Tuesday, April 13, 2021

The good news about remaining largely undiscovered and anonymous on the internet is that nobody comes banging down the door to "cancel" Rickey's irreverent little blog.  

Not one cease and desist was received during our nine year sabbatical! No angry tweets were lobbed at Rickey! Not even a strongly worded email from an offended party came our way.  So just what does one have to do to get scooped up in this exciting net of internet condemnation?  (Don't answer that one please, Rickey will have to find that out on his own).  Frankly, we're a little put out that Rickey's time in the sun hasn't yet come.  

But perhaps this is good thing because reading back over the posts at RwR nine years later, not much of it would survive a thorough scrubbing from the SJW contingency.  

Also worth flagging for those at home: this site is run by an extremely white dude pretending to be a black guy, so we're not too sure if the current socio political landscape can support what is essentially the Justin Trudeau of blogs.  Also, Rickey inexplicably likes using the word "swarthy" a lot in his posts.  Like, a lot.  We still don't know why this is but it's most likely offensive to somebody.  

But hey, just like nine years ago, we still don't have any advertisers to worry about scaring off so that's good...  

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Friday, April 9, 2021

Getting Back Into the Swing of Things....

Let’s see now, first post back in a little bit and what shall we talk about?

What do people on the internet like to read about? 


Think, think, think....

Ah yes, Rickey has it.

Internet denizens, meet the latest addition to the Henderson family, this is "Pebbles the Cat" (as if his cathood were in any question)

This photo above of him is current by the way; it is the month of April yet Pebbles demands the fireplace continue to heat the basement where he (and Rickey) primarily dwells. The other fun fact about Pebbles is that nobody has any clue whatsoever how old he is. You see, as one might assume, there is a bit of a story surrounding his adoption.  I will now relay this story to you.

The process of feline adoption in the Northeastern area of the United States isn't as straightforward as one might think.  In the early stages of the COVID lockdown, the Henderson family decided to add a cat to the family to boost crew morale (it was agreed upon that this was preferable to floggings).  The concept of adopting an adult cat appealed to everyone, searches were conducted on petfinder for felines in need of homes, a cat rescue group was located and contacted, references were provided, and a date was set to meet Pebbles.

Problem is, the rescue group that Rickey contacted was run by a stereotypical "crazy cat lady" living in a house with multiple cats who inexplicably refused to answer the phone or doorbell when Rickey showed up at the agreed upon date and time.  Rickey decided to drive around the neighborhood for a while then left her a VM reminding her "lady, I cannot adopt one of your numerous cats unless you actually open the door and talk to me."  Thirty minutes later, just as Rickey was  preparing to abandon all hope, the lady appeared, papers were signed, and Pebbles went home with the Hendersons.

The papers claimed that Pebbles was two years old.   A trip to the vet however revealed he's somewhere around ten years.  Rickey's youngest child asked "Daddy can't they just measure Pebbles to figure out his age?" similar to how arborists measure tree diameters to figure out how old they are.  Rickey still doesn't have a great answer for his kid as to why that wont work but, anyway, the bottom line is, nobody knows for sure how old this mystery cat is.  

What we do know is that he's definitely a cat.  And as a cat, he enjoys spending his days either sleeping:

 ...or staring intensely at us until he gets what he wants:

And being a doofus.  For a cat, he's surprisingly aloof, but this only adds to his charm we think.

More non-cat (and cat!) posts to follow. Rickey promises!

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Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Rickey's Vacation Coda

So true to recent form, Rickey completely neglected to keep his readers appraised of his Floridian Odyssey.  Perhaps it was because Rickey was busy banging his head on the wall due to being COMPLETELY UNABLE TO WITNESS the first no hitter in Mets history while away on vacation.  Oh bother.

In short, nothing happened in Florida.  Seafood was consumed regularly, drinks were poured liberally and sunscreen applied judiciously. Rickey Jr. enjoys the pool and is not allergic to shellfish.  You get the picture. 

Before we switch back into "zany angry blogger!" mode, one last thought on Rickey's 57 hour train ordeal (the final tally was 31 hrs down + 26 hours back)...

Travelling back, Rickey lunched with a late thirty something year old who was travelling with her 14 month old daughter.  The poor woman looked like she'd just fled Saigon.  See, aapparently her husband insisted she take the train back to New York while he flew back.  His logic?  Recent iintense solar flare activity might bombard the aircraft would harm his wife and 14 month old daughter.  And they were trying to have another kid.  Well OK then, two things... first off, that guy's got major balls.  And secondly: that's what it apparently takes to get someone to ride Amtrak??? The threat of horrific radiation dosage causing a miscarriage?  Rickey fully expects to see that in their next ad campaign. 

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Tuesday, May 29, 2012

So Florida is Very Flat

Its like the Gwyneth Paltrow of states.

We zoomed from Miami to Naples this morning along Alligator Alley in 2 hours flat. The steering wheel didn't turn once and the needle stayed at 75 mph.

(Apologies if you were expecting a repeat of the Costa Rican ordeal).

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Monday, May 28, 2012

Rickey's Florida Vacation Part I: The 32 Hour Rail Journey

Hi there, so Rickey is blogging again. Lets get right down to business. Its travelogue time. Look for frequent updates throughout the week.

We rejoin you as Rickey and family make their way to Florida via an Amtrak sleeper. You know, just a quick and easy 32 hour jaunt from NYC to Miami. Now not to dispel whatever romantic notions you might have had about this means of transport but its not exactly the Orient Express. This is Amtrak--a dull exhibit of government managed mediocrity. Having a private room helps things a bit, especially when Rickey Jr goes nuclear, (as a teething 11 month old is likely to do in a dark cramped foreign environment). Did we mention that the tickets were a gift?

A few pointers for those of you brave enough to book an Amtrak sleeper:

1. Avoid the "Chef Inspired Maryland Crab Cakes".  Look, we're not even sure what that phrase means. We're even less sure that what Rickey ate was safe. Much time has been spent in the rooms 2'x2' toilet/shower combination nightmare closet.

2. Don't talk to anyone.  Ever. It takes a special sort of person to decide that the hassle of a 3 hour airplane trip justifies sitting on the train for a day and a half and that "getting there is half the fun!" No schmuckface, it isn't and Rickey wont be discussing this with you even if you're buying him drinks. Which brings us to ....

3. Don't drink on the train! This mode of transport is shakey enough without a few cocktails in you.  Details are fuzzy concerning what transpired last night but Rickey definitely remembers falling down on a station platform somewhere in the Carolinas due to wobbly legs. (And an ungodly amount of bourbon).

4. Tip the attendant. Its kind of a given that you need to tip generously once youve been pretty much carried back to your room and ordered to stay there for the duration of the night. Apparently the Amtrak staff thought Rickey was going to make a run for it last night in a claustrophibic fit of anger. This may or may not have been true.

5. Don't heckle the German au pair traveling to Georgia about how their country builds 200 mph trains that constantly fly off the rails. You don't even know that to be true.

6. Try not to dwell on the hypocrisy of a family of Amish riding the Amtrak.

7. Try to think of ways you'll be making this ordeal up to your wife.

Its not all terrible though. Here, have some photos of Rickey Jr.

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Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Your Weekly Blogroulette: In Which Rickey Spins the Wheel of Internet Insipidity

Welcome back to Blogroulette. You know the rules by now, so let's get right to it. After Rickey’s first two clicks took him to blogs of parents fawning over their children, Rickey was extremely concerned he was going to have to re-name this column “Rickey Doesn't Give a Shit About Your Kids, Buddy.” But then we hit pay dirt. Behold: “Completely Random,” a blog written by a 24 year old ESPN employee, chronicles the life of a charming young lady coming to grips with issues of identity in Manhattan, as she invokes the proud literary tradition of Sylvia Plath and Gertrude Stein in her pursuit of…

….oh who the hell are we kidding. This blog is terrible. Just the most banal and uninteresting thing we’ve read in weeks. We're pretty sure this airheaded blog alone will set the feminist cause back a good decade or two. But on the plus side, it buries the needle on the unintentional comedy meter. Witness the scribe’s profound treatise penned on July 23, entitled “Always a Bridesmaid…” Poor grammar ahoy, people!

“So yesterday I was watching Sex & the City & it was that episode when Carrie & Aiden first start dating & she's not sure if she is just his friend or is his girlfriend.”

Strap in folks, this is going to be a brutal one. Why do women continuously ask themselves this question? Isn’t it fairly clear whether or not one is in a relationship? Does the guy actually have to loudly proclaim “WE ARE NOW ENTERING INTO A RELATIONSHIP” in order to alleviate your uncertainty?

“This kind of made me think about last week when I was at 519.”

What is that? A bar? Some sort of WWII code? Youth culture completely escapes Rickey.

“Alyssa said how I am always our friends' boyfriends' favorite. So why then, if all of these guys love me have I not found a boyfriend? I am in no way saying that I wish I had my friends' boyfriends, that is certainly not it.”

Heavens, certainly not, no! Rickey thanks you for clarifying that issue.

“What I am saying is that I am always the friend & never the girlfriend. Am I not girlfriend material? Is it because I am too much like a boy in that I love sports & beer?”

Er, no, Rickey's guessing that your third grade reading/writing skills have more to do with it.

“Probably not because Sam is like that too & she always has a boyfriend. Is it because I am too picky & overlook the good ones? Perhaps. Watching Carrie trying to figure out if Aiden was her boyfriend also reminded me of a number of relationships that I have had. In one, we would get along like great friends & make out frequently but when it came to an actual relationship, it never really came about. Another had been my best friend but when it came to us being more then that, it never worked out no matter how many times we tried. I'm having a similar puzzle now.”

You’re “having a similar puzzle now”? Rickey doesn’t think that means what you think it means.

“This guy used to be my best friend & then we lost touch & recently reconnected again. Now we talk everyday but it's hard to tell if it's more then just a friendship.”

OK, look, Rickey’s been out of the dating scene for the better part of a decade, but here’s what you need to ask yourself: are you spending time alone with this guy? Does he compliment you and stuff? Are you learning things about each other? Also, is insertion occurring? If the answer is ‘yes’ to at least two of these, then mazel tov, you’ve got yourself a bonafide relationship! Meet your beau next Wednesday for the official “RELATIONSHIP KICKOFF MEETING” in which you will exchange phone numbers, emotional baggage, and the “Keeping up with the Kardashians" Season 2 DVD box set!

But for a Yankee hater like Rickey, it doesn’t get any worse than her July 21st post, “Ladies Night Out!”

“So it's been a while but I'm coming back with a bang! You know that “Make a Wish” foundation? Well I’m not dying (knock on wood) but I got my wish granted last night!”

Well, in a metaphysical sense, we’re all dying, albeit very slowly. For example, a part of Rickey dies with each additional sentence he reads on your blog.

“I attended CC Sabathia’s 30th birthday party at the 40/40 club in NYC & partied with all the NY Yankees. Thanks to Sam Sank’s former company, I get invited to some pretty nice events but they generally fall on weekdays that I’m in CT so can’t go. I happened to be home this weekend & due to some bad luck which turned out to be great luck, I got to go to this exclusive event not opened to the public.”

Well congrats on hob nobbing with famous people. Rickey saw SNY’s Kevin Burkhardt at a Mets game this past weekend and loudly yelled his name! He totally turned around and scowled at Rickey! Mets Fever: Catch it!

“So we go up to the upstairs bar & Marcus Thames & I made eye contact & he must’ve thought I was someone else at first because he pointed at me & smiled & then walked across the room to come over to me & give me a kiss & hug hello. I think he then realized his mistake but was very cool nonetheless & we were like old pals. Once he started talking to Joba Chamberlain we decided to take a shot with them (Red Headed Sluts are Joba’s go-to, we have this in common.) So shots with Joba, old friends with Marcus & the night was only beginning. Got sandwiched between Alex & Joba while walking.”

Rickey believes this maneuver is referred to as “The Throgs Neck Pattycake

“Shook the hand of Reggie Jackson. Danced with Curtis Granderson (who is an amazing dancer!) Re-introduced myself to some current Yankees who were once upon a time Staten Island Yankees that I had to drive to & from the stadium when I interned there & they were both super duper nice. Francisco Cervelli was the one I was hoping would remember me & he at least pretended to & then the rest of the night would give me a wink & a smile every time he saw me. I wished CC a Happy Birthday & he gave me a big papa bear hug & said “Thank you & thank you for coming.” Happy to be there, CC.

We guarantee the Mets don’t do stuff like this. Angel Pagan just stays home every night and stares menacingly at a poster of Roy Oswalt.

Had a few convos with Phil Hughes. Shoved several girls out of the way to introduce myself to Robinson Cano & I got to see that big beautiful smile in person & it was aiming at me & then I got a kiss on the cheek & could’ve died a happy girl. David Robertson cleared the way to the bar so I could get there. Bumped into (literally) Brandon Jacobs of the NY Giants & feared for my life because he is so big.”

There’s probably some other subtext going on in that last sentence that Rickey would prefer not to delve into…

“I also played craps for a while & I won somebody $21,000 which I still am not sure if I was playing with real money or not. It was all-in-all AMAZINGG & I am pretty much the coolest person alive.”

Indeed you are, and that irrefutable reputation is cemented by this gem of a blog post about your wayward turtle, entitled “Texas Willie.”

“I have been told by a number of people that I should write a book.”

These people who tell you this, they’re homeless and deranged, correct? You really shouldn't listen to those guys.

”I have a few ideas & I am definitely going to get serious about it at some point, but I'm pretty sure this past weekend has stepped up my game a bit. I have 2 very separate ideas & one is a children's book. The title? "The Adventures of Texas Willie: Big Excitement Based on the True Stories of a Little Turtle."

Please tell Rickey that’s just a working title and that you didn’t spend a sleepless night agonizing over it…

This past weekend, the turtle wrote his own story: "Texas Willie's Great Escape". On Saturday morning I woke up & my turtle was not in his tank. Since he had been living in this tank for quite some time, I thought it was physically impossible for him to get out. So I looked around the apartment & couldn't find him but I knew he had to be somewhere around so I didn't really worry too much. I put food around & figured he would be sitting by one of them when I woke up. He was not.

Rickey believes that in great literature, this plot device is known as THE REVERSAL. High drama indeed!

"Day 2 was a bit of a different story. This is when I turned crazy. I came up with several theories about what happened to him."

So let Rickey get this straight: there’s a reptile loose somewhere in your apartment and you’re coming up with conspiracy theories about the situation like it’s the goddamn JFK assassination? How about actually looking for the turtle?

“My main theory was this: I lock my door out of habit when I come home. Friday I was cooking & the smoke alarm went off so I shut it off. I got in the shower & after I got out, a little while later I noticed the door was unlocked. I didn't think much of it. That was until my turtle went missing for 2 days. The theory developed into somebody coming into my apartment while I was in the shower & stealing my turtle out of his tank. They took nothing else, only Texas Willie. I knew it sounded ridiculous at the time, but I rationalized it enough in my head that it was a credible idea to me. My mother was no better because she agreed with me that this could be true instead of telling me I was a reTard.”

No words… should’ve sent… a poet…

“If you thought Day 2 sounded bad, you ain't seen nothing yet. I awoke Day 3 & before even brushing my teeth, I searched. Then I watched 90210 & called my landlord.”

Indeed, in dark times like this, Rickey also finds himself wondering, what would Brian Austin Green do?

“I proceeded to tell her my theory that someone broke in & stole my turtle & she appeased my insanity by telling me she would have someone change my locks. I took out the paper to start making "Missing Turtle" posters but decided I would give 1 more good look around for the 10 zillionth time first. I flipped over my couch again & decided I should slice open the bottom to see if he was somehow inside the couch. As I was about to do this, I heard a bumping kind of noise. So I checked out the kitchen again but to no avail & figured it was something across the hall. As I was slicing & dicing open my couch, I heard it again. It sounded as if it was coming from inside my refrigerator so I opened it up & looked in the bottom drawer. It was at that point that I saw a space underneath the fridge that I hadn't noticed before. So I got out my flashlight & shined it underneath & TADA!!!! There was his little turtle shell lodged underneath the fridge all the way towards the back. How he got himself back there, I will never know. I didn't know if he would still be alive so I poked him with a curtain rod & I saw his leg move! I cried I was so happy. Then I had to introduce myself to my neighbor by asking him if he could help me, because my turtle was stuck under the refrigerator. So he & his wife came & helped pick up the fridge & we got him out. So Texas Willie is now back in his tank safe & sound & I have returned to being a sane human being (or as much as is possible for me.) I also have Chapter 4 of my children's book all ready to go.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the 2010 Caldecott Medal for excellence in children’s writing goes to…

Finally, the author tosses up a timeless post on the weighty issue of female identity and sports allegiance. Readers, we close out this edition of Blogroulette with: R-E-S-P-E-C-T . Quothe the scribe:

“Here's what I love most about being an ESPN employee: I am finally taken seriously as a real sports fan.”

It took the better part of an hour before Rickey could stop convulsing with laughter and continue reading the post. For giggles, let’s play “Invent an Equally Incongruous Statement”!

-Here's what I love most about being a BP employee: I am finally taken seriously as a real environmentalist.

-Here’s what I love most about being a Klingon: I am finally taken seriously as a calm and cool-headed individual.

-Here's what I love most about being a member of the 1825 Decembrist Uprising: I am finally taken seriously as a supporter of Tsar Nicholas I.

But Rickey digresses… moving on…

“This may sound odd because anyone who knows me knows that's what I am all about. I'm a diehard but yet before, there were still those non-believers who were ALWAYS men. Why is it that when a guy says he loves sports, other guys simply believe him?”

Wait, we do? We just walk around professing our enjoyment of sports to strange men? Rickey can’t remember the last time he bumped into a random guy and blurted out “I enjoy professional sporting events!” and was then informed by the other guy “As do! Our covenant is complete!”

“I have met plenty a man who just says that so he sounds like a man, but when you really get down to it he has no idea what's going on. When I would tell people that I am a huge sports fan, they would have to test me. In general, I'd pass their tests but they wouldn't pass mine.”

Let Rickey guess, they asked you who plays shortstop for the Yanks, and you asked them where he’s getting married in November… Hard hitting stuff! Pop quiz: do you know who played shortstop before him?

“There was also a time that I was with another gal friend of mine who is also a very big sports fan. There was a guy that actually said the phrase, "I love it when girls pretend like they know about sports". He was lucky we just got up & left, rather then throwing drinks in his face or much worse. Are people really that archaic?”

Yes! They’re, like, totally archaic! Just like those ancient Greeks! OMGWTFBBQ!

“I'm not saying that every guy is like that. I have plenty of gentlemen friends who totally get how much I love sports & they absolutely respect it. Loving sports is part of who I am, which is why my new job is perfect. I'm no Buster Olney "Baseball Analyst" but just the title of working at ESPN has certainly brought me several levels up in the minds of those non-believers.”

Aw, but analysis isn’t that hard, even if you're not Buster Olney... Here, Rickey will give you an example. A-Rod has been stuck on 499 hits for quite some time now. Ergo, A-Rod proves once again that he is terrible under pressure. Presto, award-winning baseball analysis! Now you try!

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Thursday, July 29, 2010

Fun with Horticulture!

You’re looking at sampling of nature’s bounty, freshly harvested from Rickey’s garden. A veritable cornucopia of organic goodness. The size of the eggplant and cucumber are fairly staggering. Unnerving even. Has Rickey mentioned that his house is within ten miles of a nuclear power plant? Sure, there’s a risk of “The China Syndrome” going down in Rickey’s backyard, but would you look at that magnificent bastard of an eggplant! Totally worth it.
You’re probably wondering what’s the deal with that black junk on Rickey’s roma tomatoes. We researched it and apparently they’ve contracted a vicious plant eating disease known as BLIGHT (which we’re pretty certain is the same affliction currently plaguing Rickey’s level 52 dark-elf in World of Warcraft). No cure is known for THE BLIGHT, so it looks like the tomatoes this season are a lost cause. Such is the dilemna of the organic gardner--you forsake the wonders of Dow Chemical knowing full well that something like this can happen.

While the woodchuck continues to devour Rickey’s crops unabated, we’ve come to somewhat accept the situation. Rickey’s approach to the matter mellowed out a bit once he learned that introducing a honey badger into the backyard was not a viable possibility. Life goes on, we suppose. The woodchuck takes what he needs to feed his family and leaves the rest for Rickey. It’s the very definition of a community garden.

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Monday, July 26, 2010

Dog Day Afternoon in the Bronx: In Which Rickey Ventures Into the Bowels of Hell

Hey kids, what do you do when your baseball team of favor vehemently shits the bed? You hop a train down to your cross-town rivals’ stadium and root against them like your very sanity depends on it (because in actuality, it does). And that is precisely what Rickey did this past weekend. Like a pilgrim venturing into an unholy land, Rickey made plans with a friend to attend his first Yankees game in their snazzy new stadium.

Hearing that the Kansas City Royals were the opposing team, Rickey quickly procured himself a KC baseball cap and deeply immersed himself in Royals knowledge the night before the game. For a team that we weren’t aware was still officially recognized by MLB up until a few nights ago, the Royals certainly have some interesting things going for them. For example, did you know that Brian Bannister is not only alive and well, but actually occupying a starting pitching role for KC? No really, it’s true! Or that Wilson Betemit’s last name is in fact pronounced “Bay-tah-mee”? Crazy!

But probably the most striking thing about the Royals is how astonishingly bad a baseball team they are. Their heyday seems to have been in the 1980's when they were led by George Brett, a terrifying ogre of a man occupying third base who appears to have achieved Paul Bunyan like status amongst the Kansas City fan base. Things have deteriorated greatly for the Royals since then. In 2007 their team motto was “True. Blue. Tradition.” which inspired them to a 69-93 record. 2008 saw marked improvement as they changed their slogan to “New. Blue. Tradition.” and surged forward to a 75-87 record, marking the first time in five years they Royals didn’t finish last in their division. And then they finished dead last again in 2009. The 2010 season looks to be a turbulent one as KC has replaced their manager with baseball prodigy Ned Yost, whose previous credentials include the roles of obscure backup catcher on assorted 1980’s teams and part time taxidermist in Mississippi. Needless to say, much lamentation is transpiring in the Royals blogosphere.

And it was into this pit of despair that Rickey happily stepped as he headed off to the Bronx!
Yankee Stadium’s exterior fa├žade is predictably grandiose. Walking in, one isn’t sure whether to expect to witness a baseball game or Yogi Berra locked in gladiatorial combat with a tiger.

And look, they even have a flutist to march you in! Apparently he’s there each and every game. Ladies, and gentlemen, the pied piper of the Bronx!
One of the more amusing sights was the fan tribute to recently deceased Yankee public address announcer Bob Sheppard, the so called “Voice of the Yankees” (the Mouth of Sauron, if you will). Here's his memorial!What a delightfully shitty memorial! When Rickey croaks, he totally wants to be commemorated like this: some soiled clothes strewn about, a bunch of dime store candles, and a few half empty bottles of beer. All that's missing from this picture is a forlorn three legged dog wandering around in the background. Shit, we think there may even be a few half eaten chicken wings in there. A true testament to the proud Yankees tradition!

After entering the stadium and enjoying two delicious Philly cheesesteaks grilled to perfection courtesy of Carl’s, Rickey and his buddy found their seats, and took in the view. It is begrudgingly impressive. The national anthem was played, and an image of the U.S. flag appeared on the Yanks’ jumbo screen with, we kid you not, the text “The Star Spangled Banner, as written by Francis Scott Key” above it. Well who the fuck else would’ve written it? Is there some Jethro Tull version of the song that we’re all totally unaware of? Mind numbing redundancy aside, the game finally commenced.

And then the effects of the midday heat sunk in. First off, you need to understand that it was 97 degrees and unbearably humid that day and that Rickey’s seats were in DIRECT sunlight. It might not seem hot in these pictures, but trust us, it was bad.

Enduring the Yankees’ unbearably loud PA system is bad enough, but when you’ve to put up with it in addition to Ra the ever living sun-god shining his magnifying glass of unrelenting vengeance upon you, things get a bit dicey. 75 SPF sun screen might as well have been Crisco. Unscrupulous vendors sold pocket fans for $20 a pop. Sweat poured from parts of people’s bodies in a manner previously deemed impossible by most medical professionals. Ice suddenly became currency. People were slumped against the stadium rotunda walls like the New Orleans Superdome circa August, 2005. And that’s precisely why, sometime during the third inning, Rickey thought it would be a good idea to power through his nagging case of heat exhaustion with a few beers. Smart, right?

Hell, Rickey was in hell. You probably can’t make it out in this image, but Rickey’s arm is like a freaking slip and slide. That grey damp mass to the left--that’s Rickey’s buddy’s shirt soaked in back sweat. Good news ladies: he's single!

The good news was that Rickey was not alone in his Royals pride. On the train ride down to the stadium, Rickey had proudly worn his KC hat and had been asked “are you really a Royals fan?” by more than one onlooker. Why yes friend, Rickey’s been a lifelong Royals fan ever since he discovered they still existed last night! But at the game, Rickey found other Royals fans just like him! People to engage with in highly informed commentary such as “this team sure is scrappy!” and “now that’s ROYALS BASEBALL!” Bottom line, this was a highly enjoyable game for a Yankee hater. The Yanks were undone by poor pitching and the Royals played small ball and capitalized. Here’s the final score Rickey savored while exiting the stadium: For Rickey, there is absolutely nothing more enjoyable than 50,000 disappointed Yanks fans walking dejectedly toward the parking lot. Look at the sad sea of tormented humanity on display in photo, it's like a Hieronymus Bosch painting! Shuffle home fools, YOUR TEARS SUSTAIN RICKEY. We have little else other than that to offer in the way of a recap. We do, however, have a video that Rickey shot of Alex Rodriguez at the plate. When a professional baseball player who commissions a portrait of himself depicted as a centaur is only one homer shy of his 600th career home run, Rickey figures it’s worth recording. And so we did. Behold, stunning video footage of the esteemed Alex Rodriguez NOT hitting his 600th home run!
The dude squawking "sitdownsitdownsitdownsitdown" is Rickey’s buddy. Funny how Yanks fans suddenly transform into Emily Post when they're at a ball game. The guy who jeers “NOT QUITE!” when Rodriguez blandly pops out? We will give you three guesses who that was… Eat a dick, A-ROD. Eat a big bag of dicks.

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Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Introducing the New Thing That We Do Now (and will promptly forget to do ever again): BLOGROULETTE!

A kindred blogger introduced Rickey to the concept of the “next blog” button on the top of the website and recommended he click it. Apparently by doing so, you’re taken to a blog with similar interests as yours. Click a few more times and you’re taken further down the rabbit hole of randomness. It’s good wholesome fun that provides Rickey the opportunity to do what makes the internet such a special place: ridicule others. So we’re totally making a recurring practice out of this. The concept is similar to Chatroulette, but featuring even more self-aggrandizing pathos! The rules to this game are simple, you click on the “next blog” button thrice, see what comes up, and steep yourself in the awful blandness of it all. We kick off our inaugural installment with…
At first, we thought that with a name like this, the blog would written by bank robbers from East Baltimore cataloging their hilarious yet socioeconomically tragic hiijinks, but sadly we were wrong. So very wrong.

It’s a blog about two kids playing baseball (the sports element is what linked Rickey’s site to this one). For bonus internet awkwardness, the blog is written entirely by the DARRINGTON BOYZ’ proud mother and discussing their exploits on and off the baseball field. We’re pretty sure that the milk in Rickey’s coffee curdled while he was perusing this blog. Thank god Rickey’s exploits are a constant source of disappointment and embarrassment for his mother, otherwise he’d probably have to put up with a website very similar to this one…. But enough exposition, here’s what the bright future of America looks like! There are words to describe this photo. Rickey, however, is at a complete loss for them. You can practically see the one on the right just working things out in his head--figuring out the best place to open up a quiet little hotel with some nice stuffed animals on the walls and maybe moving his mom in there to live with him. Oh, and we’re pretty certain that the one on the left is Cthulhu hiding in corporeal form.

The best part is that the mother is completely oblivious to the bottomless pits of terrifying nothingness dwelling in the eyes of her sons. Naturally, in the face of such alarming vapidity, she’s turned to Jesus. For those sorely in need of a deeply motivational quote to put up next to your “hang in there kitty!” poster, you’ll find the following pearls of wisdom on the blog:

Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

Well that’s all very touching and whatnot, but Rickey’s would prefer to file his own tax return next year rather than entrust it to the J-Man if that's copacetic with you, honey. It’s a little unsettling how much overt religiosity you’ll find on these family blogs. Rickey’s buddy similarly lamented that his site always leads directly to a never ending supply of Mormon blogs, (presumably because like most other Jews, he uses the phrase "Jesus Christ" a heckuva lot). But Rickey digresses... There are yet more inspirational quotes from Mater Darrington to guide you through your hectic modern life!

Work as if it was your first day.
Forgive as soon as possible.
Love without boundaries.
Laugh without control and never stop smiling.

First off, if Rickey “worked as if it was his first day” he’d be queued up on a breadline by now. After seven years on the job, you think Rickey’s superiors would respond well to him suddenly asking where the bathroom was and what kind of 401K plan they offered? And “laugh without control”? Isn’t that what the Joker did to the fair citizens of Gotham? People died from that shit, lady. Not cool.

But then Rickey saw a blog post entitled “First Snow and Cougar Hunting” we got much more excited. What sort of lurid mischief could the Darrington Boyz be getting up to, we wondered?

Ah crap, she meant "cougar hunting" literally. Well that’s just not right at all. Apparently that whole “love without boundaries” thing stops short at large mountain cats whose natural habitats encroach upon the Darlington Boyz’ hunting grounds. We guess Rickey missed the section in the new testament in which Woodland Hunter Jesus lectures his apostles (his BOYZ, if you will) on the merits of snuffing out majestic felines for recreational fun. It’s probably hidden somewhere in the back.

You know what, we’d love to see the Darrington Boyz go toe to toe with a more challenging critter. Rickey recommends THE HONEY BADGER, probably the most fearsome land mammal ever to roam the earth. Take a gander at nature’s version of Winnie the Pooh on crack cocaine:

[h/t to “Badass of the Week." for making Rickey aware of this relentless beast. The video is all Rickey's doing--enjoy it before Jay-Z shuts us down]

Honey badger don’t give a fuck. Honey badger will mess your shit up. Honey badger is all teeth, fur, and balls. Ain't no love in the heart of the jungle, baby. Now THAT’S your motivational quote of the day.

Anyhow, we’d go on to post more about this blog , but it’s pretty much an amalgam of religious poems, insipid birthday parties at P.F. Changs, and the Boyz standing over various carcasses of recently slain wildlife. As for their baseball careers, it’s pretty much a lock that you’ll be seeing them on the Colorado Rockies in the not too distant future. Tune in next week to see what fresh hell Rickey stumbles upon in Blogroulette!

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Monday, July 19, 2010

Hyperbole Ahoy! Rickey Reviews "Inception"

"Inception" is at once the best movie you'll see all summer, yet the most flawed as well. The movie boasts a wildly imaginative concept that's executed to near perfection from a storytelling point of view. However, the visual tableau in which the plot moves forward falls flat in a few places. The movie's ideas are intensely cerebral, but it lacks much of the necessary presentation to compliment it. At the very least however, this is a thought provoking and fast moving flick that is definitely guaranteed to kick your brain into overdrive for two and half hours. If "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" can claim the same, we'd be more than a little shocked.

The basic overarching plot is deceptively simple: it's a heist movie. Leonardo DiCaprio and a gang of thieves dive into the mind of a powerful industrialist in order to dissolve his energy company and thereby better the welfare of his competitors and humanity as a whole (hey, why can't we do this with BP?) But the way Leo accomplishes it and the manner in which it is explained and performed cinematically is what catapults this movie on to another level entirely. The movie unfolds on a level that we, as moviegoers, haven't had the pleasure of experiencing until now.

In order to pull off the heist, DiCaprio's character Cobb recruits various specialists and then plunges head first into the dream. The underlying science behind is left intentionally unexplained, which is OK with us--this is more of a fantasy movie than a sci-fi one. Cobb's plan is to plant the suggestion to dissolve his empire in the billionaire's head by plummeting into three consecutively deeper planes of his dream state and using the target's deep rooted father issues as leverage. Things go wrong when the team arrives in the dream to discover that the target has prepared for this mental invasion by "militarizing his subconscious" (best. line. ever.) and then the rest of the flick becomes a frantic scramble spanning around multiple layers of consciousness, some scenes constrained by gravity, some not. "We have to go deep" is a common refrain throughout the film, as Cobb's tenuous grip on reality grows shakier the deeper he travels.

Three nested levels of dreaming, unfold simultaneously at different paces, with characters running around about on each level. Each level's time progresses at a different speed. Absolutely nothing like this has been put on film before. Watching it all intricately unfold, crumble, and finally synchronize up again, we can't help but assume that Nolan played his fair share of three-dimensional chess in his younger days. The heist is absolutely brilliant, it occupies two thirds of the film, and the idea alone is well worth the $10 ticket price for this movie. Words simply can't do justice to the complexity that unfolds before your eyes. The movie is a testament to what cinema can convey.

The big problem is the visual execution. The gritty urban realism that director Chris Nolan perfected in his Batman movies doesn't serve him as well in a surreal movie about dreams. More than anything else, this is a movie about big crazy ideas, and either you're willing to forego normal cinematic conventions in order to get your brain tickled for two and a half hours or you're not. Rickey was cool with it, but some of you might not be. Don't get Rickey wrong, this is a terrific movie--easily the best of the summer, but it could've been even better if it took a bit more of an artistic leap.

At one point, Rickey said to himself, "hey, this is a dream, so why don't they just grow wings and fly around?" Sure, it sounds silly at first, but think about it. We're in the dream world here, so why not venture into the realm of the fantastic? When we dream, can't most of us do a little better than dreary Chicago in the rain? Isn't there more most of us could dream up than characters chasing each other around a dimly lit hotel? To it's credit, the movie pays scattered homage to other great dreamers such as Escher and Kubrick in many shots but when it comes to the third level of the mark's subconscious, a wintry snow scene, Nolan completely dodges the obvious shout out: Hitchcock and Salvador Dali's collaboration on the ski run scene in "Spellbound." Instead, we are bombarded with a James Bond style shoot out featuring fireballs and snowmobiles. Not quite as profound...

The obvious explanation for this restrained (and arguably unimaginative) take on dreams is that asking the audience to delve even deeper into the realm of the imaginary when they're already tracking three concurrent dreamlines is pretty demanding. Warner Brothers didn't spend $200 million to completely alienate their viewership and create more of an art house flick than a summer tent pole movie. We get that. Still, Rickey was ready to make the leap with them on this one and was left wanting when the visuals didn't match the trippy ideas the film traffics in.

But these are minor issues given the overall wonderment and awe this movie provides. And then there's the film's ending, which will probably go down in history as one of the most polarizing to date. "Inception" is very much a movie that asks you to make a decision about what you've just seen. Rickey's leaving this review purposfully light on spoilers, but for people who saw it, we'd love to discuss what you thought of the film's final shot in the comments section.

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Friday, July 16, 2010

Probably the most comedically rewarding thing Rickey's ever done was create a faux email address and toss it up on this blog for random passers by to send him messages. And woo boy, do those messages deliver. They're an electronic smorgasbord of human confusion, angst, and gleeful perversity. Frankly, we're amazed to think that so many people think the actual Rickey Henderson not only had the wherewithal to kick start a blog, but then proceeded to use the word "loquacious" in five separate occasions in 2009.

As you'd suspect, Rickey gets a lot of requests to sign autographs, tell tall tales, and make speaking appearances at local Elks lodges. But far more entertaining are the profoundly unsettling emails. You know, the good and pervy kind. Why thank you kind sir, but Rickey being, a bit of a prude, is entirely unfamiliar with your notion of performing a "rusty trombone" on a "grizzly" and must therefore decline your kind invitation to rendezvous in the parking lot of the local Red Lobster this weekend. A good morrow to you, sir!

And finally, there are the emails threatening severe legal action. We like those the best. They make this whole blogging thing seem dangerous, kind of like zipping up one's fly too quickly! Rickey's living on the edge!

See, a while back, Rickey was scanning Fark.com and noticed a delightful post about a Red Sox scout being accused of indecent exposure. So Rickey crafted a delightful bit of satire about it involving Chris Hansen and some high stakes baseball trivia. Before posting it, Rickey sent it to his brother for his input, whose two word rapid response was "too far." So we knew we totally had to post it. And we did.

Flash forward two years. Rickey gets this mass email sent to him as well as a few other noted media outlets now informing everyone that the alleged sex offender has been cleared of all charges and that they damned well better take down the posts saying otherwise. It's not every day that your email address shows up next to the names of the editors from Pravda and the Boston Herald. So we're making the most of the experience.

Since the humorless prick who sent the email (presumably Jesse Levis, the alleged offender himself) seems hellbent on shutting down anyone who ever used his name and the phrase "sixteen year old girls" together in a single sentence, we're sad to report that this is your last chance to enjoy the blog post before we delete it forever. This Monday morning, Rickey will cast this delightful abomination into the ether. Wiped clean from the face of the earth as if it never existed. Casting aside a piece of writing like this.... It's as if Rickey's losing a piece of himself... Daisy, daisy... give me your answer do....

Ahem, anyway, this weekend, we give this post the proud viking funeral it deserves. Farewell brave little blog post. If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun in your face, do not be troubled! For you are in Elysium, and you are already dead! Enjoy, folks. Because hyperlinks befuddle some of you, here's the full-fledged link:

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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

This is where Rickey posts recommendations of noteworthy consumables, practices, and pastimes that have been deemed invaluable for the reader’s betterment. All products and pieces of advice listed herein have been Rickey tested and approved. Again, this is in no way shape or form a complete rip off of McSweeney’s (fa-la-la-la-la, lawyers, Rickey can’t hear you). Enjoy our latest installment of....


Bombadil. Come now, a quirky indie band named after a minor Tolkien character? How could we not recommend this? For those pressed for time, two of their better songs are “Matthew” and “Honeymoon,” and pretty much anything off their third album “A Buzz, A Buzz” is pure gold.

Getting your adult ADD under control.
We don’t know about you, but modern technology is wreaking havoc on Rickey’s ability to function as a normal member of society. The smart phone, multiple email accounts, rss feeds, DVR schedule, Netflix queue, and online video gaming have taken a bit of a toll on Rickey's mental state over the years. But most alarming is what technology has done to Rickey’s porn viewing habits. Multiple tabbed browsing is the main culprit here. One window is never enough. No, Rickey needs sixteen Google Chrome windows simultaneously streaming the complete Sasha Grey oeuvre on his iMac like it’s like the goddamn control screen at CENTCOM. Yeah, that can’t be good… WHY HAS TECHNOLOGY RENDERED RICKEY SO UNABLE TO FOCUS IN THIS CRITICAL MATTER?!

“The Passage” by Justin Cronin. Hey, here’s a nifty change: an extremely well written piece of pop fiction about vampires! This first installment in an epic trilogy kicks off with mankind unwittingly unleashing a virus upon the population which turns anyone infected into crazy snarling vampires (although the book goes to great pains not to use the V-word, that’s pretty much what they are). Then, like in all great literature, the vampire apocalypse occurs. That’s the first 100 pages. Think of this book as an amalgam of Cormack McCarthy’s “The Road” and King’s “The Stand” and you’re on the right track. Extremely well written and entertaining, the book is a delight to read. We’re told that movie rights have already been snatched up by Ridley Scott. As you know, vampire stuff is insufferably popular right now, so if you’re dying to be trendy like all the other cool kids, but don’t want to rot your brain by reading Stephenie Meyer, this is definitely the way to go.

Kale Chips. Ever obsessed with maintaining regular bowel movements, Rickey is a big proponent of the dark leafy greens. Enter stage right: KALE. Despite being one of the most nutritious vegetables on the planet, kale also has the dubious distinction of tasting like broiled donkey grundle. Bummer, right? Here’s how to turn the tables back in your favor:

-Wash & dry kale leaves and lay them on a baking sheet
-Lightly brush leaves with oil of your choosing (vegetable or olive)
-Sprinkle sparingly with salt
-Bake kale for 10 minutes on each side at 350 degrees

Fairly easy no? The results are most excellent. Crispy and tasty like a potato chip yet healthy like a high colonic! And with this dish comes the assurance that your next bowel movement will be a wholly enjoyable one. One wipe and Rickey’s finished! Hey, look gang, here’s a picture:“Louie” on FX. Where in the blue blazes did this guy come from? From Rickey's id, that's where. Much like “Seinfeld,” his new show is a mix of standup and scripted comedy, yet delightfully profane. We assure you, this is a sure lock for your best new comedy of the season.

Arming yourself against the gathering Woodchuck menace. Rickey finally spotted him the other day. The little furry bastard that is devouring his garden. Last week he actually took one bite from three of Rickey’s eggplants. Taking a bite out of one wasn’t enough, no, that fuck needed to go from one eggplant to the next, chomping down then walking away, as if to say “nah, this large ripe black vegetable definitely isn’t for me, but I’m going to make goddamn certain that YOU don’t get to enjoy it!” And that’s why Rickey has become militant. There’s a BB gun in his parents’ house that will make short work of this foul beast. A soda can duct taped to the end of the barrel should do a decent job of suppressing the muzzle report and not alarming the neighbors. This is happening. We’ll toss up an image of Rickey standing over the vanquished beast in the coming days.

Not getting too nutty crunchy. While Rickey may proclaim to be eco-friendly with his organic garden and compost pile, there’s a point where everyone must draw the line. For Rickey, that point was when he was offered a book about picking and preserving produce, entitled “Putting Things Away.” They might as well have called it “Canning Your Dignity for the Winter!” Sure, we suppose that Rickey could spend hours sterilizing jars, concocting the proper solution, and pickling his cucumbers only to offer them to his guests a few weeks later and hear them say “hey, this tastes just like a Vlassic…” and revel in the awkward knowledge that Rickey just spent 140 man-hours replicating something readily available for $3.68. We’re sorry, but that’s time better spent on loftier pursuits. Like romancing oneself to a NORAD screen of Jenna Haze!

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George Steinbrenner:
1930 – It’s About Goddamned Time

You can tell a lot about the life a man lived by those who come forward to eulogize him. In the past 12 hours, Rickey has born witness to Bobby Knight, Donald Trump, Rudy Giuliani, Jerry Jones, and other self-proclaimed pillars of STRENGTH and CAPITALISM sing the praise of the late Yankees owner. If possible, Nixon himself would've scurried out from under the woodshack to laud this man for those thoughtful campaign donations. Politics aside, the fact of the matter is that the imprint George Steinbrenner left on baseball has forever changed the game for the worse.

Steinbrenner’s defenders argue that his relentless acquisition of superstar players didn’t violate MLB’s free agency regulations and we should therefore just clamor down, because, hey, he’s allowed to do it. Well guess what? It also doesn’t say that you can’t grab 57 pieces of spicy yellowtail when you’re at the sushi buffet, but that still doesn’t make it an OK thing to do. Where’s the regard for the greater good? Now look what happens: Rickey’s stuck eating those disgusting salmon & cream cheese pieces of sushi because that’s all that’s left. Seriously: who puts cream cheese in sushi? What the fuck? (In this analogy, the salmon cream cheese sushi represents Oliver Perez).

Leveraging free agency for all it’s worth has cheapened baseball and undermined the balance of the game. Those who would proudly defend an unrepentant asshole like Steinbrenner’s right to act like an unrepentant asshole are also themselves… wait for it… Yep! Unrepentant assholes! They’re the same sort of people who cry foul when Con Ed remotely regulates air conditioners in times of peak energy demand because dwindling wattage be damned, Benny in the Bronx needs his basement masturbatorium humming at 57 degrees year round! They’re the people who demand the right to carry guns into places of worship for no ostensible reason other than they kind of liked that shoot out scene in the church in that John Woo movie with doves flying everywhere.

In short, we’re a greedy and belligerent country and for Rickey, George Steinbrenner is the embodiment of a lot of that ugliness. He won’t be missed.

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Wednesday, May 12, 2010

And Now for Your Weekly Half-Assed Political Analysis...

Apparently over the weekend, President Obama nominated someone for supreme Court Justice who looks an awful lot like Nathan Lane. (Because we don’t know a whole lot about Elena Kagan’s beliefs or agenda yet, we’re resorting to playing the “_____ looks like _____!” game). Kagan’s Nathan Lane similarity excites Rickey if for no other reason than the increased possibility of next week’s Senate hearings inexplicably erupting into Broadway show tunes.

“And Senators, if I may address the issue of gay rights by saying...”

I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity...
Any girl who isn't me tonight!

Fa la la laaaa la la la laaa!

Good times. But there’s still someone else whom Elana Kagan bears an even uncannier resemblance to. It took us a while to figure out, but then with the help of a delightfully irreverent law blog, Rickey finally placed it…. The nameless albino from “The Princess Bride!”


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Tuesday, May 11, 2010

This Week, in Zombie News

Rickey gets a little queasy when publishing companies start taking their cues from internet memes. What’s the latest hot trend in the fringe literary world? Zombies! More specifically, the zombification of cherished properties. While we do not debate the contributions that a novel such as “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” makes to society and we’re certainly a little curious about “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter,” we can’t help but wonder what the point in all this is. And that takes us to the latest installment in the zombie book craze: ZOMBIE BEATLES (the actual title is “Paul is Undead”).

Rickey’s going to venture a wild guess that the estates of John Lennon and George Harrison might have a thing or two to say about a novel featuring their rotting corpses ambling about. Paul probably heard the news and went back to strumming a mandolin and whistling. Ringo’s just happy anybody remembered to include him in the book. Not that Rickey is a big Beatle maniac or anything (their proto boy band was essentially a zombie operation of sorts) but still, this venture seems to be in fantastically bad taste.

So Rickey, no stranger to bad fantastically taste himself, will hop in the fray with a few zombie novel pitches of his own:

ZOMBIE SALIERI! 185 years since his passing, the oft overlooked musician’s reanimated corpse rises from the grave seeking much needed critical validation! Hungry for redemption, Zombie Salieri attempts to mimic the musical stylings of Ke$ha only to be met with lukewarm reception. Following a Z100 interview gone horrifically awry, Zombie Salieri is soon forgotten and suffers the indignity of playing second fiddle to the likes of La Roux and Timbaland! When will Zombie Salieri get the critical acclaim he so sorely desires???

ZOMBIE WINNIE THE POOH! When a global honey shortage strikes, the determined bear puts down the sweet stuff, roars “OH BOTHER!” and turns to brains for nourishment! You’ll look at this cherished children’s property in a whole new light when you read of Winnie playing “Poohsticks” with Piglet’s dismembered arms!

ZOMBIE BILL O’REILLY! Forsaking the terror of socialized healthcare, the famed television pundit neglects to schedule a prostate cancer screening and perishes shortly thereafter! Several months later, following a clandestine graveside summoning conducted by Anne Coulter, Michelle Bachmann, and Laura Ingraham, a vengeful ZOMBIE O’REILLY bursts free from the ground and slowly shuffles after the pinheads who have wronged him over the course of his corpulent former life! Lookout libs, ZOMBIE O’REILLY stalks the earth!

ZOMBIE ERNEST HEMINGWAY! It’s a farewell to arms indeed as the wrathful writer escapes his earthy confines and takes up residence in Key West, Florida to conclude his unfinished book! The bell tolls for any who dare approach the undead Hemingway and his army of zombie cats!

ZOMBIE WEREWOLVES! Thought you’d dealt with that werewolf problem in your basement? Think again, they’re back—as zombies! They’re the ultimate double threat! (Well, actually not really, since they’re zombies now and move pretty slowly and can’t catch you. But they do smell pretty bad so you’re probably going to want to go ahead and call Animal Control to take them away).

ZOMBIE MILLARD FILLMORE! Territorial neutrality, be damned! There can be no "great compromise" when the rotting corpse of President Millard Fillmore is on the prowl for brains! When there’s no more room in Hell, the Whigs shall walk the earth!

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Friday, May 7, 2010

Cheers & Jeers: The Weekender Edition

In this thrilling new column, Rickey shall award “cheers” to those exemplary parties deserving laudable mention, and “jeers” to those despicable individuals who have garnered his unfettered scorn. It’s a helluva lot like the weekly Daily Kos 'Cheers & Jeers' column, but minus the shallow and pedantic political diatribes. Enjoy our inaugural edition.

Update: oh hey, look! Rickey's sneering caused the loquacious libs at Daily Kos to actually feature this post! Awww, shucks Billy, Rickey thanks you from THE MODERATELY DECENT STATE OF NEW YORK!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled post:

Cheers to… John Favreau for filming "Iron Man 2," the most enjoyable superhero flick Rickey has seen to date. And don’t worry, as much as he wants to, Rickey promises he won't reach for a tenuous political allegory in this installment in the Iron Man franchise like he did last time. Free of all the burdens of the formulaic origin story that the first Iron Man movie was mired down in, this flick is a rollicking good time. As you may have heard, the plot isn’t all that great, but the brilliant dialogue and acting make up for it and the action scenes are mercifully sparse yet actually discernible. The film kicks off with our cocky prick of a superhero Tony Stark plummeting out of a whizzing plane in full red and gold metallic regalia, doing a bit of snazzy midair maneuvering, and landing prominently in the rejuvenated 1965 Queens World’s Fair grounds with a thunderous metal CLANG to a massive applauding crowd. Amazingly enough, the movie goes exponentially uphill from there. (Although Rickey would’ve loved to see Iron Man overshoot his landing zone and accidentally land in Citi Field to lukewarm applause and grumbles of “well, he can’t possibly be any worse than Oliver Perez” from sullen Mets fans). The people at the helm of this flick really nailed the tone of the Iron Man property. One day they're going to run out of raucous AC\DC songs to loop over the film's soundtrack. Happily, that day is far, far away. Rickey strongly urges you to go forth and enjoy Iron Man 2 this weekend in a heavily packed theater. Take the missus. It'll be serious fun.

Jeers to… 2K Sports for finding new and unique ways to rub it in to Mets fans. 2K Sports, publisher of a popular baseball video game franchise, offered a $1,000,000 prize to the gamer who could throw a perfect game in their new title MLB 2K10. And sure enough, somebody pulled it off and claimed the prize. The pitcher they used to win was Kenshin Kawakami. The team he pitched against? Ladies and gentlemen… your 2010 New York Mets!!!

Cheers to... Homeless people. Given the stock market's performance this week, Rickey is starting to suspect that you fellows are really ahead of the curve here. Rickey himself looks forward to his days as a homeless person and really making a good run of it. Why not have some fun with the experience? If Rickey was homeless, he'd breathe some life into this honored pastime by going into jewelery stores, picking out the most expensive necklaces, then reaching for his wallet only to loudly exclaim: "oh wait, I forgot, I'm fucking homless! Goddammit!" Rickey would also panhandle to pay for admission to museums so he could hop over the velvet rope and eat a famous painting such as a Monet. Rickey would totally scarf down that Water Lillies painting. He'd be the most expensive homeless person in the world!

Jeers to... Lawrence Taylor. Seriously, what the hell, dude? But hey, on the bright side, at least Rickey doesn't need to search as hard to get your signature on a football. He can just look up your name and address on a sex offender registry!

Cheers to… The good folks at BP Energy for making Rickey rich beyond measure. Now we all know that what’s happening in the Gulf Coast right now is a complete catastrophe, but that doesn’t mean somebody shouldn’t profit from it, right? That somebody is Rickey. You see, Rickey estimates that by the end of next week, the price of gulf coast shrimp will rival that of Bolivian nose candy. Rickey’s brilliant plan is to purchase up 10 metric tons of frozen shrimp from Costco tonight at discount prices and store it in a massive freezer in his basement and wait patiently. When the time is right and the public hungers for affordable shrimp, Rickey will spring into action and sell discount shrimp out of the back of his Saab 9-3 off the New Jersey Turnpike. Rickey’s gonna be rich, he tells you, rich!

Jeers to... The entire state of Massachusetts for continuing their proud tradition of wondrous incompetency. Rickey and Mrs. Henderson were in the greater Boston area last weekend when news flashes emerged that a major water main had ruptured nearby, leaving 2 million residents with no potable drinking water. (Why is it that wherever the Hendersons go, catastrophe follows them?) You know your weekend getaway has gone terribly awry when you witness Massholes in camouflage shorts and Red Sox hats lining up outside the local Kmart at 7AM to purchase cases of Poland Spring bottled water like the zombie apocalypse is upon them. The reason the Hendersons were up in the Boston was for a baptism for a friend’s newborn child. Were Rickey and Mrs. Henderson cracking jokes during the ceremony about the quality of the water the priest was dunking the kid in? Oh, you betcha.

Cheers to… Mothers everywhere. You gals are doing a heckuva job. Just stellar work all around. On this Mother’s Day weekend, Rickey just wanted you to know that.

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Friday, April 30, 2010

Yeah, So Let's Try This YouTube Thing Again...

To kick off the big Mets/Phillies series this weekend, Rickey has crafted something special for you: our very own Kraken-Mets video meme. And don't worry, we're pretty certain that it's the first of its kind. If Rickey needs to explain the humor behind THIS one to you, then we're sorry, but you're officially on your own. Enjoy:

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Thursday, April 29, 2010

In Which Rickey Attempts to go Viral and Exposes Himself to Multiple Lawsuits

We give this post a shelf life of roughly 45 minutes before SNY, MLB, Paramount Pictures, the Raymond Scott Quintet, and anyone with a decent sense of humor shut it down for good. But until then, enjoy the frivolity! Below is a YouTube video that Rickey spent countless hours crafting. Because what do you do when everyone who reads your blog tells you that you should write a book? You stop writing your blog altogether and commence work on shitty YouTube videos! Brilliant!

Here's the premise behind the video (which becomes less humorous with each passing sentence Rickey devotes to explaining it): every Mets game, there is a "Play of the Game" which SNY announces. A while back, Rickey's buddy Adam, no stranger to viral videos, said something along the lines of "hey, what if we worked causality into this? What if we made a spoof of the "Play of the Game" called the "Causal Play of the Game?" Rickey loved the idea. You splice together a video beginning with a dinosaur stomping on a prehistoric fern leaf. Cut to the cliche video montage flash forwarding a few million years. Bam, there's Carlos Beltran getting caught looking to end the Mets 2007 season! Bingo, your Causal Moment of the Game!

Sounds nice, right? Yeah, well, below is that conversation taken to it's tragic and bewildering conclusion. We're sorry. So very sorry. Rest assured that the assets are now in place and the next installment will be better.

"I like Ike," get it? Ike Davis? Hello? Anyone? ...Bueller? Ahhhh, you're all humorless philistines. Pardon Rickey while he goes back to enjoying his first place Mets.

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Sunday, April 11, 2010

Adventures in Homeownership: In Which a Harmless Piece of Wall Art Goes Horrifically Awry

Rickey enjoys decorating his new home. So much so that Rickey went so far as to find a local area map of his neighborhood, order a print of it online, and commission it framed to be framed and mounted on on a wall. A stylish frame was selected, the proper matte color was picked, and Rickey was content in the knowledge that this would make a great addition to the house. Rickey is nothing if not stylistically inclined. Behold:
And under normal circumstances, the story would have ended right here. But not today. Take a good look at the above picture.

But look carefully at the image. No, closer. Closer.
See it? Woo boy. No, your eyes do not deceive you. It looks exactly what you think it looks like. Man-cock. After all that effort picking out the map, framing it, and mounting it, Rickey suddenly realized that he had hung a gigantic 48" x 34" print of a male dong on his living room wall.

How did this chain of events come to pass? We're not entirely sure. But over $800 dollars later, that's what Rickey is stuck with: a textbook anatomy picture of the male reproductive organ front and center in Rickey's new house. Oh, joy. This will make for interesting conversation at the housewarming party.

You know what Rickey blames this on the breakdown of? SOCIETY.

First off, there was the cartographer circa 1819, sitting pretty in his aerial balloon, who went totally off the reservation and decided to sketch a map in the exact likeness of his own privates. Then, there was Rickey's realtor, who completely neglected to inform the Hendersons that they were purchasing a house in an area that geographically personifies a dude's penis. And finally, there was the guy at the framing store, who in good conscience, should have said something along the lines of "whoa there buddy, you're about to drop a shitload of money framing a massive print of a man's genitals." But he didn't.
And so every one of these safety nets failed Rickey, and now here he is, stuck with an enormous picture of a dude's dong on his wall. Well, fuck. At least Rickey didn't splurge on the UV resistant museum glass option for $400 more. Still, Rickey is stuck with a piece of wall art that looks like it came fresh from the Phallic Picture Emporium.

Where exactly is Rickey's house located on the map? Best as Rickey can figure, it's swimming around somewhere in the descending testicle. For comedic purposes alone, Rickey still hung the damn thing up on the wall.

Rickey is yours to mock in the comments section below.

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