Hey You!: Stop Reading this Garbage!

Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you the reader of this tripe. The last few posts have been inspired by that insipid urge to share feelings and imagery from the great poets and the lowly, bilge pumping, lunatic inside of me.
No more! I say, like Stewie Griffin would say, “”By all means, turn me into a child star. Perhaps I can move to Californ-i-ay and wrangle me a three-way with the Olsen twins!” Wouldn’t that be… awkward!!!!
I’ve gotten off track again…Damn you! (Not the GD or the MF or the SOB type, just you’re regular old Damn. Damn.)

But I digress…oh, fiddle sticks!
The purpose of this blog, if ever one can actually relate a purpose persay, is to talk baseball, try not to go insane in the process, and relate a Jim Carey Pet Detective era like persona via a blog.
It has been a miserable failure much in the vein of Bruce Willis’s recent career choices. ENOUGH with Die Hard!!! We get it! You are one bad ass mofo! Just couldn’t keep Demi Moore around!

Speaking of bad Hollywood, Holly Hunter. Hello? You’re not cute anymore! The southern twang went out with Vogueing and shall not return. You’re not Kyra Sedgwick – Kevin Bacon’s better 6th degree of seperation, Will Smith’s attempt at serious acting, partner – and not a real closer.
Don’t you hate when they see a show, and it’s good and everyone is watching and they say, “why don’t we find another actor that looks the same and just plug her into a script that has ultimately a connection to some higher purpose.”
Ding! Ding! Holly Hunter time to resurrect your career. And we have just the part. Saving Grace! Like saving a career! Please! I feel like I’m on the deck of the QE 2 barfing up some $200 per ounce fish eyes whilst El Captain is calling out, “Hard a starboard and full astern!” hoping the Titanic will avoid that fucking iceberg.

It takes talent and talent is what Stewie has….My alter ego, in technicolor.

Put me in a show, like “PI Stewie” where Mike Spillane’s Mike Hammer brutality meets a dosage of Elmore Leonard lyrical lines, with Sydney Sheldon’s Other Side of Midnight thrown in for good measure.
Hell, I’ll kill them!
When it’s all said and done, and pilgrim, I’d say we are about there, the baseball game is at the heart of it.
“The one constant through all the years has been baseball,” James Earl Jones whose stuttering was cured by being an actor of all things, put it right in Field of Dreams. A field of dreams that reality has to believe can come true.
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