie, nice of you to take time out of your busy schedules to sit with me this morning.
Kruk: Oh, it's no problem, I don't have to go in-
Daulton: Of course. Having defeated Xergonan VI on his home planet of Kanesia last night, I thought this was the only logical step left.
KuntzWhale: Sure...So moving along then, everyone in the greater Halifax, Nova Scotia area remembers fondly the times you both spent with the Phranchise. What moments as a Phillie stand out for the two of you?
Kruk: For me it has to be-
Daulton: Hitting all those balls over the phence? Haha! Get it? Balls!
Kruk: Yeah, I got it...
Daulton: Ahahaha! Then you must be dying inside! Ahahaha! Balls! But anyways, I still remember like tomorrow the day the Great Sewer Rat Craphesius tried to take Mitch Williams hostage before Game 6 of the '93 Series. Using only a paperclip and the lessons taught to me in the Dimension of Askasia, I was able to wrangle the rodent down with its own tentacles, thus freeing Mitch before he was due to enter the game.
KuntzWhale: ...Weren't you at catcher right before he came in?
Daulton: I move at the speed of thunder!
Kruk: (laughing) He was probably baked at the time.
Daulton: Baked is what you'll be if you once again tempt the wrath of my Lord, Resgortas, Kruk. You one ball one strike count.
Kruk: (stares blankly)
(Daulton falls on the floor in laughter)
KuntzWhale: ...With all that said, Krukie, we've seen how your post ballplaying career has gone.
(Kruk smiles and acknowledges. Then releases a firebomb of a fart. The room has to be cleared for 10 minutes and 2 camera men lose their lives.)
10 MINUTES LATER
KuntzWhale: Hoo boy! That was a rough one, and trust me...I've dealt some of my own!
Daulton: Venonat! I caught a wild Venonat!
Kruk: ...?
Daulton: Pokemon, you simpleton! Don't you see its majestic splendor, its grandiose grandeur?
Kruk: Grandiose grandeur...you're the next Poe.
Daulton: Fuck you, Krukie! I sense sarcasm in your words. You're lucky I don't use all my strength to banish you forever behind the 70 foot golden-laser walls of the Magnomia Kingdom.
KuntzWhale: Darren, for just a se-
Daulton: Call me King Frinkle or don't call me at all.
KuntzWhale: King Frinkle...if you could please, for a moment...
Daulton: Uh huh...
Kruk: KuntzWhale, don't bother, man. This is a lost cause. The man lacks grit, hustle, and all the determination necessary for a solid interview.
Daulton: At least someone can tickle my balls, fatty.
KuntzWhale: Darren, I'm serious. I nee-
Daulton: Not my name.
KuntzWhale: (sigh) King Frinkle...I need this-
Daulton: Empress Trudalania.
KuntzWhale: What...?
Daulton: You heard me. Call me Empress Trudalania.
KuntzWhale: But you told me to call you King Frinkle...
Daulton: Well, I changed my mind.
KuntzWhale: Alright then...Empress Trudalania.
Daulton: Senator Franken.
KuntzWhale: WHAT THE FUCK?! LOOK, I DON'T GIVE A HOLY SCREAMING SORCERER'S FUCK WHO YOU ARE AT THIS POINT, DARREN, YOU DEPRAVED SHITBEAR! I JUST NEED A FUCKING INTERVIEW DONE BY THE EVENING, AND ALL I HAVE SO FAR IS ENOUGH EVIDENCE TO GET YOU STUDIED BY EXPERTS IN SOME FANCY UNIVERSITY I CAN'T GET INTO! BUT IS THAT A FUCKING INTERVIEW THE NOVA SCOTIANS WANT? IS IT?! ASSHOLE, IT'S FUCKING NOT! SO YOU'D BETTER TUCK YOUR RAMPANT INSANITY AWAY LIKE I IMAGINE YOU DO WITH YOUR COCK FOR JUST A FLYING DRAGON'S FUCKING SECOND AND ANSWER SOME SIMPLE GODDAMN BASEBALL QUESTIONS! IS THAT TOO MOTHERFUCKING HARD, JIZZSTOOLIE?!
(Daulton starts crying)
Intern: CuntWhale! The pizza and hookers are here!
KuntzWhale: It's KuntzWhale!
Kruk: Oh my God! Oh my Jesus! Oh my Yahweh! Oh my Buddha! Oh my Denny's Grand Slam! Did someone say PIZZA?!
Intern: Huh? Yeah...there's pi-
Kruk: KRUK HUNGRY! KRUK EAT!
(KuntzWhale- me- buries his head in his hands)
Daulton: (crying) Why can't anybody love me? Why must I be laughed at in all my dimensional forms?
(While running to the pizza, Kruk trips over a camera assistant, thus killing her)
Kruk: What the fuck, whore?! Can't you see a man is starving here?! You and me, we're done...PROFESSIONALY!
(KuntzWhale throws his notes up and walks away, dejected)
Fin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
