Rickey's Decidedly Non-New Year's Blog Post

A bit of advice from Rickey: if it's the last week of December and you attempt to seek medical assistance from your doctor concerning the head cold you have been afflicted with for seven days, don't expect very much. In fact, don't be totally surprised if they get pissed at you for taking up their time with your middling head cold and recommend you purchase a neti pot. What's a neti pot? Something that Alfred Kinsey probably used. Oprah's most likely talked about them at some point. For the uninformed who haven't irritated their doctor enough to have one of these recommended to them, neti pots are similar to ear candles: an antiquated medical practice that works just well enough to be taken seriously and that the pharmaceutical companies haven't yet deemed worthy of replicating in pill form.
A neti pot is a small watering can like container that you put some warm saline solution in. You proceed to hunch over a sink. You then stick the spigot in your nostril, proceed to contort your head in the most unnatural manner conceivable, and allow the saline solution to flow up one nostril and out the other. The trick here is to get the angle just right so that the thick mucousy saline solution doesn't flow down your throat. And when you're all done, you attempt to expel everything from your air passages, in a manner similar to what Ed Harris does in "The Abyss" when he coughs up the pink goo that allows him to breathe deep underwater. (Seriously, we told you that Rickey's doctor was pissed at him). This is most definitely something you do in the privacy of your own home. With the doors securely locked and all the phones unplugged. It is a horrific, wretched, humbling, and transcendent experience. Rickey thinks he found God in the bottom of a sink basin yesterday afternoon.

Our apologies if you were expecting some kind of year end post from Rickey, a nice little piece to put a bow of 2008, but that's all Rickey's got at the moment. Have a safe & happy New Year everyone--Rickey and Ms. Henderson are ringing in the New Year in style with some belly dancing, tandoor cuisine, and unlimited libations at a local Indian eatery. See everyone in '09.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Thrilling Advancements in the World of Heckling

"Sony has announced the next version of their baseball franchise, MLB 09 The Show, revealing new features for the series including the ability to record your own crowd chants. Hilarity ensues." --Kotaku, 12/23/08

[And now, a few choice comments that will be emanating from the simulated crowd at Citifield when Rickey snags a copy of the upcoming iteration of this game for the PS3...]

"Hey sweetie, check it out--I can record my voice into the crowd at a virtual Mets game! No, it's not recording now. Yeah, baseball doesn't even start up again for a few weeks, what's your point? Hey, where are you going? Did you know I can create my own online fantasy league in this? Have you ever seen a game with such robust team management utilities? Wait, wait, come back! I haven't even shown you the character creator tool!"

[and then once Rickey gets the hang of this recording thing....]

"Hey Angel Pagan, how do you manage to sign your name without suffering from crippling schizophrenia?"

"Damnit, who gave Pedro directions to the new stadium? Since when does 43 mph qualify as a fastball?"

"What's the matter Wright? Out all night partying? David you're killing your father!"

"Hey Sean Green! That's a snazzy 8.65 ERA you're rocking! Don't trip over the waiver wire!"

"You're the reason I drink Castillo!"

"Hey Church! Your devout Christian beliefs fail to impress me! I will now read aloud from 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra'!"

"Who names their kid Rocky Cherry? Hey buddy, the Vivid Video audition is next week!"

"And J.J. Putz?! You people are making this too easy!"

"Hey Ramon Castro! What's it like to be constantly confused with Earl, the dad from 'Dinosaurs'?"

"Oooooh, Jerry, the double switch! You truly are a delicate genius!"

"What's with the pacifier Pelfrey? TMJ? Never heard of it. You just made that up now didn't you?"

"Damnit Delgado, sitting indian style on first base with your back turned to home plate clearly isn't getting it done!"

"Reyes! Know the situation! Runners on the corner, nobody out! Keep your head in the game!"

"An inning ending double play with RISP? Aw, it's ok Schneider! You're still the best defensive catcher in the league!"

"Lovely, another blown save from K-Rod! Are we sure that this guy wasn't included in the Ponzi scheme that Fred Wilpon fell for?"

"Why is Carlos Beltran lying on the field concussed? Oh no, is that a Mets trainer coming on to the field? Keep those back alley hatchet surgeons away from him! Oh the humanity!"

"Way to flub that toss Figueroa! This is why your family refuses to attend your games!"

"Suck it up Duaner, pitch counts are for pussies ! I am unmoved by the fact that your detached arm is lying 10 feet in front of the mound!"

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Your Obligatory Tidings of Comfort and Joy

A Very Merry Christmas to all our readers from Rickey, Ms. Henderson, and their family!

(and from Rickey's dog)

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Cooking With Rickey: Rickey's Matzo Ball Soup Recipe

It's a bit difficult to get into the Hanukkah spirit when your neck of the woods has been suddenly transformed into a frigid arctic hellscape. And if you're anything like Rickey, you've waited until the last possible moment to do all your holiday shopping and spent a large chunk of the brutally snowy weekend schlepping to malls. Oh joy. But on the bright side, at least no one can blame Rickey for the failing economy--he certainly did his part. (Did you?)

Anyhow, in hopes of distracting our readers from the worries of the wintery world we've decided to share a bit of culinary nourishment with you, something to draw you up from the depths of the flu season and warm your cold cold heart and unfreeze your credit assets. That something is Rickey's most excellent matzo ball soup recipe. So forget controlling the media and Hollywood and all the world's financial institutions--that's child's play. No, Rickey wants to seize control of the inner workings of your very kitchen as well. For this concoction, you will need the following items:

For the Broth:
4 1/2 pounds cooked rotisserie chicken pieces
3 celery ribs, cut into large chunks
3 carrots, cut into large chunks
2 parsnips, cut into large chunks (are we noticing a trend here?)
2 onions, quartered
1 head garlic, cut horizontally in half
3 bay leaves
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 tablespoon Kosher salt
4 quarts cold water

For the Balls:
1/2 cup matzo meal (or fresh ground matzos if you're feeling ambitious)
2 eggs, beaten
2 tablespoons chicken fat or vegetable oil1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons seltzer (it makes the balls fluffier)

Why is Rickey directing you to make your own broth? Because the canned equivalent is bland, full of sodium, and completely unauthentic. In a word, it is nebbish. Good matzo ball soup needs a soul. If your matzo ball soup broth is clear enough that you can see the bottom of your bowl, then something has gone very wrong, and quite frankly, Rickey doesn't want to know you or be your friend. We're shooting for serious turbidity here people. The plan to achieve this is simple: place all the broth ingredients in a large pot, add water, and bring it to a boil. Reduce the heat and gently simmer the broth, uncovered for 3 hours. Marvel as your abode fills with the most incredible scent known to modern civilization: a primordial earthy, chickeny, vegetably sort of essence. Looking for something to do to kill time while the awesomness brews? Go watch the appropriately semitic State & Main like Rickey did, it's a terrific little uplifting movie, and a nice change of pace from some of Mamet's drearier stuff. When the three hours of simmering are up, pour the stock through a strainer into a large bowl and discard all the solids. The leftover scraps, having lent their essence to the broth, will look something like this:If you have a pig, or similar ravenous barnyard animal, this would be an excellent thing to feed them. Having discarded the scraps, what you're left with here is pure manna. The potent liquid essence of three hours of simmered chicken parts, celery, carrots, onions, garlic, and parsnips. If some sort of vengeful chicken god were to emerge from the cloudy depths of this broth and stomp menacingly around your kitchen, don't say we didn't warn you. This stuff is pure dynamite. Skim off and discard any fat that floats to the surface (oh yes, there will be plenty of fat). Reserve a few tablespoons of the skimmed fat to use in the matzo balls.

For the matzo balls, mix all the above mentioned matzo ball ingredients in a bowl. Cover and place in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.Bring a few quarts of well-salted water to a brisk boil in a medium sized pot. Reduce the flame. You need wet hands for this next part, so if your paws aren't damp and sweaty by nature, run your hands under the sink before proceeding. Form the matzo balls by dropping spoonfuls of matzo ball batter approximately 1-inch in diameter into the palm of your wet hands and rolling them loosely into balls. Gently drop them into the simmering salt water one at a time as not to harm the structural integrity of the matzo balls.

Cover the pot and cook them for 30 to 40 minutes. The resulting matzo balls should expand and bob about on the surface, like delicious Hebrew apples. About ten minutes before the matzo balls are ready, bring the prepared chicken stock to a simmer with some sliced carrot in it. Ladle some soup and a couple of matzo balls into each bowl and top 'em with a couple snips of dill.

A brief note: Jewish cuisine is not known for it's good looks (it's plate appeal, if you will), but the rule of thumb is that the more alien it looks, the better it tastes. Ever try kugel? Looks like playdough but damn if that isn't some seriously tasty eats when prepared properly. When you're all finished cooking, consume the soup post-haste. We don't mean to make dubious medicinal claims, but there's a good chance that this stuff is capable of regenerating limbs. Enjoy it in good health, and Happy Hanukkah everyone.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Riding With Rickey presents Hank Steinbrenner in "Fiddler on the Roof"

Adam here, delivering to Rickey a Hanukkah gift of sorts-

Here's a drinking game you may want to try if you're suicidal- turn on the YES network and bring in a case of beer. Everytime you hear the word "tradition" take a sip. I challenge you to make it through the first 15 minutes of Michael Kay interviewing Billy Crystal.

In light of this singular buzzword, we here in "Rickey-land" have decided to produce our own Broadway revival of another tradition- the classic "Fiddler on the Roof." Take the original opening number below, and set it to the new lyrics underneath the clip:



A fiddler on the roof...
More like "meddler on the roof," no?
But here, in our little village of 'da Bronx,
you might say
every one of us is a meddler on the roof.
Trying to scratch out an over-paid lineup
without breaking the Federal Reserve.
It isn't easy.
You may ask,
why do we build an unnecessary new stadium
if it's so expensive?
Well, we stay because
'da Bronx is our home.
And how do we keep our preferred tax treatment?
That I can tell you in one word!

Traaaaadition!

Tradition
Tradition
Tradition
Tradition
Tradition
Tradition

Because of our traditions,
we've kept our fans fooled for many, many years.
Here in 'da Bronx,
we have traditions for everything.
How to buy $10 beer.
How to pay for $20 nosebleeds.
How to root for steroid-users.
How to appear classy!
For instance,
we always keep our beards shaved,
and always wear some patch honoring a dead Yankee.
This shows our constant devotion to George Steinbrenner.
You may ask,
how did this tradition get started?
I'll tell you.
I don't know.
But it's a Yankee tradition.
And because of our Yankee traditions,
every one of us knows who he is
and what George expects him to do.
Who, day and night, must scramble for a $20 million per year contract
Cheat on a wife and children
Say his daily denials about HGH use?
And who has the right to abandon the house
that Babe Ruth built?

The Steinbrenners
The Steinbrenners
Yankee Tradition
The Steinbrenners
The Steinbrenners
Yankee Tradition

Who must know the way to make a proper clubhouse
An unstable clubhouse
A Yankee clubhouse?
Who must write the lineup card and run the clubhouse
So the Steinbrenners are free to drink and piss money away?
The Girardi
The Girardi
Yankee Tradition
The Girardi
The Girardi
Yankee Tradition

At three Jeter started Yankee school
At ten he learned to pickup goyim
I hear he banged Mariah Carey
I hope
she's pretty

And who does Girardi teach
To whiff in clutch situations?
Preparing him to earn his contract
Even though he has no motivation?
The A-Rod
The A-Rod
Yankee Tradition
The Steinbrenners
Jeter
Girardi
The A-Rod
Yankee Tradition

And in the circle of 'da Bronx,
we've always had our special types.
For instance,
Burnett, the free-agent bust,
He reminds me of Pavano, the beggar.
And, most important of all,
our beloved Yogi.

Yogi, may I ask you a question?

Certainly, Hank.

Will we make it out of the first round of the playoffs?

Of course we'll choke! It's deja vu all over again!
It's Yankee Tradition!

h/t to Raji for making the joke that inspired this post.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Your Monday Morning Kickoff

Hanukkah commences with the greatest gift of all: dear sweet precious linkage from an internet behemoth. Cheers to the misbegotten madmen at MetsBlog for the shout out. (We're guessing that no one informed Matt Cerrone of what Rickey said about him in this article). Heh. Once Rickey scrapes the snow off his car he'll be back with a matzo ball soup recipe that'll knock your socks off. Stay warm folks.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Festivus Friday: The Airing of Grievances

We know, you're thinking "Oh come on, a Festivus post, really?" Yes, really. Rickey is happy to occasionally deliver the harmless middle of the road blog post that will delight both the Seinfeld fan demographic and your mom. So this year, we celebrate Festivus with The Airing of Grievances, a compilation of things that have irked, angered, and downright offended Rickey over the course of the year. (Think of this as the exact inverse of the Thanksgiving post Rickey ran a few weeks back). Rickey's got a lot of issues with these people, so take due notice thereof and govern yourself accordingly, because you may very well be one of them. The following folks have rankled Rickey's ire:

1) People who get a little too into this Facebook thing. Stop Rickey if this sounds familiar: "so-and-so sent you a SEA MONKEYS PARTY invitation! Mr. Quelquechose sent you a GARDEN VEGETABLES invitation! Something McSomethingson sent you a SCARY CLOWNS invitation! Ronald McDonald sent you a ICED TEA BRAND ICED TEA invitation! Smelly McNolife sent you a FAVORITE SHOES invitation!" Look, Rickey signed up for Facebook for one reason and one reason only: to spy on ex girlfriends get back in touch with high school buddies. Everything else is moot.

2) Drivers attempting to merge into traffic who stop suddenly at the end of the on ramp. Why on Earth would you suddenly stop? Why did you accelerate up the ramp then jam on the brakes? Don't you realize that Rickey's cool demeanor is at stake here?

3) Missing white girls. Stop getting kidnapped goddamnit. How many minority kids do you see getting snatched up? None! Those kids are street smart! (or CNN doesn't give a shit, either way). Seriously, how hard is it not to jump in the fifteen year old black van with "FREE CANDY!" spray painted on the side?

3) People who insist on informing you about obscure hole in the wall restaurants that you absolutely need to check out. Yeah, Rickey's sure that your favorite Thai restaurant on the other side of town run by those two kindly older men who always smile subserviently when you enter the door makes the best pad thai ever. Totally. Go away.

4) People who use the phrase "with all due respect." You think this is your own personal episode of Law & Order? You think you're Sam Waterson? Slag off.

5) People who install a toilet paper roll so that the tissue unwraps from the under side of the roll. Makes Rickey's hair stand on end, it does.

6) People who panic at the possibility of snowfall. What, are we in middle school again? Stop freaking out. It's precipitation. In frozen form. Deal with it.

7) Anyone who refers to any agency of national government as "the fed."

8) Dadaists. They're out there. Somewhere. Weeping and wallowing, or whatever it is that Dadaists do. Fuckers.

9) That weird guy at the gym who always sizes up Rickey when he takes his shirt off. Yes, Rickey wears a wife beater, what of it? It makes Rickey's muscles look bigger. Is there some sort of problem here that Rickey needs to be aware of?

10) People who ask you to carry something for them because their clothes lack pockets. How hard is it to purchase attire that has the ability to hold belongings? Why does the government even allow clothing to be manufactured that doesn't have pockets? Shouldn't that be some sort of safety requirement? When Rickey runs his own clothing company, he's going to make a pair of pants that is just one huge cargo pocket. It'll be like a huge sack that you put all your stuff in.

11) People who attend sporting events wearing jerseys of teams that aren't playing. Yeah, dirtbag, your neon green Matt Hassleback jersey looks absolutely awesome at the Panthers/Giants game. Well done schmohawk.

12) Anyone over the age of five who goes apeshit when they don't get the Christmas gift they wanted. Here's a fun Christmas gift for your sniveling self: you don't live in Darfur. Feel better now?

13) People who use the phrase "New York Minute." Why should the passage of time be different in Manhattan?

14) So called music aficionados who try to convince you that the new GnR album is actually pretty good if you listen to it in it's entirety. Sorry, no, it is most definitely not. Hey, Axl, did the new album really need EIGHT FUCKING BALLADS?!

15) People who make that "aaaaaaaah" sound after sipping coffee. So very irritating.

16) People who go to the movies on Christmas day. Hey Roy, the hilarious new Reese Witherspoon comedy can wait a few more days, trust us. Go sit by the fire and talk to your family. Did you know they've got stuff to say?

[posted at Humor Blogs]

On Spruces, Sickness, and Snoring

This year, the Hendersons, being exceedingly busy, are woefully behind the ball in respect to the holidays. The apartment has not been festooned with decorations, the mall has been shunned, the holiday cards have not been postmarked, and the fridge is pitifully devoid of soy milk egg nog. Up until recently, the Hendersons hadn't even purchased a Christmas tree, a glaring omission that was finally corrected last night by an evening jaunt to a nearby tree vendor. Call Rickey sappy (lame pun intended) but there's nothing quite like wandering down dimly lit needly green alleys of Balsam, Fraser, and Douglas fir trees on a brisk snowy night with the thick scent of pine needles in the air. At one point, some sort of maudlin jewelry television advertisement might have conceivably occurred, had the peaceful silence not been broken by Ms. Henderson's strenuous whooping coughs (the poor girl is sick as a dog). After a thorough and scientific inspection of the various offerings, the Hendersons settled on the Balsam fir, undoubtedly the most fragrant of all Christmas trees. Rickey values this splendid tree for it's snazzy dark green looks, it's long lasting needles and it's overall attractive proportional triangular form. We'll toss up a few images of the tree once Rickey affixes his customary bloody Jesus Christmas tree ornament on top of it.

Having finally gotten around to purchasing a tree, the Hendersons atoned for their seasonal lateness with a brilliant show of religious relativism by grabbing a bite to eat at the local Kosher deli. Rickey and Ms. Henderson parked the car out front with the tree tied to the roof and sheepishly walked inside with a look that seemed to hint "hey Jews, sorry about the Christmas tree!" Now, Rickey strongly believes in the restorative properties of matzo ball soup and suspected that a bit of Jewish penicillin would cure Ms. Henderson's sick carcass. Rickey, for one, cannot wait to celebrate Hanukkah this Sunday evening and the glorious matzo balls that will invariably come with it (yes, Rickey double dips on the holidays). And judging by her notable improvement this morning, Rickey was indeed correct in his prognosis for Ms. Henderson's ailments. Granted, she credits her recovery to the half gallon of Robitussin she chugged last night, but Rickey thinks otherwise. Either way, it beats putting up with another night of her phlegmy snoring, which has been downright horrific for the past three nights.

See, ever since she got sick, Ms. Henderson's snoring has ranged from a sort of bird whistling noise to the sound of boulders tumbling down a mountain. Sometimes there's a chainsaw in there too. Sometimes she makes a noise similar to what children make when they've just stopped crying: a sort of honk. And what of the rhythm? Best as Rickey can figure, Ms. Henderson's sick snoring is generally in 4/4 or 6/8 regular time, but the worst is when it turns arrhythmic and cacophonous, because Rickey can't even get lulled to sleep by it. And then sometimes it's just old-fashioned snoring, much like Popeye or Homer Simpson. Rickey will be incredibly relieved when the sickness passes and he can get a solid night's sleep once again.

That other sound you're hearing? That's the sound of a vengeful Ms. Henderson crossing items off her Christmas list for Rickey upon reading this post...

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Rickey's Twelve Commandments of Blogging

Sometimes, Rickey wonders: if he could travel back in time to when he first began blogging and chat with his younger and much less experienced self, what would Rickey tell himself? What sage pieces of blogging wisdom would Rickey attempt to impart upon his youthful and starry eyed iteration? And if Rickey were to travel back in time and confront his younger blogging self, would some sort of rift in time and space occur? Would Riding with Rickey suddenly disappear into the void and altogether cease to exist? Questions like this keep Rickey up at night.

Anyhow, what we’re getting at here is that Rickey has compiled a handy compendium of tips for the aspiring blogger (installments one and two of this series can be found here and here respectively). One day, we’ll probably run out of snarky advice to dole out. But today is not that day. Today, we indulge our propensity for meta-ness by blogging about blogging. Behold,

RICKEY’S TWELVE COMMANDMENTS OF BLOGGING (Moses only needed ten, but hey, he was merely starting a religion. This blogging thing is far more demanding).

1) Find Your Voice. Every decent blog has an identifiable one. Two years into this, we think we’ve got this voice nailed down pretty well: an artful blend of third person and editorial voices belying a seething river of interminable pathos and playful befuddlement. And you certainly can’t say that Rickey isn’t passionate about sticking to it—not until the fourth horseman of the apocalypse comes gallivanting by will you see Rickey speak in the first person.

2) Blog Like You Give a Damn. Be passionate, take a stance and challenge your readers to debate you on such weighty issues as meerkat husbandry and the equitable distribution of Swedish Fish within the commodity market. Moreover, get a little crazy about the whole blogging thing. The best bloggers out there tend to be more than a little obsessed about it.

3) It Takes a Village. We’ve mentioned the inherent value of blog networking in the past (in which you search for random blogs and challenge the site owner to a chainsaw duel if they do not visit your blog) but this time we’d like to take it a step further. Have you ever met someone who is particularly witty? Someone whose ideas intrigue you? Consider telling them something along the lines of “you, sir/madam, should blog!” because they absolutely should, and Jebus knows we need more decent blogs out there. It’s for the greater good, people. The greater good.

4) Go Easy on the Links. Not everyone requires incessant hyperlinking in your blog posts to direct them to what it is you’re discussing. Chances are, if your readers need to be routed to the Wikipedia page explaining photosynthesis, then the only reason they found your blog in the first place is by mashing their hands on the keyboard in an epileptic fit and having your blog inexplicably pop up on their screen. Stop Rickey if this paragraph seems frustratingly familiar:

“So I’m in Home Depot this weekend looking for a shovel to garden with. And then I notice a customer wearing a baseball cap seems a little “lost” (no, not the show, you dummy!) So I walk up to him and give him directions, just like the nice Indians did for the Pilgrims who were on their way from that stinky Euro Disney place but got lost at a Plymouth car dealership. And then I felt happy! Whew, blogging is tough work, I’m going to take a nap now!”

Congratulations internet wizard, you’ve churned out a wholly unnecessary and incomprehensible mess! A plethora of HTML refuse without any redeemable value (or as we like to call them, “Rickey’s Monday posts”). Strong work clogging up the internet! Hey kids, want to drive Rickey into a killing frenzy? Type something like that. Go ahead. See what happens. Rickey will be waiting for you in your garage later on in the evening. Next to the lawnmower.

5) Include an RSS feed. Oops, this one’s actually semi-legitimate. Our bad. No really, do this. It’s helpful for a lot of people.

6) Don’t Blog From Work. See that tiny little timestamp at the bottom of each of your posts? If you’re blogging on company time, that little imp is most definitely not your friend. In a time of widespread economic uncertainly, downsizing, and relentless layoffs, do you really want to be the moron waiting in line at the Unemployment Office who got shitcanned for blogging at work? And while we’re at it…

7) Don’t Alert Coworkers to the Existence of Your Blog. Because the absolute last thing you want your coworkers knowing is that you have any semblance of creativity or a sense of humor, warped as it may be. Friends and family are fine, however. (Bonus points if your blog is the primary way you keep in touch with them).

8) To Thine Own Self, Blog True. What Rickey’s getting at here is the whole integrity thing. A few weeks back, Rickey was approached by an online jewelry merchant who offered Rickey a complimentary wedding band in exchange for allowing their jewelry company’s ads to festoon RwR. And Rickey turned it down. Believe it or not, Rickey gets a lot of these sorts of offers and always ignores them down because Rickey isn’t a complete shill. Rickey blogs for fun, not for profit (is there a tax free designation one can get for that?) Also the wedding band that the jeweler was offering was composed of tungsten carbide, which if we’re not mistaken is only slightly more valuable than a piece of used aluminum foil wrapped around one’s finger. So thanks, but no thanks unscrupulous internet hucksters, because here Rickey stands, an upright man and blogger. Until a better offer comes in anyway.

9) Pick a Fight. Because all good comedy is born from conflict. So make with the ridiculing, people—pick a fight. Get randy. Rickey’s pretty sure that he attracted 95% of his readership to RwR by taunting them in the comments sections on their blogs. Besides, you know who people really respect and look up to? THE INTERNET TOUGH GUY. A man of self-proclaimed awesomeness, cloaked in internet anonymity. For example, did you know that Rickey is a mixed martial arts expert, is the reigning champion of the Tillbury Debate Society, and is devastatingly good looking? All true statements, and if you dare to argue with Rickey, he will proceed to show you your true place in the world, through a display of physical prowess and intellectual fireworks the likes of which your puny brain cannot possibly fathom. DO NOT DEBATE RICKEY ON THIS.

10) Don’t Become a Stats Addict. This one’s a toughie, and Rickey will freely admit he’s occasionally guilty of this sin. One day you’re a confident blogger, the next you’re obsessively analyzing over the sitemeter stats for your page like its FiveThiryEight.com. Was your precipitous drop in page hits in the month of July due to the summer vacation season or did your readers find your lengthy analysis on the topic of the three shells in "Demolition Man" to be unsavory? Trust us, questioning yourself like this makes for poor morale, avoid it at all costs.

11) Correct Grammatical Errors, No Matter How Minor. Zounds, has the author of the blog you’re reading omitted a crucial apostrophe? Have they left a gerund hanging? Or perhaps botched the use of the past perfect participle? Quick, reach for that MLA handbook, because that wayward fucker needs to know about this immediately! Every moment this woeful blog post goes uncorrected, the pillars of western civilization tumble and sway!

12) Buy a Lotto Ticket. Want to be famous? Get in line, because as best as Rickey can figure, most of this blogging thing is dependent on pure dumb luck. Either you get ridiculously lucky and Dave Eggers stumbles upon your blog, or he doesn’t. And if he does, you damned well better have something more entertaining for him to read than a tiresome story about your weekend jaunt to Home Depot. So no pressure or anything. Dave Eggers is counting on you.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Rickey's Monday Kickoff

A brief roundup of happenings and goings on to kick off your Monday morning...

On Sports: Ok, so maybe Rickey was completely wrong in his NFL prediction last week. But we still maintain that we’re a long way off from an all New York Superbowl: the Jets barely squeaked by yesterday against the Bills and the Giants didn’t perform nearly as poorly last night as the score would lead you to believe (at least that’s what Rickey’s telling himself damnit).

On Political Tomfoolery: Is anyone else a bit concerned about how alarmingly easy it is for someone to throw their shoes at the President? Rickey’s been taking off his shoes at the airport for seven years now, shouldn’t similar security measures be put in place before you put the leader of the free world in a room with a bunch of foreign reporters? Call us nuts, but this seems like the sort of thing the Secret Service should nail down before Obama takes office…

On the Charity of Others: Thanks to an ipod car adaptor, gifted to Rickey by a good buddy, Rickey now enjoys the modern technological luxury of listening to his ipod through his car stereo. Rickey can almost feel his brain growing larger as he drives to work listening to the NPR podcast of “Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me!”

On Shameless Blogging Linkage: Much to Rickey’s elation, we are brought word that Ms. Henderson is officially back on the blogging bandwagon. Marvel at her latest post, in which her engagement ring embarks upon thrilling adventures. (We’re assuming a LOTR ring related post is forthcoming).

On the Weekend Box Office: What's the saturation point for crappy disaster movies featuring Manhattan getting decimated? And why do midwesterners continue to flock to the cinema to watch them? Indeed, Rickey avoided "The Day The Earth Stood Still" this weekend and urges you to govern yourself accordingly.

On Dogs: Animal instincts rock. Cosmo, Rickey’s 80 pound Samoyed, managed to tree a raccoon yesterday and keep the damn thing up there for a half and hour, braying like a wolf and circling the tree until Rickey grew weary of the spectacle and dragged him inside. Laws of physics permitting, the beast would’ve climbed up the tree if given the chance.

On Seasonal Frivolity: This holiday season, Rickey has made a bold pact with his family: no gift giving. That’s right, a complete moratorium on hunting around in shopping malls for useless disposable crap that will just take up space. This of course gives Rickey an air of moral superiority as he tells others that this season he is rejecting the tenants of consumerist society. Grovel capitalist pig dogs, grovel!

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Rickey’s NFL Roundup

Chris, he of Angry Seafood, recently asked Rickey to write up a little article on the NFL. At first, Rickey objected, pleading overall ignorance on the subject of the gridiron. But then, when presented with incontrovertible proof that Rickey does possess a modicum of football wisdom, Rickey finally relented. So now that the playoff picture is becoming a bit clearer, we figured we’d take a look around the league at some of the movers and shakers whose athletic feats of strength warrant mention and/or ridicule.

New York Jets. Remember when the Jets beat the Titans three weeks ago and everyone went apeshit and all but conceded the Lamar Hunt Trophy to the Favre York Favreball Favres after that? Yeah, things have changed since then. So let’s cool it with the talk of a Subway Series Superbowl this season, shall we? We get the feeling that most Jets fans are watching their team’s performance with the same dulled sideline enthusiasm that consumers had when they watched the Blu-Ray/HD-DVD format wars rage on. The reasons for this are manifold:

1) They’ve only had two decent weeks all year (11 and 12—all other weeks they beat or were beaten by lousy teams).
2) The Madden curse still looms large over Brett Farve.
3) They’re the freaking Jets.

Rickey’s prediction for Gang Green: a heartbreaking collapse followed by the dawn of the Lovie Smith era in the Meadowlands. Has Rickey ever mentioned how profoundly relieved he is to be a Giants fan?

Pittsburgh Steelers. Frighteningly good. So good that even the local police are afraid of these guys—witness the recent police report complimenting Santonio Holmes on how gentlemanly and respectful he was after being pulled over for drug possession. Weed be damned, this guy's an outstanding fellow! On a side note, why is there not a trophy awarded at the end of each season for NFL players who manage to perform well despite being habitual pot smokers? If you're getting stoned in your spare time and are still able to evade a marauding 400 pound defensive tackle charging at you at 35 miles per hour, then you deserve a fucking medal of honor. When Rickey becomes commissioner, this gets enacted on Day 1.

Tennessee Titans. As Rickey’s dad is all too found of smarmily pointing out, we could be on the brink of watching two teams with the same name play each other in the Superbowl. (he’s speaking of a Titans/Giants matchup). Why he keeps making this corny joke is beyond us… apparently he thinks it makes him sound like Sophocles or something. Anyhow, the Titans have wrapped up the NFC south, a development that Rickey credits primarily to the distracting nature of their powder blue uniforms.

Denver Broncos. Does anyone give a flying fuck about the AFC West anymore? Not only does Rickey not care, Rickey actively does not care (rarely is Rickey proactive in his apathy). This division is so middling that Rickey is now aggressive in his not caring for it. But yeah, mazel tov to the Broncos for being king of the heap over there.

Detroit Lions. Sweet fancy moses, is there a more prescient example of systemic societal failure than the city of Detroit? That town’s in worse shape than Darfur! The auto industry is tanking, their NFL team is on the brink of a winless season, and their mayor plead guilty to obstruction of justice back in September. Why was Matt Millen fired again? Why not just give him more time and money, kind of like what Congress is doing with the automobile companies?

Baltimore Ravens. The Ravens look like the scariest team in the AFC right now. Would you want your team meeting them in the first round? We’ll rephrase that: would you want anyone on your team lining up against Ray Lewis? The guy makes Rickey want to hide behind his couch…

Arizona Cardinals. If the Cardinals clinching the NFC West isn’t a sign of the apocalypse, we just don’t know what is. Right now, Cards fans are potentially looking at the Cardinals first home playoff game since 1947. 1947! What exactly happens to Kurt Warner when he finally retires? Does he disappear into a cornfield? Does his body suddenly vaporize and get swept away by the wind much like the Army of the Dead at the end of “Return of the King”? Rickey wonders about these things.

Carolina Panthers. Is there more of a bandwagon town than the city of Charlotte? Rickey thinks not—Rickey despises this team with an undying passion. And yet we must pay tribute to their fiery Cajun QB, Jake Delhomme. One time while tuned into ESPN, Rickey heard Chris Berman refer to Delhomme as "Jake 'daylight come and you gotta' Delhomme" to the tune of the Banana Boat Song and Rickey damn near fell out of his chair.

Minnesota Vikings. Rickey knows relatively little about the Vikings. Sorry. But here’s an awesome article about Viking mice! And here’s a video of Viking kittens! (It’s Thursday and Rickey’s feeling punchy, so just go with it, ok?) Also, did you know that Chris Kluwe, punter for the Vikings, is an avid World of Warcraft player? At what point does Kluwe pull a Leroy Jenkins and just start botching his kicks intentionally? Ten points if you're now imagining a punter taking the field, suddenly screaming "Leeeeeeroy Jenkins!" and then turning around and kicking the ball back towards his own team's endzone.

Philadelphia Eagles. Egad, can someone please sit down with Donovan McNabb and explain the intricacies of overtime in the NFL to him? And do it soon goddamnit, because Rickey doesn’t want to live in a world where Rush Limbaugh was right about anything.

Dallas Cowboys. Ongoing Terrell Owens drama and a weak secondary do not a good team make. Also, we’re still not completely sold that Dallas QB Tony Romo has regained his sense of depth perception. Rickey is glad to see that the football equivalent of the NY Yankees continues its proud tradition of brash statements and impotent on field performance.

New York Giants. Alright, so maybe this Burress thing shook ‘em up a bit (who else but an NFL wide receiver goes to a nightclub wearing sweatpants with a gun tucked into the waistband?) Maybe losing the best wide receiver on the team has had somewhat of a detrimental impact. But this week is the real deal goddamnit. Can the Giants kick the cowboys out of the playoffs second straight year? Rickey’s thinking yes. Rickey’s overall prediction for the G-Men this year: a Colts/Giants Manningbowl. Located in Manningham. It’ll be Manningtastic.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Because You Can't Spell Victory Without a 'K' (well, not if you're Billy Wagner anyway)

Rickey isn’t much of a morning person, hence the “angry mole” appellation we mentioned yesterday that Ms. Henderson bestowed upon Rickey to best describe his AM demeanor when he rises from bed (or flatly refuses to, for that matter). So when a begrudgingly awake Rickey flipped on Sportscenter this morning and beheld canned footage of Francisco Rodriguez throwing the same toss from the mound over and over followed by some whooshing graphics and resident New York baseball expert Steve Philips blathering on ad nausem, it took a few seconds for the situation to register in Rickey’s mind. And then it did. The Mets had acquired themselves a new closer: this K-Rod fellow. Not a total shocker, we know, but it’s heartening that Omar Minaya is beginning to address the major issue that sank the Mets 2007 and 2008 postseason hopes: catastrophically blown saves. Plug the sizeable hole in left field, shore up the Oliver Perez situation, and weed out a few more undesirables in the bullpen, and you’ve got a team that Rickey will tune in to watch in 2009 …ah who are we kidding? Rickey would continue to watch even if it was a band of hobos wearing Mets uniforms kicking a can around the infield. At the end of the day, we're all just rooting for laundry.

And now, we are brought word that the Yanks, not wanting to be one upped, are only a hair’s breadth away from nabbing the pitching talents of one C.C. Sabathia. While we’re told that pinstripes can be quite slimming, we here at RwR are encouraging an extra bit of fitness for this exceedingly portly fellow. Rickey recommends that Sabathia gets a bit of exercise by pitching in and lending a hand to the demolition of old Yankee Stadium that Yankee ownership refuses to bear the financial burden of. How’s that for Steinbrennian hypocrisy? Touting the storied history of your legendary stadium then putting the fiscal onus on the City of New York to tear the damned thing down?

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Your Tuesday Triviality

Courtesy of Mr. Furious, Rickey has been tagged for a meme (hey buddy, Rickey’s got a meme for you: go fuck yourself). The meme is, as one would expect, trivial, time consuming, and a blessed excuse to avoid writing anything coherent today. So, naturally, we're totally doing it. Here we go:

1. Five names Rickey goes by: Rickey, Rickey’s real name (which for the sake of internet confidentiality shall go undivulged). Angry Mole, Fluffer, and Brother _______ (again, Rickey cherishes his internet anonymity. Long story short, Rickey is a Freemason, hence the Brother appellation before the name).

2. Three things Rickey is wearing right now: Factory reject socks purchased at Costco which go up to Rickey’s kneecaps, a look of grim determination, and an Omega Seamaster, circa 1950.

3. Two things Rickey wants very badly at the moment: A Playstation 3 and space in the apartment for more bookshelves.

4. Three people who will probably fill this out: Toasty Joe, Haley, and Adam. (make with the memerey!)

5. Two things Rickey did last night: Ate at BLT Steak (just an awesome steakhouse), and watched Heroes (which we’re pleased to report has now become moderately watchable)

6. Two things Rickey ate today: Just one so far, and it was more of a drink: Rickey’s morning fruit smoothie consisting of soy milk, 0% greek yogurt, a banana, strawberries, whey powder, and flax seeds (turn up your nose all you want, but it’s actually delicious).

7. Two people Rickey last talked to on the phone: Rickey’s mom and brother, calling to wish Rickey a happy birthday.

8. Two things Rickey is going to do tomorrow: Work, and gym for two hours (ever since Rickey discovered that Herc from “The Wire” works out at his gym, he’s become a total gym rat. One day, Rickey will muster the courage to ask Herc whatever became of the missing camera and if Cedric Daniels is still pissed about it).

9. Two longest car rides: Hamilton, NY to Washington D.C., 370 miles, and Tarrytown, NY to Irvington, VA, 372 miles. (Rickey, as a rule, avoids the long distance schleps)

10. Two of Rickey’s favorite beverages: Coffee, and the sweet sweet marrow of life (no, not that you twisted freak, Rickey was speaking metaphorically).

[posted at Humor Blogs]

On This Day in History...

December 8, 1776 On the advance of Earl Cornwallis, General Washington abandoned the city of Newark and retreated across the Delaware River from New Jersey to Pennsylvania during the American Revolution. While standing proudly on rowboat, Washington is overheard to have proclaimed to the Brits: “Ah fuck it, you people can keep Newark!”

December 8, 1854 The fabulous magical mystery tour kicked off as Pope Pius IX proclaimed the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. Ah you wacky Catholics, Rickey has never understood your theatrical little shtick. You people do understand that you’re pretty much worshipping Dracula, yes?

December 8, 1863 President Abraham Lincoln announced his plan for the Reconstruction of the South. Lincoln: justifying the Republican Party since 1864!

December 8, 1886 The American Federation of Labor was founded in Columbus, Ohio. Go Teamsters! Rickey salutes your continuing efforts to bleed the U.S. economy dry!

December 8, 1941 One day after Pearl Harbor Congress declares war on Japan and enters World War II. Ah yes, the simpler days: when the U.S. had the common sense to go to war against countries that actually attacked us…

December 8, 1949 The Chinese Nationalist goverment proved that they in fact actually were the issue here (man) as they moved from the Chinese mainland to Taiwan as the Communists pressed their attacks.

December 8, 1980 Rock musician John Lennon was shot to death outside his New York City apartment building by Mark David Chapman. To quote Judd Hirsch’s watershed performance in Independence Day: ”All you need is love. John Lennon. Smart man. Shot in the back, very sad.” On a related note, has there ever been a more overt display of Jewishness in a movie than Judd Hirsch’s role in ID4? It’s like the director calmly walked up to Hirsch and said, “Look, uh, Judd, great job and everything, but I need you to Jew it up some more.”

December 8, 1986 House Democrats selected Jim Wright to be the chamber's 48th speaker, who attempted to fill the sizeable shoes of one Thomas P. "Tip" O'Neill. Not for nothing, but that’s a pretty tough act to follow when your predecessor had used brilliant phrases like “an amiable dunce,” “a cheerleader for selfishness,” and ‘Herbert Hoover with a smile” to characterize Ronald Reagan.

December 8, 1987 President Ronald Reagan and Soviet leader Mikhail S. Gorbachev signed a treaty calling for destruction of intermediate-range nuclear missiles. One would assume that at this point, Reagan’s dwindling mental faculties instructed that he be far more concerned with the Jelly Bean gap that existed between us U.S. and Russia.

December 8, 1992 Americans tuned into watch live TV coverage of U.S. troops landing on the beaches of Somalia as Operation “Restore Hope” began. And judging by all these fearsome Somali pirates Rickey reads about in the paper, our little jaunt over there went well, didn’t it?

December 8, 1993 President Bill Clinton signed into law the North American Free Trade Agreement. Meanwhile, in some smoky filled board room, it suddenly dawns on Lou Dobbs that this NAFTA thing might be just be his meal ticket for offering up a steady diet of fear, anger, and resentment on the topic of illegal immigration.

December 8, 1995 The Grateful Dead announced they were breaking up after 30 years of making music. And if anyone can name just one Dead song that doesn’t appear on the Greatest Hits album, Rickey will be downright shocked.

December 8, 2000 The Florida Supreme Court ordered an immediate hand count of about 45,000 disputed presidential ballots. In retrospect, it would’ve seemed much less funny at the time had we not been aware of the systematic destruction of American wealth and prestige that was looming.

..and finally (jumping back a few years)…

December 8, 1979 Rickey is born.

That’s right folks, today is a magnanimous day. Today is Rickey’s birthday. Today Rickey turns the ripe old age of 29. Today, the clouds part, the birds chirp and the distance between the devil and the deep blue sea is widened just an extra bit. Well wishes, congratulations, and oaths of fealty should be left in the comments section below.

[Posted at Humor Blogs]

Crystal Ballin' It

Rickey’s job occasionally takes him into Manhattan, a venture which Rickey, being a suburbanite by trade, finds somewhat curious. It’s a fascinating thing to merge into the throng of commuters waiting for a train on a cold and windy platform, everyone crowded together in the physical sense, yet completely uninvested in each other emotionally. Sure, there’s somewhat of a grim “we’re all in this together goddamnit” feeling, but at the end of they day, all most people have to show for being commuters is a head of hair that clearly indicates that they’ve been shuffling through Manhattan’s long canyons on a windy day. So Rickey took a cue from everyone else, plugged his ipod buds into his ear canals and went into his own little world. And while navigating the NYC subway system and listening to an audiobook of some nasaly New Englander recite Stephen King’s “The Stand,” Rickey began to wonder. Rickey, inspired by King’s sweeping characterization of societal crumbling, wondered: what happens to a city like New York as the economic climes turn bitter?

As far as new infrastructure goes, Rickey suspects that one won’t see a lot of bustling construction sites anytime soon (not necessarily a bad thing if you’ve ever driven on the West Side Highway past Donald Trump’s hulking monstrosities). Public works programs will most likely come to a grinding halt as deficit plagued agencies slash overtime allowances, the lifeblood of any reputable civic project. Bonds won’t be floated to finance new major public works ventures, and its safe bet that developers won’t be building any new residential buildings any time soon. The sea of condominium towers that large parts of Manhattan have become will be the last great landmarks built for a while, standing as testaments to the real estate lunacy that got the nation into this financial mess in the first place.

And what of Manhattan’s inhabitants? Oh, they’ll cut back too. On everything: clothes, accessories, gadgets, whatever. Shiny new gizmos, shoes, and attaches will collect dust as New Yorkers opt to tough it out and stick with their tried and true stuff for a bit longer than usual. Overall, everything and everyone will simply stand still, and the only outward indicator that we’ll be in 2009 and not 2008 will be our calendars, as New York turns into a snow globe, frozen in time for the next few years. Granted, it’s not a very compelling vision (we know, you wanted to hear fantastic leaps of imagination about former bond traders tending fields of corn in the middle of a ruined Times Square) but it’s what went through Rickey’s head as he shuffled into Manhattan for the day.

And on that note, Rickey is sorely in need of a change in scenery, so he and Ms. Henderson are off to the Catskills for the weekend for some hiking, dining, and relaxation (in the mountains, there Rickey shall feel free!) The world is, as they say, a bit too much with Rickey these days and a quick weekend away may be precisely what the doctor ordered. Well, we hope anyway, because Rickey needs to be well rested for Monday, which is a rather important day on the Aztec calendar as well as here at RwR…

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Wait, You Did WHAT?

Those who bemoan the disappearance of the practice of storytelling will be glad to hear that the great oral tradition is in fact alive and well. Reports of its demise have been greatly exaggerated and Rickey was pleased to learn that it is thriving in the most likely of places: the Irish bar. Last night, Rickey was celebrating a friend’s 30th birthday at a local watering hole for leprechauns. (As a rule, Rickey cares not for yuppie bars, oozing that that pervasive feeling of “you, me, and the bourgeoisie”). Rickey can really get behind a venue like this: you meet tons of new people, you hear their stories, and you exchange business cards with the tacit understanding that you’ll most likely never hear from any of these people ever again. It’s enlightening yet wonderfully disposable, the social equivalent of a one night stand. In an era of ever expanding Facebook interconnectedness, where even one’s eighth grade math teacher is on their friends list, this is a very welcome thing. No thank you friend, Rickey doesn’t want to read your twitter updates, nor does Rickey feel like perusing your MySpace page. Rickey just wants to chat briefly with you, man to man, hear you tell a story, and then watch you go your merry way into the brisk night.

This brings us to the story itself. At some point in the conversation with this guy who Rickey bumped into, things shifted from business talk to the subject of deer, and what to do about them. (Deer are ridiculously overpopulated in Rickey’s neck of the woods and grow to be roughly the size of Volkswagens). Turns out the guy’s a hunter, but with bit of a twist. The man fashions himself as a true sportsman, and likes to keep the playing field level for the noble beast. So he starts off hunting deer with a Winchester Model 1894 .30-30 rifle (he tosses in details like these, thus making Rickey suspect that the story isn’t complete bullshit). Then he decides that’s entirely unsportsmanlike, so he downgrades to hunting deer with a bow and arrow. Then, he figures that this again gives him an overly unfair advantage over the deer, and downgrades to hunting them with a spear, a practice only legal in the great state of Alabama. Finally, the guy wanders completely off the reservation and decides to strip the whole practice of hunting down to its bare essence. So one day, he ventures into the woods and stalks, hunts, and kills a deer with his bare hands.

To accomplish this, the guy perched himself twenty feet up in a tree for the bulk of a day. A salt lick at the base of the tree. And he waits. And waits. Then we waits some more, perfectly still, poised to strike like some Viet Cong ambusher in the jungle. And finally, an unsuspecting deer comes along, and the guy leaps out of the tree and nails the landing perfectly, and bam, he’s on top of the deer. Now, he’s completely unarmed: no guns, no knives, no nothing. He has committed himself to grappling bare handed with a deer in the woods. The only things this man has for a weapon are his hands and his own fierce determination. Naturally, the deer is completely stunned by this batshit crazy lunatic landing on it, which gives our hunter time to loop his arm around the deer’s neck and squeeze. And so he does. He squeezes and he squeezes until the deer stops flailing and all movement ceases. Then he gets up, leaves the carcass exactly where it is, and walks the several miles back to where his truck is parked. End of story.

Now yes, Rickey will freely admit that this is horrific, barbaric, and twisted beyond any measure of words. Is killing a deer with your bare hands even legal? It can’t be, right? And for the record, Rickey could never bring himself to kill a living creature (so when you call PETA about this, please leave Rickey’s name out of it). And yet, in a certain primal sense, it’s pure. The guy wanted to hunt a deer and that’s what he did, devoid of any advantages or pretense. Rickey didn’t broach the subject of hunting wolves from helicopters, but it’s a safe bet that this fellow wouldn’t approve of the recreational practices of a certain governor from Alaska. The guy confided in Rickey that this was over a year ago and he hadn’t been back into the woods since. Rickey made a mental note never to go into the woods either, equally afraid of lunatics like this fellow and the pending deer uprising which Rickey imagines is now brewing as a result of all this.

[posted at Humor Blogs]

Rickey's Cooperstown Bound

Today is a big day here at RwR.  Today, we are informed that the Man of Steal himself, Rickey Henley Henderson, has finally landed on the ballot for Hall of Fame consideration in 2009. (Rickey would've already been enshrined about 10 years ago had he not muddled around on Class-A independent teams for so damned long).  And in honor of this day, we're tossing up the following link for your discriminating consideration:

The Definitive Rickey Henderson: The 25 Best Stories of "Rickey Being Rickey" (h/t to a buddy of Rickey's for tipping him off to this).

Although our favorite Rickey Henderson story is one we can guarantee that you've never heard before or will never read anywhere else.  A few years back, Raji, a good friend, was spending some time abroad in Japan and bumped into a befuddled Rickey Henderson trying to figure out how to navigate the Japanese subway system.  We believe that Rickey was playing for a minor league team named the Samurai bears at the time (Raji, correct us if we're wrong). Why was Rickey taking the subway? Damned if we know, but it's comforting to know he's somewhat of an average joe like the rest of us.  Anyhow, while riding the subway, Raji and Rickey spent a while chatting and it turns out that he's well aware of the whole third person thing being a total gag and isn't nearly as batshit crazy as the sports pages would make him out to be. (Well shit, good thing we've spent the last two years essentially impersonating a fallacy!) Raji, being the occasional fan of recreational marijuana use, thought it prudent to shift the conversation to the subject of drugs.  When asked how he was able to smuggle weed from the U.S. to Japan, Rickey said:

"Oh yeah, Rickey stuck it up his butt."

And on that note, this most likely concludes our last blog post before we're shut down for libel (which it totally isn't, but whatever). It's been a fun ride everybody. 

[posted at Humor Blogs]