John Lackey Admits He Is Just An "Ok" Pitcher (bonus blog on how the 1986 Red Sox starting pitchers are like a box of Flavor-Ice)

I like John Lackey. I like that he has a hot wife. I like that he looks like Haywire from Prison Break. I also  like that, like yours truly, he appears to have no hair on his shins. And to boot, he is refreshingly candid about his mediocrity (again, like yours truly). He's also this spring's "expect big things because he lost weight" poster boy. It's tough to find a pre-season analysis of pitching that isn't filled with caveats like "if so and so's shoulder stays healthy" and "if he returns to form from 2 years ago" and "if he doesn't step on a broken mayonnaise jar". It's true, though, there's too many variables for anyone to act like they really know anything. But, would anybody be surprised if Beckett, Lester and Buchholz are all lights out this year? And Lackey and that crazy Asian motherfucker Dice-K are nothing to sneeze at in the 4&5 holes. No reason to worry, probably...maybe. Anyway, the only reason I'm even talking about the Sox pitchers right now is so I can finally share what I feel is the greatest analogy of all time.

Click below to find out why the 1986 Red Sox pitchers were like a box of Flavor-Ice.

Is That a Maybe?

Let's assume that a) this is real and b) these two met at a food court. I can't imagine any girl wants to be proposed to so openly in public...maybe, MAYBE if it is in front of all her closest friends and family at like her birthday party or something..but not in front of 40,000 drunks at a baseball game and definitely not in front of 200 slobs at a mall food court. I'm not counting if there just happen to be other people around like at a nice, quiet restaurant or Central Park in fall or something. Anyway, this chick could have handle it better. My man gets all dolled up, he snatches up the guitar guy from South Station and all she can do is run away? At least smile and give him a big hug so people think you're saying yes. Then whisper something into his ear like, "Not on your life, you fucking psycho. And why did you pick that song? My name is Megan." And is this guy going after her at the end? Dude, let her go. It's not happening. Just belly up to the bar at Johnny Rockets, grab a milkshake and think about what you just did.

Does JP Arencibia Got Game?

It's easy to read this tweet and say, "Fuck off, JP Arencibia. Take your grade school antics and have fun in 4th place this year." But I say, "Bravo, JP." I'm sure Heidi will laugh this off in public but in her heart of hearts she can't wait til the Jays come to Fenway in April. She must be bored breaking up the marriages of the local boys by now. It's time for some strange strange.

The Grammy Award Sucks

The actual Grammy award itself is a joke. It's the Gold Glove of the entertainment industry. Good thing the Grammy people realized this and decided to make the show heavy on performances and personalities, light on the awards. Most of the who-gives-a-shit awards were handed out prior to the telecast. Fuck, every time a performer/presenter was introduced tonight the announcer said they had already won 3 Grammy awards earlier in the evening. So while all the shitheads are up in arms about Bieber losing out to Esperanza Spalding, I'm just gonna ramble on about my impressions from tonight's festivities.

Countdown to Katy Perry and Russell Brand's Divorce Begins

So Katy Perry brings her grammy to the Grammys and her asshat of a husband, Russell Brand, bides his time until finding the perfect opportunity to humiliate her 90 year old ass. Shit, this guy can't be any less interested in this red carpet interview until he sees nana pretending to know who Seacrest is. Now I'm sure Katy Perry was just an innocent player in the assassination of her nana's heart and soul but she served her up pretty good here. If this were any other marriage it would be a no-brainer that Russell wasn't getting laid tonight. But I'm sure as soon as these two psychos were off-camera Katy passed grandma off to her publicist and dragged Russell into the nearest limo for a pre-show beanjob. Of course this still doesn't change the fact that these guys will be divorced by this time next year. I mean, when two celebrities get married do they realize that they are the only two people in the world who don't think they're getting divorced?

Here's the link to it. I don't know why this fucking site refuses to locate my YouTubes.

French Bulldog Breeders Can Go Straight to Hell

Aww..French Bulldogs. So cute. Wait, what's that you say? They can't fuck on their own?? They can't naturally reproduce? So everytime an NYC socialite wants to buy a Frenchie someone has to jerk off a boy Frenchie and pour it into a girl Frenchie. Then a little Frenchie is born and condemned to a life where they can't breathe, can't run in the sun for 5 minutes without having a  heart attack, can't fuck, are prone to spinal disease and oh yeah, for good measure, they're selfish. Folks, can God be any clearer? He doesn't want anymore fucking French Bulldogs terrorizing Earth with their scary snorting and weak hind legs. Where is PETA when you need them? French Bulldog breeders are no better than Mike Vick. But wait, there is an upside to offset their miserable existence; adorable face wrinkles!

It should come as no surprise that these things are related to the equally ugly and chronically ill Pug. Did you know if you pull on a Pug's collar too tight his eye might pop out? No biggie though. Just quickly push it back in.

We All Stink

Farts are like shooting stars. There's literally millions of them going off at all times but only the really big ones get noticed. That's all well and good for most people. But when you work in a bar with a capacity of 600, every weekend night is like that August meteor shower. Just a never-ending sea of ass stench. It's a stark reminder that we're all just walking waste containers. All the showers, smiles and small-C titties in the world can't change the fact that we're filled with piss, shit and snot and it's fucking disgusting.