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    I Can Assure You, I Did Not Take One Drop Of Dandy Jim's Muscle Tonic

    Ed_Walsh176x252.jpgEd O'Brien-1918

    (Chicago, IL) Well, it's a sad day here in Chicago. I feel I'm being set up as the fall guy. So I'm here to set the record straight. I, Ed O'Brien, am on the level. Now it's true that I'm hitting more home runs, running faster, and that I weigh 50 pounds more than last season, but it's all on the up and up.

    Get this down for your rags.

    I can assure you, I did not take one drop of Dandy Jim's Muscle Tonic! That's right, I said it. And I challenge any man to say I'm all wet. Come on fellas, you know I shouldn't even be talking to you. I play for the Chicago White Sox, as honest a team as you will find in all of baseball, if not the world. But I've heard the rumors that I'm showing the side effects of Dandy Jim's Tonic, so I'm going to sink those rumors one by one.

    First: I'm going bald.

    It's true that I may have a little less of a mop than last year. But, it's my pop's fault. Hey, we all know that if your pop is bald, then you're going to be bald. But, I still got more hair than most of you fellas. And really I don't mind. I'm saving some dough on haircuts. Tell me, who doesn't like saving dough?

    Second: I got all these doohickeys on my face.

    Again I blame my family. My Uncle Pat's face is so red because of the zits that most people think he's an Injun. Once, while on the way to Comiskey, he was presented with actual peace pipe. No lie. Look, I hope I'm getting the point across that me and Dandy Jim's Muscle Tonic are not and have never been pals. And those 10 bottles you found in my garbage, were put there by sinister forces, like The New York Yankees.

    Third rumor: I'm looking a little yella lately.

    This might be a bit of a bombshell, but I'm part Chinese. My grandmother fell in love with a Chink when she worked on the railroads. I'm sad to say that I was ashamed of that history, but not anymore. I stand here proud to be part Chop Stick.

    Fourth: It looks like I'm growing great big knockers.

    These are all muscle my friends. It's called a healthy life of weightlifting and eating steaks. The fact that you think they're boobs, makes me thinks you boys should get out more.

    Lastly: It seems that I appear to be more aggressive.

    Who wants to fight me to the death? Just joking. Hey, aggression is good. It helps me play and knocks those balls out of the park. And I can't be responsible if every Tom, Dick and Harry wants to pick a fight with me. I mean, that Red Sox fan last week was calling me a coward. And even though it was with his mind, I still have a right to defend my honor. Am I right or am I right?

    Now I might just be a dumb and completely lawful ball player, but it seems that we can put to bed all these Dandy Jim rumors. So, no more stories about it, okay? Say okay or I'll rip off your arms. Good. Hey, you boys have a golden day.


    Do It Again, I F*cking Dare You!

    Le_Voyage_dans_la_lune.jpgThe Man in the Moon

    The following is a New York Times Times Op-Ed from April 7, 1902.

    (New York, NY) Congratulations. I'm impressed, really. And I'm not easily impressed. This is quite the accomplishment. You should really be proud. Go ahead, give yourselves a pat on the back. Have a cold one. You deserve it. I can only imagine all the hard work and thought that went into this. It must've been a bear to figure out the engineering, which materials to use and how much propulsion you would need to break through the Earth's gravity and send a huge rocket into my F*CKING eye!

    I don't mean to be rude, but by chance did you geniuses make a pair of giant tweezers when you made the rocket? Didn't think of that one huh? Let me ask you another one. Did you ever hear of the Man in the Moon? I'm kind of famous. But I guess it's possible that you've never heard of me or you thought I was just a story, because I don't think that you nice people would purposely drive a ten ton piece of metal into my face. No, of course you wouldn't, because you're human beings, you were made by God's hand. You're special. You wouldn't just do something and not think of the consequences, no not you.

    But let me clear about something. If you very smart and sophisticated people do this again, there will f*cking consequences!

    Take this for what it's worth, but I will end you! Do you understand me? And if you think this is an empty threat, that I don't have any follow through, go ahead and ask Venus. Oh yea, you can't, because it's a DEAD planet! Get me?

    Why did you do this? Wasn't I good to you? Don't I help with you with the tides and provide you light during the dark night? This, meaning the giant piece of steel you slammed into my cornea, is not the way I would treat a friend, but I guess we're not really friends, are we? And that's fine. I can deal.

    But what I won't do is tolerate any more disrespect. And if you think I'm just joking, do it again, I f*cking dare you!


    Dear God, What I Have I Done?

    Bell_Big.jpgThis is an excerpt from the diary of Alexander Graham Bell from November 4, 1888.

    The weather has turned cold here in Boston, but it seems even colder in this house. No one talks to one another. No one is writing letters to friends or family, and no one is receiving any letters. Instead everyone is talking on the telephone. I fear that this is my doing, my fault. After all I'm the one who introduced that damn telephone to the masses, and thanks to me it seems our civilization might be crumbling beneath our feet! But please know and tell future generations, that I envisioned the telephone as helping people, helping our society. What a damn fool I was.

    Little Elsie May tells me, "Father, I don't need to write letters to my friends. Not when I can just pick up the phone and talk to them. Don't you know that print is dead?" My heart sank when I heard those words. My daughter and all their friends are turning into some sort of teen-age monsters. They talk for hours and hours about absolutely nothing, nothing! And imagine, there's a whole generation of girls out there doing the same. Dear God, what have I done?

    Lord help us if these chatty women ever get the right to vote, because that will be it for us. They will just chat us into submission before systematically ridding us of all our vices. NO. For the sake of mankind, I have to do something. Because we men need our vices like we need the air and booze. And as much as it pains me, I know what I have to do. I have to destroy The Bell Telephone Company and all the telephones.

    I have no idea how I'm going to do it, but it's got to be done. The American way of life depends on it. The American family is in danger. Already, sit-down family dinners are a relic of another age. We are becoming more and more isolated, and soon we will become a cave-like population that never meets face to face. Does no one else see that we're evolving backwards? I am too disgusted to write any more. I only hope I have the strength to stop this train before it's too late.



    Is There Anyone Here In Need Of Saving?

    Hero217x275.jpgPoncho Sergio Alaveda Schwartz

    Below is Poncho's classified ad from 1915

    (SAN DIEGO, CA) Hello, my name is Poncho Sergio Alaveda Schwartz. I am as you can see, a hero. But I am new to this town and I have no one to save. As you must know, a hero cannot be a hero unless he has someone to save. So, I was wondering. Is there anyone here in need of saving?  

    I assure you that I come highly recommended. I can give you references from my Rabbi, grandmother and tailor, Mr. Silverblatt, from my home in New York's lower east side. I am not new to saving, in fact I have saved many people from paying too much for fresh Hallah, whitefish salad and tacos. Also, when confronted by the threat of violence, I do not run the other way. Just ask Lenny Birnbaum from Lower Jerusalem Hebrew school, who put his fat arse on top of the flag pole.

    I come from a long line of heroes. My father Schlomo Ira Schwartz was a hero. He met my mother Maria Sergio Alaveda in Brooklyn, while rescuing her from a bad diamond purchase. They fell instantly in love and were married having 7 children. In those days it was tough for a hero to find work in New York, so my father went to Mexico in search of glory. But all he found was death at the hand of the El Chupacabra.

    Since all my siblings have decided for a life in vaudeville, it has fallen to me to pick up the hero mantle from my fallen father and serve the public.

    Who will be my first savee here in the Golden state? All you have to do is send a note to the address in this ad, and I will drop everything and rush to your aid. (Except on the Sabbath, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Cinco De Mayo of course.) I am available, for example to walk with you through the rough neighborhoods of San Diego, collect any debts that have not been paid and press your finest linen. I have other talents, but when put into action they all have the same result. You being saved by a hero.

    So just drop me a line and let the saving begin. I assure you that my rates are more than reasonable. You will not find a lower price in town. And if you do, I will beat it! Remember, when you think of hero, think of Poncho Sergio Alaveda Schwartz!

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