The Devil and Baseball

I’d like to clear the air here a bit at the Blog of Stupid. If you’re a regular reader of our comments (indulge in stupidity lately?) then you’ll be aware of the accusations of Satan worship leveled at me, your faithful helpful and pleasantly scented Blogger.

First, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I’m reasonably intelligent. This is difficult, because I have to disagree with my brain. It’s always like, “Psst. FooDaddy. Um…You’re a bit on the lousy side,” and I’m all like “Hey, that’s not very nice,” and it’s all like “Neither is being such a poo,” and I’m like “Quit it. I’m trying to drive,” and it’s like “You forgot pants again, you bum,” and I’m like “Uh, that’s the style nowadays. It’s New Wave,” and it’s like “Stop saying ‘like’ all the time. Makes you sound like a cheerleader,” and I say “That’s it. I’m not giving you any more coffee and ice cream.”

And then it shuts up.

With that out of the way, would any moderately intelligent person consider Satan worthy of praise? Think back to any time in your life that you suffered at the hands of someone who was being a bastard just for the fun of it. Now imagine yourself singing nice songs to this person. See what I mean?

I have to admit, though, that it’d be funny to hear it.

Hymn for Satan Worshipers

(To the tune of “Our God is an Awesome God”)

Satan makes a crappy god
He is a schmuck from Hell below
Spreading malice hate and greed
He’s a crappy god

At the scene of a car accident: “Wow! Thank Satan you’re okay!”

Sneezing: “Satan bless you!”

Dinnertime: “Dear The Devil, thank you for this meal, and bless the one who prepared it…”

Bedtime: “Now I lay me down to bed; hope I don’t wake up dead. I’ve got myself to thank; if I make my soul yours to gank.

So yeah. I apologize to any devil worshipers who may be reading this (Nordby?) but your engine’s missing a couple pistons.

And now my take on baseball.

I’ve been to only a couple of baseball games in my life, and I left them all before they finished. The most exciting thing I remember happening at one is my mom getting hit right in the chest by a foul ball, and that really wasn’t any fun at all. Especially for her.

But what does stick in my mind is something I’m sure a lot of you have wondered. You notice this because, as The Girlfriend stated in one of her stupid indulgences (comments) these men wear tight, ballerina pants. Baseball players are conditioned athletes, rigorously coached to cooperate and play as a single unit…

So the question is why do so many of them seem to be cursed with rogue privates? You get the impression that if they didn’t keep a close hand on them, they’d wander all the way into the stands and frolic under the bleachers and eat people’s popcorn. This does not fit the definition of “rigorously coached”.

You have to admit, that’d make the games a bit more exciting. “What the heck is that? Holy crap! Step on it, quick! It’s trying to get my nachos!”

But then again, I’m not really into sports at all. I resent the idea that they’re somehow “manly” because, taking two “manly” sports, you’ve got football, which is men in tight pants jumping all over eachother, and professional wrestling, which is men with NO pants jumping all over eachother.

Now boxing. There’s a sport that has testosterone all over it. Couplea guys punching eachother until one of ‘em falls down.

Grunt! Makes y’wanna go out and steal food and drag some women back to your cave.