Does Torre have an open seat on the bench left?

Bye-bye Willie, it's been fun. Actually, wait, no it hasn't. It hasn't been fun AT ALL.

You Go, Sarko!

France is finally moving in the right direction, being the American-Zionist-Papal-Martian Conspiracy. Quite a realignment for Old European powers.

Threats and Ultimatums

Amid a surge of apocalyptic threats against Israel by some of our favorite figurehead supervillains, Bohemigrant Blog shall be commandeered by the Ministry of Propaganda to resume ad hominem attacks against all offending parties. We're the Leni Riefenstahl of the YouTube generation. You've been warned.

The Juice Is Loose

Every cat has nine lives, and OJ must think he's a cat. Instead, he's just a burnt-out, pathetic killer whose post-acquittal innocence charade has made a mockery out of justice, the memory of his murdered wife, and his children. With Attn. JC rotting away in hell, it's up to the Juice to generate persuasive "If the ski mask don't fit..." rhymes. Good luck with all that, OJ.

Shana Tova, Motherfuckers

This a-russian's a gone-a fishin!

You must mean, "Worst of the Lunatic"?

Seeing as how I introduced myself in a discussion section a few weeks earlier as a graduate of "some school in upstate NY," it's quite clear that I am more than willing to dissociate myself from my white trash Ivy past. And if I couldn't care less about the school itself, then surely I'd have even less love for the one activity to which I dedicated any appreciable time, the campus "humor" rag--the only connection to which I maintain is my own middle-school picture which has served as a default avatar for many stalking-only social networking profiles.

So of course yesterday, in my weekly convo with my parents, I found out that I'd received a package from said humor rag's founder, a man best known for writing books about how to use shaving cream to clean your patio. Apparently a "Best Of" collection has been in the works, and a half-dozen items which I wrote or co-wrote were selected to appear. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or horrified by this, but then I realized that my "pieces" were actually sent as part of the package and that my parents had perused them. If I thought some family gatherings were awkward before, imagine what they would be like with my parents knowing what Duke Nobbins is. Maybe I should have just written about ping bombs and that dude in Cascadilla who always were shorts.

Eh, Nyet, Peg?

That's right, it has happened. Russian further assimilates American culture by adapting the seminal 1990s sitcom Married With Children. Can't wait to watch him squaring off with Russian Marcy, attending NYETM'AM meetings, and denying Russian Peg sex and affection. The question is, does Russian Al even have a septic tank to flush?

(Hat tip: Duke Bloggins)

Fratboy Disses Swissboy

Andy Roddick says what we're all thinking. Roger Federer is a bot. A finely tuned bot who destroys Roddick and all other pretenders to the throne. Watching him is like watching a robot play. It's a different experience than marveling at Jordan's airwalking domination, Barry Sanders' silky smooth evasiveness, or Tiger Woods' record-shattering swing. A pretty-boy robot with a tennis racquet, who just happens to endorse Nike and shred his opponents with Teutonic efficiency. He may be hard to root for, but so was the T-1000, and you just had to admire his skill and finesse.

Craving Complexity

Now there is scientific data to explain why Bush can't help being an idiot and Gore can't resist his natural penchant for complexity and ambiguity. It's the neurons, stupid.

Happy Sunday

Foot-Tutzed

Thanks, Senator Craig, for ruining it for the rest of us. Oh, to be in the innocent days of yore, when tapping your foot gingerly on the bathroom floor indicated nothing more than your gushing zest for life--and for the dance. Sometimes I tap because I've got cause it feels good...sometimes I tap to get the bowels movin'...sometimes I tap cause I've got a charlie-horse. And now, I tap no more.