The path lit up in purple neon bulbs leads back to the familiar road of escapism.

Dear baseball, fuck you.

A Champagne Jam to kick off Interleague Play.

(From Cannabissearch.com/strains/champagne)

"A lustful combination of Hashplant and a Kush strain that was pollinated with a male Burmese cannabis strain, Champagne offers patients an exquisitely pleasurable medication. The effect sets in nearly immediately and lasts anywhere between an hour and an hour-and-a-half. Ideal for patients with depression, inflammation and migraines, this 50/50 hybrid is popular in dispensaries all over. Coated with tri-chromes, more experienced cannabis patients often use Champagne to make high-quality hash."

-This photograph reminds me of Pizza the Hut from Spaceballs.


I obviously give a fuck about baseball today.

Fuck it.

Here's another photo of a train wreck. A real good, old tyme one. Soon to come, weed recipes and music videos. Things that win sometimes.

Ladies and genteman, you're 2011 Los Angeles Dodgers!

Baseball was better when everyone was on steroids.

Nobody reads this shit. So maybe its safe now to take this blog in a different direction. I've said it before. This team can really lead to redundancy. Their bullshit is seeping into my life which is strange because I've had to care far less than any other season in the past, to avoid jumping out the goddamn window, but inevitably their piss poor play persists and then permeates my life. The other day a friend needed help moving some couches and said she'd buy me lunch even. So she lifted one end and looked at me standing there like an asshole shrugging. What's the point? I metaphorically popped up a first pitch change up with the bases loaded. These motherfuckers have got to go.

I would like to think that the Albuquerque Isotopes would score more than two runs in three days against shitty teams but then again, most of their line up is starting so maybe the Chattanooga Lookouts.
If I gave a fuck, I'd look up the statistics and back my rant up.


Anyhow, this blog might slowly become some kind of blog about different weed I smoke, mixtapes, tight breakfasts I make. Maybe just photos of my pit bull wearing different pairs of sunglasses, whatever it takes.

Following each game and writing about them still not getting it together just sounds like weaksauce in a shit sandwich. I get suckered in still but holy fucking shit, I had to watch them give up one hit and one run off an error against the Arizona Assholes and it really bummed my mom out. What a waste of time and money. Kemp and Ethier will be on another team soon and Frank McCourt can still insist we're doing just fine. Let's hope he's raped and mauled by Chihuahuas sooner than later.

Somebody get these motherfuckers some steroids.

To celebrate finally doing really hi-tech shit like putting up photos and videos and hopefully more in the future, here's something I found on the internet. All you have to do is google search "yuppie SF Giants" and this pops up.

It's funny. You can chant World Series all you want. Your colors still fittingly represent sunburn and wine diarrhea.

Brox on the rox

I wanted to add a photo of Jonathan Broxton but I think this says it all. Except I guess Brox Ton is more of a Mack truck so maybe this just symbolizes the last couple seasons as a Dodger fan that Broxton has been a part of. The good (100 mph fastballs, strikeouts all the time, seemingly eons ago,) the bad ("Playoff Meltdown" and the memorable sequel, "Playoff Meltdown 2: Can you fucking believe this!?!") and the ugly(Cataclysmic Yankee meltdown of 2010, sinking, sinking out of contention and then into this season.)

There's nothing anyone would like more than a young, 300 pound closer with sideburns, from Georgia, who came up with the Dodgers. But he's making it easier and easier for me to accompany the choir of "boos." Well, at least we'll trade him to the Brewers mid season for cash and an injury prone minor leaguer who will fade away like last week's dopesmoke and Milwaukee Broxton will inexplicably revive himself and save 50 games next season. Either way, get him the fuck out. Lucky for us, the rest of the bullpen doesn't look so fucking good. I'd rather see Rick Honeycutt out there in the 9th these days. As I wrote that, I realized that I wasn't exaggerating. Fuck, what a terrible year.

La Chingada

Another day, another billion dollars, another night, another meltdown, it would be so much easier to spit venom solely about the goddamn disaster that's Jonathan Broxton right now but with so much more going on, something of such importance drowns in the cesspool that is the 2011 season. The good news, I suppose, could be Ethier's hitting streak but it has also become irrelevant in the face of all this other good news.

While it's mildly entertaining and even more mildly fulfilling to see Frank McCourt be universally exposed as a failure, it doesn't help with the sinking ship. It'd be more fulfilling if he would be beaten and robbed and the people owned the team but I know the limitations of victory in this life. It's a perpetual, metaphorical 2009 NLCS.

Our proud owner can't meet payroll, which in the scheme of the present economical climate for most people is insipid as fuck, and not being a Pittsburgh or Cleveland market, no offense to those cities, this is just sad. And all the other tragedies suspended in Dodgertown this year are just a likely, predictable result of people at the top not having their shit together. And just like any instance concerning your owners, landlords, employers, etc. chances are it's not getting better for you. The worst thing to ever happen to these bloodless motherfuckers is an embarrassment, a slap on the back and a pay day somehow. Even McCourt not being as wealthy as everyone thought only means he's a multi-millionaire not invited to the Billionaire's Club. Cry into this collective dick, Frank McCourt. Nobody cares about you and your Quaddafiesque ranting to the media. We hate you. Move aside so some other bloodless motherfucker can own us and make our quality of life just a little worse than ever.