The Tampa Bay Rays

So The Tampa Bay Devil Rays are now simply the Tampa Bay Rays. After a decade of finishing in last place, they decided a fresh look for the organization might be a good change. However they did not get clever when deciding a new name for the team. Here are a few better options:

More Dialogue

"Poop!"
"Excuse me?"
"Poop," he said.
"Yea...What about it?" I asked.
"It's smelly."
"Mr. President, please, this is a very important meeting."
"How do you figure?"
"Well I am the president of China."
"So?"
"I just declared war on you. You call me here to negotiate but all you do is make references to fecies."
"But it's April Fools day."
"No it's not."
"How do you figure?"
"Its October 3rd."
"So?"
"Generally April Fools day is celebrated April 1st."
"I see...What about on leep years?"
"Still April 1st."
"Well then, time to negotiate. What do you want in exchange for peace?"
"Idaho, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, and season tickets to an NBA team of my choice."
"Which team?"
"The Grizzlies."
"No deal."
"Fine. How about the Trail Blazers?"
"How about a 10 game plan?"
"Does that come with playoff priotities?"
"You would enter a pool."
"How big is this pool?"
"Olympic sized."
"Sharks?"
"Only one."
"Deal."
"So no war?"
"No war."
"Glad thats settled. Wanna get some pizza?"
"Not particularly."
"Why not."
"Just ate recently. Had some peanut butter."
"I see."
"Interesting."
"Indeed."
"Well then."
"Yes?"
"This is goodbye."
"Cya."
"Ditto, Mr. President. Ditto."

Out of Ideas

It's happened. After months of delay and a loss of interest, I am officially out of ideas for this blog. This is my futile attempt to keep this thing alive, even though I am clearly past my prime. I just have to live with it. I'm washed up, cooked, finished, finito. It's over. The days of paparazzi, sexy women offering to buy me drinks, and fans who camped out for days just to get my autograph are now gone. All that is left is me. A 57 year old man just trying to get by. "Who is he?" I hear them ask. "He looks framilar." That's right, I do look familiar. I'm the guy who made you laugh, who kept you company on lonely nights, and occasionally made inappropriate gestures toward passing females. Sure there were the scandals. Even I can’t deny them. Who could forget new years eve, 1987? The steroid allegations of 2002? Or the rumors of selling government secrets to the soviets during the cold war? They were true, everything was true. Tell your kids their role model lied to them. Tell them he was a big phoney. A man who craved so much for attention that he did some disgusting, unheard of things. What now God? Are you gonna kill me? Is this it? Or do you have something else in mind for me? Let me do your dirty deeds! But wait, there’s a voice coming from the ashes. It says "Alex," "Alex," "Alex." "Who is there?" I ask. But no response. I now begin to scream. "Why do you pull at me this way!? What more do you want from me!?" But still no response. I am but a toy in a gigantic toy chest. Play with me. Don't just leave me behind. No. Not the orphanage. Please don't send me there. What happened to the days when we would play for hours? Long after your bed time? Now you are just gonna give me away? Without even a second though? I know why the caged bird sings god damn it! Just let me fly! Let me return to my family! Why is it that you keep me prisoner. “What's that judge? The chair? Your gonna send me to the chair? Fine! I don't wanna live anymore!” The day has come. The end is near. A final prayer. A last goodbye. I see the light. But it's gone. Their taking me away. What's that little girl? You can't look? Neither can I. I'm scared. The switch is drawn. I scream. Blackness. There’s only nothing. But in a way, isn't that everything?

The David Tyree Catch!!