Charles Manson, poet, musician, cult leader and mass murderer is getting married. Manson has chosen to exchange his sacred vows with a lovely twenty-six year old psychopath who refers to herself as “Star.” At age eighty Manson has spent the last twenty-five years in Corcoran, California, a small town in central California that is home to Corcoran State Prison. Sequestered and devoid of almost all social contact Manson has not had the opportunity to get out to the gym, a bar, the frozen food section of the A & P (Yes I tried that once but all I ended up with was a chicken pot pie) or troll the parking lot of a local WalMart looking for Miss Right.
This leads me to the question. If Charles Manson can find someone while languishing in the bowels of a state prison, what the hell am I doing wrong? I will now wait a moment while those of you who know me (and even some who don’t) knock down old women, young children and kick the dog out of the way in an attempt to get your pads and pencils out and create your lists. In fact I’m pretty sure there might be one or two of you out there who have this list already hanging on the refrigerator.
OK, are you all back? Good, let’s get started.
1. You are afraid of commitment - Interesting thought but I don’t believe so. I think I am more afraid of a lack of commitment on both parts once you have made a commitment to be committed and stay committed until death do you part or you are legally committed by the person who was committed to you forever.
2. She is not just going to appear on your doorstep - Not true, I’m just not willing to change all of my currency to the ruble and start my new found life with her mother, aunt Katsia, three cousins and a goat. I also do not read “The Watchtower” which negates a very large portion of women who might knock on my door.
3. You are too picky - I prefer the word selective thank you, and if selective means breathing and teeth at this point, so be it.
4. You are too set in your ways - Umm, yeah, I’m not putting up curtains.
5. You are waiting for Miss Perfect - Well yes. Yes I am. I have met Miss Perfect in my lifetime. The woman who makes your knees weak when she comes into the room, the woman you think about first thing in the morning and the last thing at night, the woman you would do anything for at any time, the woman whose eyes you look into and see nothing but how wonderful she is, the woman who if you didn’t like her so much you would actually hate her and yes the woman I would put curtains up for.
Sadly though Miss Perfect also had a list so thanks for playing Michael we’ll be sending you home tonight with the home version of Finding Miss Perfect and better luck next time.
Which leads me back to Charles Manson. How does he do it? Is it the maniacal eyes, the swastika tattoo on his forehead, the charming “I’ve had fifty years of penal system dental work” smile or has he figured out what a woman really wants? He has from what I understand convinced Star, you remember Star, the lovely young psychopath who plans on marrying Manson that there was no such thing as Helter Skelter, that he did not lead a cult and had nothing to do whit the murder of Sharon Tate. Nice job on his part, there are days when I am sure that I couldn’t convince anyone that grass is green! I guess he just has that certain something.
In the business I am in we have a saying. “A seat for every ass, and an ass for every seat.” I guess that holds true in life, there probably is someone for everyone, it’s just a matter of how hard you’re willing to try. Charles Manson found an ass for his seat.
Single white male, likes movies, the beach, cooking, reading, great sophomoric sense of humor, excellent oral hygiene and has all ten toes, is looking for …… Miss Perfect. The curtains are waiting, I think.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Mickey Mantle, My Father and A Lesson Learned
I am a Yankees fan. I am not ashamed to admit that even though next to the Dallas Cowboys they may be the most hated sports franchise in the world. I'm not exactly sure how I became a Yankee fan but I believe that my grandfather and father had much to do with it. I was pledged to the pinstripe fraternity at a very young age and in doing so, the Bronx Bombers have been a very important part of my life, but there is one memory, one single moment that will stay with me forever.
June 20, 1966 - I had, for possibly two years before this date become an annoying little gnat buzzing around my fathers head, "Can you take me to a Yankee game"? "Please take me to a Yankee game." "I'll eat the green beans, if you take me to a Yankee game." "Pleeeaaassssse take me to a Yankee game." My incessant pleading worked and on June 20, 1966 my father succumbed to the poking and prodding and told me we were going to Yankee Stadium! I could barely contain myself. The thought of it made me weak in the knees and I believe he actually had to carry me to the car. The 20 minute ride to the stadium must have been torture to my father, "Dad, will Mickey Mantle play, dad, do you think Mickey Mantle will hit a home run, dad, is Mickey Mantle the best baseball player, dad, can I get Mickey Mantles autograph, dad, dad, dad,dad?"
In 1966 the Yankees were about as bad a team as there could be and during the season you could go to the stadium just about anytime they were playing and purchase a ticket without a problem, but on June 20, 1966 there was a problem. A big problem. It was Fathers Day and it was Bat Day.
We parked several blocks away from the Yankee Stadium and as we approached the giant white monolith in the Bronx I sensed my father getting nervous. Nothing to worry about I thought, he was probably just as excited as me about getting Mickey Mantles autograph! We turned the corner on 161st Street and headed towards the ticket booths and as we did my father stopped dead in his tracks. He reached down and said "hold my hand and don't let go." I don't ever remember my father asking me to hold his hand but we were about to enter into a sea of humanity the likes neither of us had ever seen. Thousands and thousands and thousands of people all waiting to buy tickets and to get Mickey Mantles autograph.
My father picked a line that looked like it was moving. It didn't. We were on that line for what seemed like an eternity before we go to the ticket window. I couldn't hear what my father asked for but all I saw was a hideous monster behind metal bars shake his head "no." It was at that point my poor father was forced to do the unthinkable, he leaned over, put his hands on my cheeks and said "Michael, we can go to the game today, it's sold out." I locked eyes with him and as the tears welled up and my bottom lip began to shiver I said, "can we ask Mickey Mantle if he has any tickets?" I honestly thought I heard my fathers heart break. He stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. I don't know how much it was but he slid it under the metal bars pushing it towards the demon hiding behind his metal cage. The money was pushed back, he would not even accept a shmear, my fathers money was no good to him.
My father grabbed for my hand which at the time was wiping away a torrent of tears. We moved out of the line and back into the sea of disillusioned fathers and sons who were experiencing the same horror. Walking away my head hanging down I cried that I wasn't going to see Mickey Mantle hit a home run and I wasn't going to get his autograph.
"Richie....Richie.....Richie Grattini!!!!!" In my state of delirium I could swear someone was calling my fathers name. "Richie...Jesus Christ, over here!" My father looked over his shoulder and saw a man walking towards him. The man extended his hand and once again said "Hey, Richie Grattini!" And then I heard my father utter a name I will never forget, "Pauly!!!!!" "Yeah, Pauly, Pauly from the neighborhood, whaddya walkin' away for?" "The game is sold out, we're going home." "Whaddya you a fuckin' idiot, (in 1966 fuckin' was a perfectly acceptable word to use in front of an eight year old) you bring your kid to fuckin' bat day with fuckin' no tickets?" Then there was some conversation in Italian which I'm sure was not meant for an eight year old child's ears and Pauly grabs me by the other hand and says, "Come on."
We made our way through the crowd, and I'll swear that between my father and Pauly my feet never actually touched the ground arriving in front of a window that read PRESS GATE. Pauly looked at my dad and said "wait here" and walked into the office. Moments later he walked out of the office and handed my father two tickets to the game. I'm not sure if a deal was struck during the Italian interlude but I never saw any money change hands. Pauly walked us up to the gate and as we entered I heard him saying to one of the ticket takers "the kid gets a bat, give him a bat." I looked up and one of the ushers handed me a bat. A very special bat. It was a Mickey Mantle bat. I asked the usher "did Mickey Mantle sign this bat????" "Yeah kid, he signed all of them."
Bat in hand my father and I were escorted by Pauly up the escalator to the press box. I don't remember an inning of the game. I was mesmerized by my Mickey Mantle bat autographed by Mickey Mantle himself. I'm sure we didn't stay for the whole game, (even though it was a doubleheader) a tradition my father kept for years..... gotta beat the traffic.
My lesson learned was that no matter how many years go by, no matter what distance may separate you we all have a Pauly from the neighborhood in our lives. Someone who you can call a true friend and would do for you without question. I am lucky enough to have many Pauly's from the neighborhood in my life. True friends.
June 20, 1966 - I had, for possibly two years before this date become an annoying little gnat buzzing around my fathers head, "Can you take me to a Yankee game"? "Please take me to a Yankee game." "I'll eat the green beans, if you take me to a Yankee game." "Pleeeaaassssse take me to a Yankee game." My incessant pleading worked and on June 20, 1966 my father succumbed to the poking and prodding and told me we were going to Yankee Stadium! I could barely contain myself. The thought of it made me weak in the knees and I believe he actually had to carry me to the car. The 20 minute ride to the stadium must have been torture to my father, "Dad, will Mickey Mantle play, dad, do you think Mickey Mantle will hit a home run, dad, is Mickey Mantle the best baseball player, dad, can I get Mickey Mantles autograph, dad, dad, dad,dad?"
In 1966 the Yankees were about as bad a team as there could be and during the season you could go to the stadium just about anytime they were playing and purchase a ticket without a problem, but on June 20, 1966 there was a problem. A big problem. It was Fathers Day and it was Bat Day.
My father picked a line that looked like it was moving. It didn't. We were on that line for what seemed like an eternity before we go to the ticket window. I couldn't hear what my father asked for but all I saw was a hideous monster behind metal bars shake his head "no." It was at that point my poor father was forced to do the unthinkable, he leaned over, put his hands on my cheeks and said "Michael, we can go to the game today, it's sold out." I locked eyes with him and as the tears welled up and my bottom lip began to shiver I said, "can we ask Mickey Mantle if he has any tickets?" I honestly thought I heard my fathers heart break. He stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. I don't know how much it was but he slid it under the metal bars pushing it towards the demon hiding behind his metal cage. The money was pushed back, he would not even accept a shmear, my fathers money was no good to him.
My father grabbed for my hand which at the time was wiping away a torrent of tears. We moved out of the line and back into the sea of disillusioned fathers and sons who were experiencing the same horror. Walking away my head hanging down I cried that I wasn't going to see Mickey Mantle hit a home run and I wasn't going to get his autograph.
"Richie....Richie.....Richie Grattini!!!!!" In my state of delirium I could swear someone was calling my fathers name. "Richie...Jesus Christ, over here!" My father looked over his shoulder and saw a man walking towards him. The man extended his hand and once again said "Hey, Richie Grattini!" And then I heard my father utter a name I will never forget, "Pauly!!!!!" "Yeah, Pauly, Pauly from the neighborhood, whaddya walkin' away for?" "The game is sold out, we're going home." "Whaddya you a fuckin' idiot, (in 1966 fuckin' was a perfectly acceptable word to use in front of an eight year old) you bring your kid to fuckin' bat day with fuckin' no tickets?" Then there was some conversation in Italian which I'm sure was not meant for an eight year old child's ears and Pauly grabs me by the other hand and says, "Come on."
We made our way through the crowd, and I'll swear that between my father and Pauly my feet never actually touched the ground arriving in front of a window that read PRESS GATE. Pauly looked at my dad and said "wait here" and walked into the office. Moments later he walked out of the office and handed my father two tickets to the game. I'm not sure if a deal was struck during the Italian interlude but I never saw any money change hands. Pauly walked us up to the gate and as we entered I heard him saying to one of the ticket takers "the kid gets a bat, give him a bat." I looked up and one of the ushers handed me a bat. A very special bat. It was a Mickey Mantle bat. I asked the usher "did Mickey Mantle sign this bat????" "Yeah kid, he signed all of them."
My lesson learned was that no matter how many years go by, no matter what distance may separate you we all have a Pauly from the neighborhood in our lives. Someone who you can call a true friend and would do for you without question. I am lucky enough to have many Pauly's from the neighborhood in my life. True friends.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Pancakes Can Kill You....
I woke up the other morning with a strange craving for pancakes. I don't know why, I'm not normally a pancake eater, but for some reason I really wanted them. For a number of reasons I have been going in to work earlier than normal, by ten o'clock I'm ready for lunch and on this day the craving for pancakes had become so overwhelming that I had to get to the Acropolis diner.
The Acropolis is only a few minutes away from work and I've become something of a "regular". I eat lunch there about three times week and I knew I had reached "regular" status when the owner would start to sit me in the seats of honor, located in and around the cash register. The seats of honor are so noted because they are close enough to the cash register so that the owner can come and sit with you while you dine.
As I enter the Acropolis on my pancake mission, Holly, a very nice waitress who can't remember what day it is let alone a complicated order, greets me at the door and escorts me over to table of honor number one. Bingo, this is my day. I'm going to have pancakes and crispy bacon, I decided on the bacon on my way to the Acropolis, I'm sitting at the table of honor number one, right behind the register and I could feel my status as a "regular' rise the moment I sat down. Don't think I didn't notice the curt glances and outright stares as I sat down from those "semi-regulars" who have yet to reach the lofty heights of a "regular". Normally I would have returned the nasty glares with my own death stare, learned from a friend on a golf course many years ago, but I didn't have time for them, my pancake mission was in full swing.
As I'm taking my coat off, Holly asks "iced tea with lemon, right"? Graciously I smile at her knowing that I always order unsweetened ice tea without lemon and say "nope, today I'll have a hot tea, no lemon and a creamer" because everyone knows you would have to be crazy to mix lemon and a creamer with your tea. With that her right eyebrow went up and I think she sensed something big was about to happen. "Ok, well today's specials are....". "Holly, I'm way ahead of you, I know exactly what I want". I'm not sure but I think she may have actually shuddered when I uttered those words.
"Holly, I would like pancakes with crispy bacon please, not the short stack, I want three pancakes and the bacon crispy". Let me tell you, there is something very empowering when you get up in the morning, put on the big boy pants and know exactly what you want. Holly took my order, I could swear she was actually giddy about it and scampered off to the kitchen to help me fulfill my quest for pancakes.
Sitting at table of honor number one, I could hardly contain myself. I tried playing words with friends, that didn't work, I tried texting some friends, that didn't work, I just wanted my pancakes. When you're a regular at a diner you become quite in tune with what goes on, the servers bell, that little ding that goes off in the kitchen is something you catch on to rather quickly. I don't know why, but its something you notice all the time. It rang several times while I was waiting but I knew those rings were not for me. Mine was going to be a special ring one that would announce my pancakes and crispy bacon with reverberations of an Asian gong and as I waited it finally happened. The gong had been struck, the doors from the kitchen opened and there stood Holly. For a moment I was blinded by the golden light behind her, but focused as she made her way to my table.
Holly made her way through the "semi-regulars" as if she was floating on a cloud, carrying the tray that contained my beloved pancakes. I once again noticed the glares of those less fortunate than me but I didn't care, today I was king. I was sitting at the table of honor and about to eat pancakes and crispy bacon. As Holly set the tray down on the servers stand I could see that the cook had done his job well. She moved the plate over to my table and put the pancakes in front of me "careful the plate is hot" honestly the woman was a twitter over this. She moved the second plate with the crispy bacon from the tray to the table along with several pats of butter and warm maple syrup. I believe I may have shed a tear at that moment but was able to quickly wipe it away before anyone saw.
I prepared my area, moving the butter and syrup to spots on the table I knew would keep the flow going if I had to reach for them while I was enjoying this meal for a king when for some reason, to this day I don't know why, I decided to look up from my food only to lock eyes with one of those "semi-regulars" who had come to the register to pay her check. I tried, I tried so hard to look away, but it was impossible. It was like a vulcan mind meld and she was winning, and then she spoke, she spoke with a voice straight out of the exorcist, a voice that I will have nightmares about forever..."You know those things are gonna kill ya if you eat enough of um"!
"Oh my god, you horrible witch, how would you like it if I took these pancakes and shoved them in every air sucking hole in your body and we see how long they take to kill you" is what I should have said. Instead, I looked at her with a half smirk, half smile and said "Yeah, well your probably right" and fading off to a whisper "but I just really wanted pancakes......."
I won't say the whole experience was ruined by someone foisting their opinion on me when I certainly didn't ask for it, but it did take much of the luster away from the moment. I ate my pancakes with crispy and at this point cold bacon, I enjoyed them, they were delicious, I got to talk to the owner while I ate, I left Holly a nice tip even though she never brought me my hot tea, no lemon and a creamer. As I drove back to work feeling a real pancake bloat I thought to myself "it's going to be a long time before you ever order pancakes again" because I'm not sure if I really like them.
The Acropolis is only a few minutes away from work and I've become something of a "regular". I eat lunch there about three times week and I knew I had reached "regular" status when the owner would start to sit me in the seats of honor, located in and around the cash register. The seats of honor are so noted because they are close enough to the cash register so that the owner can come and sit with you while you dine.
As I enter the Acropolis on my pancake mission, Holly, a very nice waitress who can't remember what day it is let alone a complicated order, greets me at the door and escorts me over to table of honor number one. Bingo, this is my day. I'm going to have pancakes and crispy bacon, I decided on the bacon on my way to the Acropolis, I'm sitting at the table of honor number one, right behind the register and I could feel my status as a "regular' rise the moment I sat down. Don't think I didn't notice the curt glances and outright stares as I sat down from those "semi-regulars" who have yet to reach the lofty heights of a "regular". Normally I would have returned the nasty glares with my own death stare, learned from a friend on a golf course many years ago, but I didn't have time for them, my pancake mission was in full swing.
As I'm taking my coat off, Holly asks "iced tea with lemon, right"? Graciously I smile at her knowing that I always order unsweetened ice tea without lemon and say "nope, today I'll have a hot tea, no lemon and a creamer" because everyone knows you would have to be crazy to mix lemon and a creamer with your tea. With that her right eyebrow went up and I think she sensed something big was about to happen. "Ok, well today's specials are....". "Holly, I'm way ahead of you, I know exactly what I want". I'm not sure but I think she may have actually shuddered when I uttered those words.
"Holly, I would like pancakes with crispy bacon please, not the short stack, I want three pancakes and the bacon crispy". Let me tell you, there is something very empowering when you get up in the morning, put on the big boy pants and know exactly what you want. Holly took my order, I could swear she was actually giddy about it and scampered off to the kitchen to help me fulfill my quest for pancakes.
Sitting at table of honor number one, I could hardly contain myself. I tried playing words with friends, that didn't work, I tried texting some friends, that didn't work, I just wanted my pancakes. When you're a regular at a diner you become quite in tune with what goes on, the servers bell, that little ding that goes off in the kitchen is something you catch on to rather quickly. I don't know why, but its something you notice all the time. It rang several times while I was waiting but I knew those rings were not for me. Mine was going to be a special ring one that would announce my pancakes and crispy bacon with reverberations of an Asian gong and as I waited it finally happened. The gong had been struck, the doors from the kitchen opened and there stood Holly. For a moment I was blinded by the golden light behind her, but focused as she made her way to my table.
Holly made her way through the "semi-regulars" as if she was floating on a cloud, carrying the tray that contained my beloved pancakes. I once again noticed the glares of those less fortunate than me but I didn't care, today I was king. I was sitting at the table of honor and about to eat pancakes and crispy bacon. As Holly set the tray down on the servers stand I could see that the cook had done his job well. She moved the plate over to my table and put the pancakes in front of me "careful the plate is hot" honestly the woman was a twitter over this. She moved the second plate with the crispy bacon from the tray to the table along with several pats of butter and warm maple syrup. I believe I may have shed a tear at that moment but was able to quickly wipe it away before anyone saw.
I prepared my area, moving the butter and syrup to spots on the table I knew would keep the flow going if I had to reach for them while I was enjoying this meal for a king when for some reason, to this day I don't know why, I decided to look up from my food only to lock eyes with one of those "semi-regulars" who had come to the register to pay her check. I tried, I tried so hard to look away, but it was impossible. It was like a vulcan mind meld and she was winning, and then she spoke, she spoke with a voice straight out of the exorcist, a voice that I will have nightmares about forever..."You know those things are gonna kill ya if you eat enough of um"!
"Oh my god, you horrible witch, how would you like it if I took these pancakes and shoved them in every air sucking hole in your body and we see how long they take to kill you" is what I should have said. Instead, I looked at her with a half smirk, half smile and said "Yeah, well your probably right" and fading off to a whisper "but I just really wanted pancakes......."
I won't say the whole experience was ruined by someone foisting their opinion on me when I certainly didn't ask for it, but it did take much of the luster away from the moment. I ate my pancakes with crispy and at this point cold bacon, I enjoyed them, they were delicious, I got to talk to the owner while I ate, I left Holly a nice tip even though she never brought me my hot tea, no lemon and a creamer. As I drove back to work feeling a real pancake bloat I thought to myself "it's going to be a long time before you ever order pancakes again" because I'm not sure if I really like them.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Kissing One Up To God
I have for years been amazed at the pure audacity of professional athletes thanking god for helping them perform at a higher level than the other athletes on the playing field. It doesn't matter which sport, they all do it. I am here today to blow the lid off of this practice and to tell you how and why this actually happens.
The following is a transcript obtained from TMZ of a phone conversation we all need to see;
"Hello, hello...God, can you hear me?.... Can you hear me?.... Let me move over here, can you hear me now, It's Judas? .... Ok great, you know God service really sucks here in Purgatory..... Yeah right, you get what you pay for.....Hey did you get the new IPhone 6?....... Anyway, I need a little favor this week and .....Yes God, I realize I have some set of.... No, no, I'm done with locusts, those things really creep me out.......No, I don't want to smite someone.... Look, I've got the Jets this week over New England and.....Yes God, the Jets..... No I haven't gotten into the wine again.... I got this Roman who knows a guy who tells him the Jets are ready to bust it out this week, they just need a little help..... Yeah right, very funny God but he tells me they just need a little help.... Look, I know you're not made of miracles, but I was thinking if you gave Geno just a little zets....Whoa, whoa ok, ok, I understand you are made of miracles....Don't get so touchy we're just talking here... The weather forecast is for rain, I figure you do that little wave, you know, the one the Pope does, over the rain just as Geno is coming onto the field, he gets a little dose and bing, bang boom he's Joe Montana this week.... Yes God, I know he stole the wave from you, yes, he should get his own move.... Ok, I'll tell him..... The spread is 6 points, I need the Jets to cover so let's say 20 to 10 final score and I finally get that freakin' Satan off my back, you wanna talk about a putz, OY!.....So whaddaya think there Goddy, old Goddy old Chum?..... Sorry, I thought we had a little bro thing going on here.... Huh, what's in it for you?.... You're kidding right?....You're God, what do you need?....You want props, a two finger kiss up to the sky and a thank you to my savior!!!!!!....You're God and you want God Damn props?.... Yes, I understand, number 3.....Lords name in vain... Uh huh, 5 Hail Mary's, 3 Lords Prayer and AN ACT OF CONTRITION!....Don't you think you're being a little heavy handed here..... Yes God, Satan can be very tough when you can't pay the vig.... Sooooooo, we're good here right?.... Rain, wave, Geno gets wet, turns into Montana and bye-bye Satan....Ok, I'll let Geno know.... You drive a hard bargain God...."
"Hello, hello...Geno, can you hear me?.... Can you hear me?.... Let me move over here, can you hear me now, It's Judas?...Yeah we're good.... Of course I'm sure... Can you trust me?.... Hey Geno, if you can't trust Judas, who can you trust?
So this Sunday when you see you favorite player giving props you can know for sure that Satan has once again been thwarted.
The following is a transcript obtained from TMZ of a phone conversation we all need to see;
"Hello, hello...God, can you hear me?.... Can you hear me?.... Let me move over here, can you hear me now, It's Judas? .... Ok great, you know God service really sucks here in Purgatory..... Yeah right, you get what you pay for.....Hey did you get the new IPhone 6?....... Anyway, I need a little favor this week and .....Yes God, I realize I have some set of.... No, no, I'm done with locusts, those things really creep me out.......No, I don't want to smite someone.... Look, I've got the Jets this week over New England and.....Yes God, the Jets..... No I haven't gotten into the wine again.... I got this Roman who knows a guy who tells him the Jets are ready to bust it out this week, they just need a little help..... Yeah right, very funny God but he tells me they just need a little help.... Look, I know you're not made of miracles, but I was thinking if you gave Geno just a little zets....Whoa, whoa ok, ok, I understand you are made of miracles....Don't get so touchy we're just talking here... The weather forecast is for rain, I figure you do that little wave, you know, the one the Pope does, over the rain just as Geno is coming onto the field, he gets a little dose and bing, bang boom he's Joe Montana this week.... Yes God, I know he stole the wave from you, yes, he should get his own move.... Ok, I'll tell him..... The spread is 6 points, I need the Jets to cover so let's say 20 to 10 final score and I finally get that freakin' Satan off my back, you wanna talk about a putz, OY!.....So whaddaya think there Goddy, old Goddy old Chum?..... Sorry, I thought we had a little bro thing going on here.... Huh, what's in it for you?.... You're kidding right?....You're God, what do you need?....You want props, a two finger kiss up to the sky and a thank you to my savior!!!!!!....You're God and you want God Damn props?.... Yes, I understand, number 3.....Lords name in vain... Uh huh, 5 Hail Mary's, 3 Lords Prayer and AN ACT OF CONTRITION!....Don't you think you're being a little heavy handed here..... Yes God, Satan can be very tough when you can't pay the vig.... Sooooooo, we're good here right?.... Rain, wave, Geno gets wet, turns into Montana and bye-bye Satan....Ok, I'll let Geno know.... You drive a hard bargain God...."
"Hello, hello...Geno, can you hear me?.... Can you hear me?.... Let me move over here, can you hear me now, It's Judas?...Yeah we're good.... Of course I'm sure... Can you trust me?.... Hey Geno, if you can't trust Judas, who can you trust?
So this Sunday when you see you favorite player giving props you can know for sure that Satan has once again been thwarted.
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