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3/23/2004

I'm eating peanuts (salted) out of the shell for breakfast.

Simple pleasures, like the ocean,
help to keep us all in motion.
Just like the waves below the gulls
We all have crests, we all have lulls.
But simple pleasures, like peanuts,
Christmas trees and girls' butts,
Home Alone, parts one and two
and the deep Pacific blue
will make you flip from a standstill, sure.
'Cause simple pleasures are the cure.

Yizzy, dorks, what's been going on in your respective lives then, eh? Dammit, not all at once! Respective, respective.
I had a good weekend.
R. Throaty was feeling better but playing a little sick.
This meant I got to play the doctor and prescribe her some ...
poetry time over, dorks.
I played basketball with this kid on Sunday? What kid? I don't know, just some 11 year-old kid that wanted to play basketball at R. Yankee's softball practice (and by the way, she's good. I saw her whipping them softballs around all better than the other girls and I got excited. I got me a star athlete for a girl, I'm going to be the most popular kid at school!)
Back to the kid, the Jordan to my Bird.
At first, I let him win a game of HORSE.
"Aw, shucks, you got me. I guess I didn't bring my A game today."
Then he wanted to play one on one. I just met this kid and from his shooting techniques during HORSE and the fact that he's 4 feet tall I was guessing that he couldn't be TOO much better of a basketball player than me. This,of course, meant I gladly welcomed a one-on-one game.
And goddammit, the little duthafluffer started doing all of this Nike commercial around the back Harlem Globetrotter hug the line shit. Dammit! And if I got too close to him he started screaming "foul".
I was trying to teach him about the neccessity of the hook shot and he was throwing the basketball at my butt so he could drive the rebound home.
And I couldn't contest his Harlem butttrotting antics. Like I'm going to get into a verbal argument with an 11 year old in a public park.
OK, so maybe I said a couple of times "Bullshit, that was out!" but other than that we played "Dominic-ball"
"You talked, your point doesn't count."
"I can throw the ball at your ass but you can't throw it at my feet, I hurt my leg."
"Mumble, jumble, Racky-too. You can't understand me, because I'm pre-pubescent."
But then, the little punk hit me.
I had decided that he couldn't have all the rules the way he wanted them.
"No, you can't go walking around with the ball out-of-bounds going 'nay,nay,nay,nay'. I'm drawing the line there. It's my ball."
"It's my ball, check it to me."
"Hell, no, you have to have some limits. My ball."
So, the kid hits the ball, which I'm holding, and it goes into my face and knocks my glasses sideways. DAMMIT!
I was Larry Fucking Hulk.
"All right, your ball," I said.
But the game was mine.
I pulled no more of my punches. Literally. The kid took a couple elbows to the side and got slammed one time when he drew a charge. I ran the points back up in my favor (I had been letting him keep a 3 point lead). I ran around him like he was a track and my name was Jackie.
I won the game 21-20. And, yes, as you can probably guess from the score, I wasn't a complete ass. I let it come down to the wire so we could have a big finish. I even gave him the ball a couple times and let him run to the hoop really slow while I did "Sports Center" highlights voice-overs.
"Dominic takes it up, this is for the win."
But he couldn't complete the circuit and I got bored. My win. Well, technically my win, but we had to keep playing until he won. My last goal didn't count because I had a hat on.
And, yes, the kid had fun don't run off to call Social Services. We have a playdate next Sunday for a little "Around the World" action.
Last week I read "Slapstick" by Vonnegut. Good. I'm rereading "Timequake" by the same guy. I wish Kurt Vonnegut put out a new novel every week.
I also bought "Children of the Corn"
It's now time for "What Did Brent Say As the Credits Started to Roll on 'Children of the Corn'"
"What the fuck did I just watch?"
Join us next week when Brent watches "The Cat in the Hat".
"Ass lickers! Ass lickers them all!"
Mike Myers is dead to me. In my mind, Mike Myers got into a firey jet plane accident shortly after filming for the original Austin Powers ended.
Well, dorks, I really need to finish these peanuts.

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