Celebrity Death Of The Week -or- We're Not Talking About Our Season

There are two names that come up when comedians are asked who they idolize in the business: Richard Pryor, and George Carlin. They're both fucking dead now. So it goes.

Carlin died last week at the age of 71, and ever since there's been a shit load of people saying very nice things about him everywhere you look. They are mostly dumb fucks, they annoy the shit out of me, and I imagine they would've annoyed him even more.

So we're keeping George in our thoughts. Somewhere between "This chair hurts my ass," and "Let's fuck that waitress!"

Of all the funny shit Carlin talked about, one line in particular seems to really apply to the Gashaus Gorillas. "Fuck hope."

Here's the boxscore from last week. Stats will be up in the morning.

I don't know how we're supposed to keep playing softball in a world where there is no Carlin or Vonnegut. But since we don't have much choice, we might as well have a theme night and kick Dynakleen's ass again tomorrow night.

Bring Bier.

Gorilla Stats -or- 2 +3 = 4

*You may notice that we've played five games, but only have stats for four. That is because I'm the only one on the team that can read and write, and I take vacations sometimes.

The Gorillas Would Like To Sell You Some Snake-Skinned Boots -or- Cobra Commander Was A Pussy

The guy you see to the right here is Snake Pliskin. If Snake, as played by Kurt Russell in Escape from New York, was a softball team, he'd be the exact opposite of the team we played this Tuesday past, inappropriately called "The Snakes."

I'd like to say that the Gorillas resemble Kurt Russell's Snake, but in reality we're closer to his Dean Proffitt, the carpenter in Overboard that convinced a then-hot and amnesiatic (amnesia'd? amnesiafied? amnesiastic?) Goldie Hawn that she was his wife, mother of his 4 brats, and that she swallowed. We'd totally do that if we got the chance.

I remember seeing Overboard as a young teen that may or may not have been on the verge of a prolific drinking career. Two scenes really caught my attention: the one where the brats super-glued plates to Goldie's hands, and the part where she opens her bier bottle on the edge of a table. Since then I have splintered many a table trying to open biers, and have spent many a dollar on paper plates, krazy-glue and hookers.


I'm not even going to get into the habits I picked up from watching Private Benjamin.

Gorillas Are Photogenic -or- Gorilla Stats

I've decided not to comment on last Tuesday's game, or the below pictures of hat night, except to relate this tid-bit: When I showed someone these pictures, they said, "Damn, your whole team is getting fat!"

To which I replied, as I believe all Gorillas would have, by saying, "Fuck you. We've been fat."

We'll try to lose a few pounds stomping on some Snakes this Tuesday @ 7:00.

(As usual, click on images to see larger version.)

Celebrity Death Of The Week: Inanimate Objects Edition -or- The Bier's A Little Warmer Today

William H. Macy was really, really good in Boogie Nights, Wag The Dog, and, of course, Fargo. And I'm pretty sure, although I never saw it, that he was really, really good in a movie called "The Cooler."

However, if someone says the words "the cooler" to me, I'm not thinking of the William H. Macy movie. I'm thinking of Mr. Robb.

Mr. Robb (pictured below) is the greatest cooler of all time. No one disputes that. But even Mr. Robb has his limitations. Last summer in Bloomington, he was almost pushed too far. There were too many blue yummies in him, too much ice, and some Ass tried to drag him, breaking a handle. Mr. Robb, great as he is, has his flaws.

Similarily, Mr. William H. Macy has his limitations, his flaws. Fargo was a classic; Wild Hogs, not so much. Mr. Macy is married to Fellicity Huffman of SporstNight (Yay!) and Desperate Housewives (Boo!) fame, and so he no longer says "no" to anything. Thus the load of crap he has acted in since The Cooler.

Not long after Mr. Robb came into our lives, JT found his brother from another mother, dubbed "Mistah T."

Mistah T appeared to be every bit as good as Mr. Robb, only he was often heard pitying the fools that thought there was too much bier in him. He was a great cooler, no doubt, but he did not know his limitations.

Similar to the decline of Mr. Macy's career choices, it was a wedding that ultimately did in Mistah T. The shocking wedding of JT to Mrs. JT apparently led to too much bier, too much ice, in Mistah T. Nothing besides loads and loads of bier could explain JT, an assumed a-sexual, getting married. Nothing besides loads and loads of bier could explain the untimely demise of Mistah T.

So today we mourn the loss of a cooler. A good cooler -nay! - a great cooler. But a cooler with limitations. And a cooler that was pushed too far. So it goes.

All that's left for us to do is remember the tale of Mistah T. Pass it down to our children, and our children's children, so that someday they will remember that all actors, and all coolers, have limitations.

[Oh yah, and it's hat night tomorrow (June 10th) - if it doesn't rain. Honor Mistah T by bringing his favorite: bier.]