Yankees fans around the globe cheered yesterday as the recession officially came to a close. No, I’m not talking about the bloated contract of Mark Teixeira (who apparently gets dragged around by his wang, make note to the Yankees skipper to have Leigh withhold sex should Mark decided to go on a 0 for 16 skid during the Red Sox series). Or the C.C. Sabathia, A.J. Burnett, A-Rod, Jeter metric ton on American dollars sliding into their pockets giving non-pinstripe fans even more reasons to boo the Steinbrenner junta.
The real reason they are dancing in the Bronx this morning because this country’s financial woes are nothing but a broken pocket pair of aces, is because Carl Pavano is gainfully employed once again as a baseball player and not a clubhouse attendant with a job to just make sure the sunflower seeds bucket is full. This alone defies logical, stringent spending and smacks of “hey, why not, we’re rich!” type mentality of an AIG corporate officer getting his third lobster tail while being orally serviced under the table by a flown in Swedish porn star paid for by the U.S. government. $1.5 million to a guy that has proven nothing more then the ability to get his dick up for Alyssa Milano? Hell I could do that, and would for 10% of that pay then claim some season-long inner rib injury from breathing too hard after nailing Sam with re-runs of Charmed playing the background (Rose McGowan the hottest witch? Discuss).
Poker! Yes, I still play (as shown by cashing in four straight SnGs then forgetting how to read all four cards in the next four and losing in Waffles-like ways). To prove such a thing, I will be traveling to the Mayo Clinic this weekend to play with the Dalai Lama and other celebs in their cushy Presidental Lounge, stocked with the best cranberry juice ever served in those little plastic cups. Or, even better I’ll be dropping in on Oh Captain and his beautiful wife for some home game tournament action. After a greenlight from the wife I couldn’t say no to the gracious invite, not to mention a chance to play live poker without worrying about cleaning off a third pair of shit-streaked Barbie underwear in two hours.
A question for the readers out there (and RSS feed readers now outnumber vistors almost 4:1, odd), should I go the full degenerate route and hit up Treasure Island on the way back? Staying up all night then getting home in time for the Sunday Warm-Up wrap up at PokerStarsBlog? I hear those Top Gun slots calling my name… HIIIIIIIIIIIGHWAY TO THE DANNNNNNNNNGER ZOOOOOOOOOOONE!