Post by $heriff Tom on Aug 26, 2006 22:37:52 GMT -5
Well, the question I had been asked most recently (with the exception of "Tom, can you get the Hell out of here?") was where is the new column. Well, I finally put down the beer and the copy of Leg Show and finish one and the website goes down to where it can not be updated. I just bring calamity wherever I go. So rather than waste it and just to keep my name in the news, here is the latest Sheriff Tom Column, as regularly featured on Section39.com.
Enjoy, or at least pretend to....
JUNE 1st, 2001
A lot has happened since the last column. I got attacked by a goose. I cut my finger opening up a First Aid Kit. I climbed a tree in the parking lot at work and fell off. I crowned a new Deputy. I made 3 different girls cry in the bleachers and I have only been to 18 games. I shaved my head. Well, actually Capone did. I had a cop in the Lexington Station tell me I was TALKING TOO LOUD and to "move on." I got drunk running the rails with Kwik and ended up buying a Kung Fu movie. With all this going on, who has time to write a column?
Ah, where to start. Lots of disasters this season. Drunkenly riding the subway with Kwik, who was either trying to make sure I made my connecting train alive or to prevent me from buying more useless Kung Fu, I took a header from my seat and landed right on my face. You really can see sneaker prints in flattened gum when you get close enough.
Who can forget Mo Love Milton going from sober to drunk to "on the floor Oh, my God, I think he is dead!" condition in less time than it takes for me to drink a Coors Lite. Down he went in the basement of the bodega. He could not tell us his name, could not tell us he was at the bodega, but he was still able to recite the names of every reporter who ever wrote about the bleachers or will in the future before they carted him off in an ambulance. One of the more surreal sites I have seen since Gay Surge made out with a girl in front of our leering crowd was Milton, seemingly in the throes of alcoholic death inside an ambulance with a bunch of Creatures giving him the finger through the window and chanting "Milton Sucks!." "We're going to have to buy him flowers and chocolates now" groused G-Bang.
week later Gang Bang challanged Milton to a high-stakes game of RBI Baseball at the Sheriffs swinging abode, to which I said "unless he gets carted out in an ambulance again."
"Yeah, Tom" Milton shot back. "Like YOU'VE never been put into the hospital" Ah, no comment.
Milton more than got his revenge in May by placing me in the figure four leglock in the fourth inning of a game against the Blow Jays. I have been taking much abuse out there this year. While I have yet to continue my 3 year streak of getting whomped by a woman out there, I have had countless kids run over to punch me in the nuts, flip off my hat, steal my scorecard, or throw food at me. I even lost a Karate battle to a 5 year old, although thankfully people mistakenly think it was "fixed."
There has been a high propensity of ejections. Who can forget 41 coming in 3 innings late, which these days is 3 innings early for the Park Paperbaggers, making the left into 39 and meeting the acquaintance of Bosucks fan, knocking the said fans cap off, and being escorted right back out. "Hey, look!" Wierd Paul gesticualted. "FIFTY-one is being thrown out." 51? Um, ok, Paul. Put your flashlight hat back on.
Gang Bang has had a series of unique bounces, including the night he jumped up on the seat with zest verve and hollered in the direction of the security orgy on the rail "Yo, you guys suck! Whose in charge here! Let me have a word with you!" That went over as well as my "nice to meet you, can we have sex?" line, and he was shown the door, all the while innocently bedecked in his Atari shirt.
Speaking of Atari, we had quite the Japanese invasion with Ichiro Suzuki and his Seattle Mariner minions, complete with thier roving band of geisha girl groupies. The Orientals (oh, excuse me, as one nitpicker reminded me "RUGS are Oriental, PEOPLE are Asian.") were peppered with insults as they walked up the aisles snapping photos. "Just deliver the food and get out!!!" Donahuge hollered. I countered with, "Oh, great, now they are going to leave 55,000 menus under the seats."
Not knowing the difference between genres, the Chinese were getting it, too. "Hey, give us our plane back!" was a popular refrain. We sang many a chorus of "We Got Hit By US Submarine" (to the chorus of "Yellow Submarine" ironically enough with the yellow part.)
On the nights scorecard, in honor of the Asian invasion, we checked off 4 Kung Fu references from the hollering crowd, 18 WWF stereotyped Kaientai references, 10 Godzilla plugs, 9 references to bad driving, a whopping 23 camera jokes, and over 30 references to KISS made in the park by 41.
In the seats themselves, there have been dozens of bad lines, erratic actions, and terse exchanges. Ah, let me scatter these scorecards about in leiu of working today and find some tarnished gems.
There was the night Milton was cozying up all over a busomy babe, and was met with "Hey, get off her Milton! This isn't Central Park!" Or how about some tough guy coming in with a flaming pink shirt and Milton firing off the old "Hey, do your panties match?" line.
There was the night Diggety Dan, standing right in the aisle, pulled out his junk for all to see (well, all those equipped with telescopes) causing Big Brian to say for once in 39 he was "disgusted."
It was actions like this that caused Donahuge to muse "There are too many Curly's out here, and not enough Shemps."
There was the night a few of us intellectuals were talking about Horatio Hornblower on PBS, and Donahuge asked if it was a "gay porno." Or how about the day we found out the smartest kid in the bleachers, the venerable Walkman John, could do any equation or answer any question, but he could not spell "Raisenettes."
How about when Cuban Monica walked up and Dan greeted her with, "Yo, thanks for the Missile Crisis." How about the sad occassion they told us the "Box Seats Suck" chant was officially banned, so we had to lumber our way through a "Box Seats are Less Than Desireable" one instead?
Other fans who take wrong turns and end up in our funhouse have ranged from amused to confused at our antics. One interloper was heard to say "I feel like I'm in Rye Playland, not Yankee Stadium." Another guy complained that "no one here watches the game at all" but when pressed admitted he saw only 2 outs up until that point in the 5th inning himself. There were the priests just out of the seminary that were there the Saturday I spent sprawled out sleeping on the bench who were "very concerned for that young man." Later that game, to keep security heat off my slumbering self, Donahuge turned my cap forwards, sported me with sunglasses, and played Weekend at Bernies with me for the bemused spectators who could not fathom a guy would show up at a game to "sleep it off."
Don't people know me at all?
Then there was the guy who called Gang Bang over, pointed at me in the middle of one of my obscene puppet shows and said "What's the story behind this guy?"
How is this for an exchange? A guy came up to Bald Ray and asked for a cigarette, and Ray acquiesed. Then he asked for a light. "You need an ashtray, too?" Ray asked. Or Ray stumbling up to a bombed Milton and asking how many fingers he was holding up. "One." Milton slurred. "And four up your ass."
Ray wanders around more than Moses. "Hey, care to join us sometime today?" Blue Lou hollered down as Ray gave one of his many lecterns at the rail.
We have seen our wacky props. Cuban Monica's moose head. My Sesame Street saxophone. During one "concert" a beachball drifted by. "People!" Gang Bang yelped. "This isn't a Styx concert!"
Who can forget Rocky leading an apologetic Little Anthony up the steps a couple of innings late, with Anthony frantically waving a note explaining his tardiness (he played his first Little League game that day. Hope he does not get thrown out for charging the mound like I did) "The old Little League excuse" Gang Bang said, not buying it.
We have seen our fair share of goofy people roaming the area. There was "GI Jackass" - a loudmouth in camoflouge. There was a stoner met with the old "why don't you go take some X and go to a rave?" line. There was the guy in the Simon the Chipmunk hat. Or the 10 year old girl in the Mariner hat, who was predictably met with "Seattle sucks" which is not so bad when you consider we spent a half inning yelling "Get off the rail!" at a bird perched in front of the bleachers.
Of course, intelligent conversations are the norm. Bald Vinny and I had a heated argument wether or not Portable Toilets are considered "outhouses." Considering I was proud that I broke the one outside Yancey Park in, I said yes. Bald Vinny insists, wrongly, that "outhouses" have to be "permanant fixtures" like a hole in a backyard. Problem is we have no reasonable place to go to get a straight answer on this.
All kinds of big words were tossed around. MTA Joe, of all people, used "calamity" and "interloper" since last column. Grover said "circumvent." Big Brian said "disgruntled." Gang Bang wrote "surreptitiously" as in, "Walkman John surreptitiously wears a tie under his jacket." Someone, and I did not credit this on the scorecard, said "quagmire." May have been me. I do know I was the one who said "snide" though.
And as I am typing this I just heard the word "Edification" on a 311 tape, so there are still words out there for us to use to bemuse others.
We discussed the cinematic merits of "61." Walkman John made a point of going on the Creature Message Board to cite fallacies. Others looked at the fans apathetic response by noting that if Mantle had broken the record instead of the scorned Maris they would have "made a Musical" out of the thing instead of a plodding Billy Crystal film.
We have had angry exchanges. Someone told me to sit down and stop my yelling cause "You are not Christ!" "Yeah," I countered, "But I'm as popular as him." That same night I was counciled on not being so mad all the time. "I can be mad any time I want." I said. "It's my gimmick."
We have continued taking stupid polls. Scooters were declared "gay" - unanimously by an 18-0 count, although remote control planes scored ok. We voted on Uptown's pregame trips to the diner, in lieu of spening more time than he does drinking beer and other assundries. 13 people called pregame dinners in a diner "gay." Only 3 thought it was a copasetic idea. And Lucy said "it depends on who we are playing" whatever that means.
Through our polls we also came to the conclusion that violins are "stupid" and that the funniest name of a game is "Parcheezi" the funniest name of a musical insturment is an "oboe" and that we all hate the baseball term "slurve."
Ah, before I forget, shaving my head. As a raging RBI tournament went on between Knoblauch, G-Bang, and Milton, Capone and I came up with the brilliant idea of shaving my head. Well, it beat our first idea of raiding the local bar to see if we could grab a leftover. It started with me shaving my goatee into a mustache, making me look like a 70's porno actor, when usually I just act like one. Capone then suggested shaving my head, which sounded like the greatest idea I heard since my first girlfriend Kerri asked if she could "try a blowjob" on me.
Upon starting, and realizing he was trying to do this with nothing but yellow Bic razors, hot water, and scissors made to cut thread, it became a bad idea. He actually quit halfway through to gape at some porn we tossed on. I looked in the mirror and my head looked like a desert with patches of tumbleweed. For some unknown reason I cheered back up and called MOM to tell her of my new, exciting look, and she was none too pleased. Then I realized I made my worst decision since I asked that 280 pounder to drive me home from Rose and Thistle one night.
Of course my bald head was met with the same high regard a cannister of tear gas or a runaway bus would be out in Section 39. "Hey, Tom, next chemo treatment at 3" Bald Vinny hollered at me as I I walked up to "Private Pyle" from Full Metal Jacket chants. Well, he was just jealous I had his look going, and better.
Now that my hair is basically back, except the part that will never come back, I have taken it upon me to crown a Deputy. I have crowned a couple of female versions in my own special way already, but that is supposed to "remain a secret." Um, ok. I told no one. Cough, cough. Anyway, being my Maniac Forces are growing and I have more kids following me than the Pied Piper, I anointed one Little James a deputy.
Of course, I told him he had to act like one. And he is, his first e-mail to me after he got the job was to say how proud I should be of him as he was "getting girls really mad" and getting "crazy IM's." Sounds like me all right. 15 year old James earned this right by helping me to and from the Stadium bathroom when I am too drunk to walk, and making the intitial approach to women I am interested in but scared to talk to.
And he was the first one to ask.
There is so much more. Running around all Memorial Day weekend with Kwik and 41, doing things like baseball sliding into trees and seeing an old man pee on the floor of a bar. There have been nasty exchanges between us and security at times, over stringent seating rules. I have even been moved to 37 on occassion, but that worked out awesomely as I met a whole new gaggle of girls.
But that is it for now. This is not my usual fare, it seems to be just a paint bucket full of jokes randomly tossed onto an internet wall, but even I was tired of seeing a column about Opening Day still up on the site. Well, have to go. It is lunchtime here at work, and there is a Magic Show going on next door at Toys R Us in 10 minutes.
You are the weakest link. Goodbye!
Sheriff Tom
"I'm A Sex Machine!!"
Enjoy, or at least pretend to....
JUNE 1st, 2001
A lot has happened since the last column. I got attacked by a goose. I cut my finger opening up a First Aid Kit. I climbed a tree in the parking lot at work and fell off. I crowned a new Deputy. I made 3 different girls cry in the bleachers and I have only been to 18 games. I shaved my head. Well, actually Capone did. I had a cop in the Lexington Station tell me I was TALKING TOO LOUD and to "move on." I got drunk running the rails with Kwik and ended up buying a Kung Fu movie. With all this going on, who has time to write a column?
Ah, where to start. Lots of disasters this season. Drunkenly riding the subway with Kwik, who was either trying to make sure I made my connecting train alive or to prevent me from buying more useless Kung Fu, I took a header from my seat and landed right on my face. You really can see sneaker prints in flattened gum when you get close enough.
Who can forget Mo Love Milton going from sober to drunk to "on the floor Oh, my God, I think he is dead!" condition in less time than it takes for me to drink a Coors Lite. Down he went in the basement of the bodega. He could not tell us his name, could not tell us he was at the bodega, but he was still able to recite the names of every reporter who ever wrote about the bleachers or will in the future before they carted him off in an ambulance. One of the more surreal sites I have seen since Gay Surge made out with a girl in front of our leering crowd was Milton, seemingly in the throes of alcoholic death inside an ambulance with a bunch of Creatures giving him the finger through the window and chanting "Milton Sucks!." "We're going to have to buy him flowers and chocolates now" groused G-Bang.
week later Gang Bang challanged Milton to a high-stakes game of RBI Baseball at the Sheriffs swinging abode, to which I said "unless he gets carted out in an ambulance again."
"Yeah, Tom" Milton shot back. "Like YOU'VE never been put into the hospital" Ah, no comment.
Milton more than got his revenge in May by placing me in the figure four leglock in the fourth inning of a game against the Blow Jays. I have been taking much abuse out there this year. While I have yet to continue my 3 year streak of getting whomped by a woman out there, I have had countless kids run over to punch me in the nuts, flip off my hat, steal my scorecard, or throw food at me. I even lost a Karate battle to a 5 year old, although thankfully people mistakenly think it was "fixed."
There has been a high propensity of ejections. Who can forget 41 coming in 3 innings late, which these days is 3 innings early for the Park Paperbaggers, making the left into 39 and meeting the acquaintance of Bosucks fan, knocking the said fans cap off, and being escorted right back out. "Hey, look!" Wierd Paul gesticualted. "FIFTY-one is being thrown out." 51? Um, ok, Paul. Put your flashlight hat back on.
Gang Bang has had a series of unique bounces, including the night he jumped up on the seat with zest verve and hollered in the direction of the security orgy on the rail "Yo, you guys suck! Whose in charge here! Let me have a word with you!" That went over as well as my "nice to meet you, can we have sex?" line, and he was shown the door, all the while innocently bedecked in his Atari shirt.
Speaking of Atari, we had quite the Japanese invasion with Ichiro Suzuki and his Seattle Mariner minions, complete with thier roving band of geisha girl groupies. The Orientals (oh, excuse me, as one nitpicker reminded me "RUGS are Oriental, PEOPLE are Asian.") were peppered with insults as they walked up the aisles snapping photos. "Just deliver the food and get out!!!" Donahuge hollered. I countered with, "Oh, great, now they are going to leave 55,000 menus under the seats."
Not knowing the difference between genres, the Chinese were getting it, too. "Hey, give us our plane back!" was a popular refrain. We sang many a chorus of "We Got Hit By US Submarine" (to the chorus of "Yellow Submarine" ironically enough with the yellow part.)
On the nights scorecard, in honor of the Asian invasion, we checked off 4 Kung Fu references from the hollering crowd, 18 WWF stereotyped Kaientai references, 10 Godzilla plugs, 9 references to bad driving, a whopping 23 camera jokes, and over 30 references to KISS made in the park by 41.
In the seats themselves, there have been dozens of bad lines, erratic actions, and terse exchanges. Ah, let me scatter these scorecards about in leiu of working today and find some tarnished gems.
There was the night Milton was cozying up all over a busomy babe, and was met with "Hey, get off her Milton! This isn't Central Park!" Or how about some tough guy coming in with a flaming pink shirt and Milton firing off the old "Hey, do your panties match?" line.
There was the night Diggety Dan, standing right in the aisle, pulled out his junk for all to see (well, all those equipped with telescopes) causing Big Brian to say for once in 39 he was "disgusted."
It was actions like this that caused Donahuge to muse "There are too many Curly's out here, and not enough Shemps."
There was the night a few of us intellectuals were talking about Horatio Hornblower on PBS, and Donahuge asked if it was a "gay porno." Or how about the day we found out the smartest kid in the bleachers, the venerable Walkman John, could do any equation or answer any question, but he could not spell "Raisenettes."
How about when Cuban Monica walked up and Dan greeted her with, "Yo, thanks for the Missile Crisis." How about the sad occassion they told us the "Box Seats Suck" chant was officially banned, so we had to lumber our way through a "Box Seats are Less Than Desireable" one instead?
Other fans who take wrong turns and end up in our funhouse have ranged from amused to confused at our antics. One interloper was heard to say "I feel like I'm in Rye Playland, not Yankee Stadium." Another guy complained that "no one here watches the game at all" but when pressed admitted he saw only 2 outs up until that point in the 5th inning himself. There were the priests just out of the seminary that were there the Saturday I spent sprawled out sleeping on the bench who were "very concerned for that young man." Later that game, to keep security heat off my slumbering self, Donahuge turned my cap forwards, sported me with sunglasses, and played Weekend at Bernies with me for the bemused spectators who could not fathom a guy would show up at a game to "sleep it off."
Don't people know me at all?
Then there was the guy who called Gang Bang over, pointed at me in the middle of one of my obscene puppet shows and said "What's the story behind this guy?"
How is this for an exchange? A guy came up to Bald Ray and asked for a cigarette, and Ray acquiesed. Then he asked for a light. "You need an ashtray, too?" Ray asked. Or Ray stumbling up to a bombed Milton and asking how many fingers he was holding up. "One." Milton slurred. "And four up your ass."
Ray wanders around more than Moses. "Hey, care to join us sometime today?" Blue Lou hollered down as Ray gave one of his many lecterns at the rail.
We have seen our wacky props. Cuban Monica's moose head. My Sesame Street saxophone. During one "concert" a beachball drifted by. "People!" Gang Bang yelped. "This isn't a Styx concert!"
Who can forget Rocky leading an apologetic Little Anthony up the steps a couple of innings late, with Anthony frantically waving a note explaining his tardiness (he played his first Little League game that day. Hope he does not get thrown out for charging the mound like I did) "The old Little League excuse" Gang Bang said, not buying it.
We have seen our fair share of goofy people roaming the area. There was "GI Jackass" - a loudmouth in camoflouge. There was a stoner met with the old "why don't you go take some X and go to a rave?" line. There was the guy in the Simon the Chipmunk hat. Or the 10 year old girl in the Mariner hat, who was predictably met with "Seattle sucks" which is not so bad when you consider we spent a half inning yelling "Get off the rail!" at a bird perched in front of the bleachers.
Of course, intelligent conversations are the norm. Bald Vinny and I had a heated argument wether or not Portable Toilets are considered "outhouses." Considering I was proud that I broke the one outside Yancey Park in, I said yes. Bald Vinny insists, wrongly, that "outhouses" have to be "permanant fixtures" like a hole in a backyard. Problem is we have no reasonable place to go to get a straight answer on this.
All kinds of big words were tossed around. MTA Joe, of all people, used "calamity" and "interloper" since last column. Grover said "circumvent." Big Brian said "disgruntled." Gang Bang wrote "surreptitiously" as in, "Walkman John surreptitiously wears a tie under his jacket." Someone, and I did not credit this on the scorecard, said "quagmire." May have been me. I do know I was the one who said "snide" though.
And as I am typing this I just heard the word "Edification" on a 311 tape, so there are still words out there for us to use to bemuse others.
We discussed the cinematic merits of "61." Walkman John made a point of going on the Creature Message Board to cite fallacies. Others looked at the fans apathetic response by noting that if Mantle had broken the record instead of the scorned Maris they would have "made a Musical" out of the thing instead of a plodding Billy Crystal film.
We have had angry exchanges. Someone told me to sit down and stop my yelling cause "You are not Christ!" "Yeah," I countered, "But I'm as popular as him." That same night I was counciled on not being so mad all the time. "I can be mad any time I want." I said. "It's my gimmick."
We have continued taking stupid polls. Scooters were declared "gay" - unanimously by an 18-0 count, although remote control planes scored ok. We voted on Uptown's pregame trips to the diner, in lieu of spening more time than he does drinking beer and other assundries. 13 people called pregame dinners in a diner "gay." Only 3 thought it was a copasetic idea. And Lucy said "it depends on who we are playing" whatever that means.
Through our polls we also came to the conclusion that violins are "stupid" and that the funniest name of a game is "Parcheezi" the funniest name of a musical insturment is an "oboe" and that we all hate the baseball term "slurve."
Ah, before I forget, shaving my head. As a raging RBI tournament went on between Knoblauch, G-Bang, and Milton, Capone and I came up with the brilliant idea of shaving my head. Well, it beat our first idea of raiding the local bar to see if we could grab a leftover. It started with me shaving my goatee into a mustache, making me look like a 70's porno actor, when usually I just act like one. Capone then suggested shaving my head, which sounded like the greatest idea I heard since my first girlfriend Kerri asked if she could "try a blowjob" on me.
Upon starting, and realizing he was trying to do this with nothing but yellow Bic razors, hot water, and scissors made to cut thread, it became a bad idea. He actually quit halfway through to gape at some porn we tossed on. I looked in the mirror and my head looked like a desert with patches of tumbleweed. For some unknown reason I cheered back up and called MOM to tell her of my new, exciting look, and she was none too pleased. Then I realized I made my worst decision since I asked that 280 pounder to drive me home from Rose and Thistle one night.
Of course my bald head was met with the same high regard a cannister of tear gas or a runaway bus would be out in Section 39. "Hey, Tom, next chemo treatment at 3" Bald Vinny hollered at me as I I walked up to "Private Pyle" from Full Metal Jacket chants. Well, he was just jealous I had his look going, and better.
Now that my hair is basically back, except the part that will never come back, I have taken it upon me to crown a Deputy. I have crowned a couple of female versions in my own special way already, but that is supposed to "remain a secret." Um, ok. I told no one. Cough, cough. Anyway, being my Maniac Forces are growing and I have more kids following me than the Pied Piper, I anointed one Little James a deputy.
Of course, I told him he had to act like one. And he is, his first e-mail to me after he got the job was to say how proud I should be of him as he was "getting girls really mad" and getting "crazy IM's." Sounds like me all right. 15 year old James earned this right by helping me to and from the Stadium bathroom when I am too drunk to walk, and making the intitial approach to women I am interested in but scared to talk to.
And he was the first one to ask.
There is so much more. Running around all Memorial Day weekend with Kwik and 41, doing things like baseball sliding into trees and seeing an old man pee on the floor of a bar. There have been nasty exchanges between us and security at times, over stringent seating rules. I have even been moved to 37 on occassion, but that worked out awesomely as I met a whole new gaggle of girls.
But that is it for now. This is not my usual fare, it seems to be just a paint bucket full of jokes randomly tossed onto an internet wall, but even I was tired of seeing a column about Opening Day still up on the site. Well, have to go. It is lunchtime here at work, and there is a Magic Show going on next door at Toys R Us in 10 minutes.
You are the weakest link. Goodbye!
Sheriff Tom
"I'm A Sex Machine!!"
