Now mike greenwell wants the mvp trophy that is rightfully his; and happy birthday dear paris hilton: daddy loves you even though he was never really there; and perhaps it’s time to fish in a smaller pond.

At least three of us sat in this guy’s parent’s basement in the late eighties and he was called something like “snoop dogg” with the same number of syllables and some of those letters and vowel and consonant sounds and I was almost all small bones and sort of ashamed that I could barely run or throw a punch and didn’t want to throw rocks at dogs though “snoop dogg” could and and wanted and probably had to do those things so he took this eyedropper as at least three of us sat crosslegged with wood panel on the wall in the eighties and filled it with something he called steroids and then let something he called steroids out under his tongue and with what seemed like more trepidation than the others but perhaps wasn’t I followed, so the moral of of the story is maybe I took steroids but I never fucked a madonna or threw rocks at dogs and I still don’t know if I can really punch though I’ve practiced on walls and file cabinets in the office. I am still alive, so I must be indestructible.