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skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com

Wednesday, 17 May
The DaVinci Team

[A baseball field. The midday sun glints gorgeously off of all the stuff. RON HOWARD, the coach, calls to his loyal fantasy baseball team, which weirdly, all happen to be Skot's players.]

Howard: Guys! Gather round! Come on over here and take a knee!

Mark Teixeira: Oh boy! Time for sandwiches!

Howard: No sandwiches for you, Tex! .288? Please.

Teixeira: Aw. (Teixeira angrily clubs Geoff Jenkins to death with his bat.) SANDWICHES! FOR ME!

Andruw Jones: Gross, man. Who's that guy that Big Tex just killed?

Nick Swisher: Some guy. He played for the Brewers.

(Everyone loses interest.)

Howard: Settle down, everyone. Listen up. So we've got our work cut out for us today. Now, I know. I've never had any kind of genuine success in this league, subjectively or objectively. In fact, it's fair to say that everything I've ever come into contact with--coached, or directed, if you will--has been a complete disaster.

(GARRET ANDERSON begins to moan softly and caresses his back. Presently, he falls back into an attitude of agony, not unlike an American Pieta. RAFAEL FURCAL flits about like a hummingbird, annoying JOSH BECKETT, who swats at Furcal violently.)

Beckett: Get away from me, you Christless little choad.

Howard: Listen up! I'm not finished. Look, we've got a real challenge today. Which is why I've brought in our new hitting coach. You guys all know Dan Brown.

(Cut to DAN BROWN. He is fucking three cyborg whores on a giant pile of money and wearing a t-shirt that reads CROTCH ENTHUSIAST.)

Brown: Whooooopeeeeeee! Ungh! Ungh!

(Cut back to Howard.)

Howard: But he couldn't be here today. I'd also like to introduce our new pitching coach, the Vitruvian Man.

Vitruvian Man: Hey, guys.

All: Hey, Vitruvian Man.

Vitruvian Man: Listen up, guys. The key to success tonight is this: I need you starters and closers to grow a new set of arms. You're not going to get it done with just two arms. I'm telling you.

MARIANO RIVERA: I get new arms every year from Mr. Steinbrenner. He grows them in vats!

Howard: That's swell.

Beckett: I'm not growing any new fucking arms. You guys can all eat a barrel of dicks.

CHRIS REITSMA: (Miserably) I had to eat two barrels last weekend. That was a lot of dick gristle. (He begins crying softly.)

Teixeira: So, we . . . I guess we don't get sandwiches.

Riddles | Skot | 17 May, 2006 |

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


I . . . I don't know.

Comment number: 007450   Posted by: Skot on May 18, 2006 12:29 AM from IP:

Sigh. Terrible.

Comment number: 007451   Posted by: Skot on May 18, 2006 12:35 AM from IP:

You may find this amusing:

Comment number: 007453   Posted by: dataphage on May 18, 2006 02:21 AM from IP:

You may find this amusing:

Comment number: 007454   Posted by: dataphage on May 18, 2006 02:23 AM from IP:

I thought of you and your film commentary last night as I was watching "A History of Violence". It's a horrible movie that I could only describe as "Whitesploitation". You really should watch it.

Comment number: 007456   Posted by: Daniel Talsky on May 18, 2006 01:41 PM from IP:

You could fix this if you started it correctly: "Renowned coach Ron Howard staggered onto the field..."

Comment number: 007457   Posted by: laura on May 18, 2006 02:59 PM from IP:

You left out Antonia Alfenoseca masturbating vigorously in the dugout, Leo Mazzone drinking heavily, and Jacque Jones shitting his pants.

Comment number: 007458   Posted by: Steve on May 18, 2006 07:39 PM from IP:

Dick gristle. You just made my WEEK.

Comment number: 007460   Posted by: Auntie Maim on May 19, 2006 06:48 AM from IP:

Wow. Brilliant. More? Please?

Comment number: 007470   Posted by: Squidley on May 20, 2006 12:11 AM from IP:

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