tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70601158838221273982012-01-22T15:54:47.565-05:00moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.comBlogger121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-84607228833775373752011-12-14T00:08:00.001-05:002011-12-14T00:08:27.465-05:00

Let’s start out with a simple question: Have you ever been to a Panera during “peak hours”? You know, what’s generally referred to as “dinner time”? Bring your Kevlar vests and torches, because it is a fucking MOB SCENE! Seriously, calling that restaurant a zoo is a disservice to any unclean zoo I’ve ever been too, which is all of them. I met my sister at Panera a few nights ago

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-66074597087184710292011-10-25T20:28:00.004-04:002011-10-25T22:49:24.698-04:00

The winds are a-changing across this great land of ours. From Seattle, to Boston, Oakland to Wall Street the masses are rallying together. A revolt led by The People, for The People.... What is everyone protesting, you ask?Hmm. Good question. It seems as if one were to ask ten different 'occupiers' what they happen to be sick and tired of (and thus, no longer 'able to take anymore.') one would

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-73344048594172496362011-10-13T23:48:00.006-04:002011-10-21T15:53:58.682-04:00

Can I just say, right off the bat, that I absolutely love weddings?! Because it's true, I do. My love of weddings can be indefinitely traced back to when I was wee, when my aunt married her long time boyfriend in a beautiful ceremony that, in no particular order, involved a pig roast, (unknown-at-the-time-due-to-age) drunken family volleyball(?!), and a Catholic church. Throw in a whole

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-46437380294833246992011-10-04T00:33:00.008-04:002011-10-04T16:49:01.984-04:00

See that beautiful little lady up there? That's my girl. Numero Uno en mi corozon, as they say South of the Border. Future girlfriends beware. I know I said in my last post that I was a sarcastic jerk who has an opinion on anything, but I should confess I'm also that guy who gushes over his dog like it's a child. Or a Princess. Or both. I am not ashamed to admit this trait. You can't blame me

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-80313734373377273922011-10-03T23:38:00.004-04:002011-10-04T00:28:19.689-04:00

... or how I learned to love. Something. Or someone. Like a potential murderer. CONTROVERSY!Alright. Let's get these formalities out of the way; I'm a single mid-twenty-something guy living in Upstate New York, working full time in a family business. I have the uncanny and highly revered super power of turning practically any situation into a joke.Which, if we were to analyze with some

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-42801521521532865422011-08-23T01:13:00.007-04:002011-08-24T21:52:06.685-04:00

Recently through Facebook, I was alerted to this story and ended up having a spontaneous, friendly and intelligent debate with a friend of mine, albeit on a different friend's wall. That different friend was the original poster of the aforementioned link. Ahhhh, social media. Are you confused yet? Because I certainly am.. Regardless, the debate in question involved two different yet passionate

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-58848503636182088112011-04-10T11:12:00.000-04:002011-04-10T12:02:41.569-04:00

Does anyone remember that guy? The kid who moved to Washington Heights, New York City from the Dominican Republic, the kid who hit .615 in 1991? Man he was something. I remember being a kid and hearing about this FREAK in the Cleveland system. (Keep in mind, I was only 7, so watching minor league players who weren't in your area wasn't just unheard of - it was damn near impossible) Then he came

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-34789784731405848292010-01-12T09:09:00.000-05:002010-01-12T18:51:23.660-05:00

Dear Mark,Here's a confession.I like you, Mark McGwire. I was always a fan of yours growing up, truly enjoyed the television that was the Home Run Race to our Hearts, and you know what? I also knew you were sticking yourself like a pin cushion. Why? Because when I was little I liked wrestling, too. Sorry, but you don't dominate that industry without a little genetic enhancement. When players in a

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-88923510969665513712009-11-07T09:11:00.000-05:002009-11-07T11:29:13.555-05:00

It has been a very interesting week, to say the least. Throughout the media conglomerate in these United States we have been fed a Thanksgiving feast worth of fear in roughly 72 hours (and, a lot longer than that for those counting at home). First, the tragedy at Fort Hood in Texas, then Friday morning a man who was laid off at a job two years ago goes into the building and starts shooting people

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-70917325536959289142009-10-06T15:16:00.000-04:002009-10-06T16:36:56.155-04:00

Why is that man smiling, do you ask?Because it's October. That's why. The time of year when the leaves change, the air gets crisper, the Bigelow Tea a little warmer, and it's the time of year when The Mighty TEETS and his band of merry (read drunken) cohorts stomp and piss and kick and elbow drop the Halos until Mike Scoscia runs crying into Art Moreno's arms.The Red Sox OWN the Angels in post

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-16857636858270403832009-07-16T20:27:00.000-04:002009-07-16T20:33:49.443-04:00

What did you think I was refering to? Batman?! Ladies and gentlemen, we've done it. In my life alone we've overcome numerous terrorist attacks, we've advanced from physical film to digital space in less than twenty years, we've impeached a President, watched a religious institution fall from grace, we watched and loved and scorned and mourned the one and only Thriller, we survived a

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060115883822127398.post-51874668729979455242009-05-16T17:53:00.001-04:002009-05-16T18:08:53.617-04:00

[The preceding events take place in the bowels of Dodger Stadium, where owner Frank McCourt is furiously pacing about the Dodgers clubhouse. Joe Torre sits next to him. The silence is palpable, deafening almost. There is almost a slight fog in the air, set up almost like 'The Don' scene in Godfather. McCourt places his hands on his hips and lets out an agitated sigh]FM: What are we gonna do, Joe?

moooooooooooooohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02250108790896377727noreply@blogger.com0