I’ve had my eye on him for years: Jayson NIX , #1 in the Colorado Rockies 2001 draft, is poised, at long last, to take the second base position of Asian hottie Kazuo Matsui, about whom my friend Anne, in front of her five-year boyfriend, remarked, “I’d let that man do anything he wanted to me.” The import: my surname is moving up in the ranks, much as the Colorado Rockies skyrocketed to the World Series after royally sucking for like ten years. True, they got shut out, but a valiant effort, and I say here-here, with my fingers interlaced and alternately shaking over my right shoulder, then over my left, for the Rockies and for Jayson giving our family a good name. (He may or may not be Jerry’s bastard child from the 1970’s…I mean, did you see that wedding picture of my dad before balding and weight gain took hold…)
Speaking of illigitimacy, in other sports news, the Broncos running back, Travis Henry (yeah, you know him, the one who has 9 different babies from 9 different baby mamas in 4 seperate Southern states) has just been let off the hook for positive marijuana testing. Phew!!! We need role models like this for high school males. I chose this picture of him because he looks cross-eyed, and that’s funny.
Another thing, not all red fish are red, and I need to get this out for others who might be deceived. This is old news that I realized from the Grand Isle Peer, pulling up a silvery brown eight-incher. Nothing vermillion about him. If these fish didn’t have such a supreme taste, I would have thrown that scaly hunk of a tease right back into the Gulf. However, upon further research, I found that redfish are rather supreme in other ways. Redfish in the Atlantic can live to be up to 50 years old and their anal fins have three spines. And what human doesn’t like something that, in real life, looks like a cartoon? (See above…red fish? More like hilarifish.)
And last, but not least, my mom and I saw Carmelo Anthony in the mall yesterday. Even men with a staunch record of heterosexuality would undoubtedly attest to the fact that Carmelo is quintessentially “cute.” Mom knew exactly who he was, and I beamed with crippled pride.