I read today that Damian Jackson was cut by the Dodgers. For some reason, whoever wrote that felt compelled to add that DJ was pretty ripshit about the whole deal and threw some shit around and essentially said, "Fuck baseball."
Man, I really liked DJ in '03. He sort of reminded me of a Kewpie doll with his enormous eyes and kissy little mouth. Although you don't see too many Kewpie dolls with full-sleeve tattoos. And I remember how busted up he was after smashing into Damon in Oakland during that crazy-ass ALDS. "I love all my teammates," he'd said woozily. Went right out after conking his coconut and finished the game, though he probably shouldn't've. And then I read that this spring he jumped on Varitek's back when he first saw him. Great guy.
Let's face it: guys are getting cut left and right at this point and I'm sure many, many of those jockos get all huffy-puffy about it. They might even punch a wall or two. But you never read about that. So I ask you, AP writer: Was it something personal? Were you reaching for something to print? Was Jackson a career-long tool who deserved to be exposed? You really didn't need to do that, son.
PS I just ate like a half a box of Kix. It is criminal how good they are, especially late at night.
Do you ever play "battle of the planets" with individual Kixes? Actually, a better description would be "worlds collide." One always wins. It's never a tie.
No. I never do that. I can't even imagine how one would play.
It's easy. You take one Kick in each hand. Slowly bring them together like two planets whose orbits have taken them on a horrifying collision course. Watch as one penetrates into the other, destroying it. Note that on the winning planet, there will be much loss of life on the side which makes initial contact with the other, but, hey, that's the price they pay for their planet remaining intact.
I've never had milk in my cereal, so I know this may be tough for some people, but maybe you milkies could just take some dry ones off the top of the pile.
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