The snack that critiques your manners

Pip-pip! Cheerio! Stiff upper lip! Ma-lahhhkey and all that rot!

Such are the words that we, The Guys, expect you to be speaking once you’ve purchased the $80 hot dog. Yes, right-o, a Massachusetts based minor league baseball team, the Brockton Rox, will be serving said colonic disaster in a scant 4 day, all in hope of winning a place in the Guinness World Records. Spot-on.

So, outside of a lessened amount of dignity and increased time spent on the club’s porcelain high-seat, what does $80 get you? It gets a foot-long, 8 ounce hot dog, deep-fried, doused in truffle oil and coated in porcini dust. I say, it’s got quite a mushroom pedigree. Along with that, it’s topped with white truffle shavings, crème fraiche, caviar and fresh roe. And still, $80 lighter. Monocle and top hat not included.

No Houston Rockets in Amarillo’s pocket

Sometimes, there are unfortunately designed mascots.

Maybe they’re of racist origins.

Maybe they’re of an artifact belonging to the school that just doesn’t make sense anymore.

Maybe they’re of an animal that doesn’t exist.

And maybe they’re just wildly tumid. Maybe next time the local college’s fashion fraternity and not any random fraternity is given the chance to make the costume.

Learning to drive easier than learning to open a door

I currently reside in a magical town in Virginia. It’s not as super upbeat as where the Bryans live, and it’s not as economically stimulating as where Rick lives, but it does the job. Of course, just 10 minutes down the road from me is the neighboring town of Salem. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a truly magical town. No, not because of some kooky witch-based pun, but because in that town, anything can happen.

The sky is green, left is right, orange is taupe and cars crash into the back of offices, rather than the front.

Well, at least one of those things is true.

Swing batta, swing batta, no pitcha, plenty of batta

Baseball deals can be just oh so much fun sometimes. It’s kind of funny to see just how much one team will pay for a player (or players). In our rather materialistic society (c’mon, it’s not negative if it’s social commentary), we tend to place value on both everything and everyone, and it’s not uncommon for us to place a value upon the players involved in trades in order to justify our entertainment. I mean, who would’ve thought that [insert blank name here] would totally not be worth that $20 million, am I right? However, Canada would have us think otherwise of our little value-placing game. Instead, thanks to them, we can now classify the value of minor league pitcher John Odom as ten bats.

And no, the bats don’t fly.