Antone Henry Hammers

I am just ever so patiently waiting to go to the new Twins stadium to see them play.   As some may know, I was in Europe for about 25 days or something.  Originally planned as a 19 day trip to visit and travel with my lady friend, I was grounded by an Icelandic volcano that shut down airports all over Europe.  Luckily, I had a place to stay, and good company.  I was supposed to be back on the 19th, which meant I would be able to go to the Twins game on the 20th.  But, volcano.  I had even bought a ticket, that left an empty seat where my butt could have been.  But my butt was in Ireland, which is probably the more preferable of the two places.

I just wish that Major League Baseball would change around the schedule.  I’m back now, I’m ready to see a live game.  So just change this Detroit series to here, and we’ll be doing just fine.  I really don’t want to wait until next week.  That’s just not fair, Baseball.  I’ve been so loyal to you.  I haven’t fallen in love with other sports, I don’t claim any other as my true lover.  I just don’t get why you can’t work with me here.

I guess Baseball and I’s relationship is more like prostitution.  I give her money, and she gives me satisfaction.  If she’s out turning tricks elsewhere, well I guess I just have to wait my turn.  You dirty whore, Baseball.

Why does Folgers insist on making me feel so awkward when I watch their nauseatingly cheesy commercials.

Now today, I’m doing some researching on how to patch up holes in some of my dress pants, and this commercial plays.

Neither of these commercials really say anything about Folgers itself, which I get, but I would think the first add is some sort of commercial for a travel agency or church or incest prevention organization, and the second commercial be a jewelers commercial.  The commercials really just leave me speechless.  I vomit, and then feel a little bit violated.  As if Folgers is trying to rape my emotions by making the most over the top, heartwarming sorts of ads I will ever have the displeasure of consuming.  Don’t you exploit my innocence, you bastard Folgers.