Understanding Boat Names

Every morning, my train into the city briefly travels across the bay near my house. Many times I'll see small fishing boats looking to reel in the early morning catch. Often, like today, I'll notice that boat owners name their boat after a women, presumably a wife or daughter. I find this curious, seeing as how there are many unflattering connections and connotations that can be drawn. Let's use today's boat, "MY JOANNE," as an example.

"How can I get that fishy smell off of My Joanne."

"I wonder how many sailors can fit in My Joanne?"

"I once crammed 8 rods in the back of My Joanne."

"I hired an expert to plug the hole in My Joanne."

"Before a long day of fishing, I frequently take a shit on My Joanne."

"My Joanne has plenty of gas."

and, of course, "I let three friends come on My Joanne with me last week."

So, seafaring men of the world, I ask you to pause and give thought the next time you name your new boat. That way, when you say "My Joanne went down last night," you can say it happily.

Spidey fights back!

A few weeks ago, TML featured a post about Mob Taint. Well, it's seems that the forces of good are fighting fire with fire. This week I stumbled upon this vintage ad featuring Spider-Man. It appears he has a secret weapon against taint.

(actual advertisement from 1977)

That's right evil-doers. If you bring your malevolent taint into our city, Spidey will...well, the picture says it all.

Now, how exactly Spidey plans to do this is a mystery, but we here at TML have hypothesized that it involves some combination of web-fluid, pickle brine and an unnamed substance culled from the Hulk's septic tank.

Anyway Spidey, keep up the good work!

(click to enlarge and read what the original ad SHOULD have said.)

R.I.P. Patrick Swayze

When Patrick Swayze (I like to call him, "The Swaze." No, wait, no I don't) passed away earlier this week, all I could think was that a semi-celebrity cheezy actor has died. But when I actually thought about it, I realized he was a pretty legit star who made a serious imprint on pop culture for over two decades. If for no other reason than the SNL Chippendale's skit with Chris Farley, Swayze will be warmly remembered by men and women alike. I also think that Swayze helped usher in the very notion of the chick flick. Sure, there were other movies before him, but the one-two punch of "Dirty Dancing" in 1987 and "Ghost" in 1990 pretty much cemented the genre. Then it occurred to me that you could categorize almost all of Swayze's work into genres like this, so I did.






(NOTE: I didn't overlook "Next of Kin," I just think that's a movie no one should admit to having seen and it was an embarrassment for everyone involved. At least as I remember it. Shit...I just admitted...never mind.)

Masterdouche Theater

And lo, there shall be a place where only the pinnacles of doucheism will be able to come and hone their craft, and it shall be called...



Tonight's feature: "D-Bags at K-Mart"

OPEN on a seemingly innocuous checkout counter at a local K-Mart. On line is SERENA WILLIAMS with a canister of Planter's Cheese Balls.

CHECKOUT GIRL: That'll be $4.99.

SERENA: (after very long pause) You know what, fuck you. They are only $3.99. I swear to God, I'm going to open this can and cram these balls down your fucking throat. I'm serious.

The checkout girl proceeds to consult her Manager.

MANAGER: I'm sorry ma'am, but it's right here in our circular. It's in print and 100% verifiably true that they're $4.99. Only an ignorant, disrespectful, self-aggrandizing good-for-nothing dick who refused to actually read what he was angry about would make a scene in complete defiance of empirical printed evidence.

Enter JOE WILSON.

JOE: You lie!

MANAGER: Sir, that's completely unacceptable behavior.

JOE: You're right. I'm sorry-ish. Now give me the contents of your register.

CHECKOUT GIRL: (looks back at SERENA) I feel threatened.

SERENA: I didn't threaten you. I thought maybe you liked cheese balls and would find it pleasurable to have 5 or 6 dozen of them forcably rammed into your cake-hole.

MANAGER: (holds up can of cheese balls) Ma'am, the price is $4.99.

Enter KANYE WEST, taking all others by surprise and grabbing the cheese balls from the Manager.

KANYE: Yo, it's all cool and whatnot, and Planter's Cheese Balls are so talented, but Jax Cheese Balls are like the best cheese balls ever. Oh, and George Bush hates black people. I'm cool! Pay attention to me! PEACE OUT!

KANYE drops the can of cheese balls like a microphone he's done with and walks off, stumbling as if possibly drunk off his fucking ass.

Close curtain.

Aaaaaaaaaand, Scene!

Thank you for watching this episode of Masterdouche Theater. Because if there's one thing we're all sure of, it's that there are a lot of douches out there who can't help but constantly prove their d-baggery.

Organized Crime at Their Nastiest

First, let me start by once again apologizing for the lengthy time between posts. I didn't post a single thing in the month of August, and for that I am ashamed. But I promise to pick up the pace, starting right now.

This morning as I walked to work, the cover of today's New York Post caught my eye. You can see why...


Seriously, of all the despicable, low-down, underhanded, illegal, violent, mean, dastardly things the mob has done, I never thought they'd resort to "torture by taint." I've seen all the Godfather films, Goodfellas, Casino - hell, even My Blue Heaven - and I don't remember anything like that. Horse's head is one things. Mobster's ABC (ass-ball connection) is another.




Maybe it's a good thing The Sopranos when off the air when--.

Putting the "dumb" in "dumbfounded."

I know there are a million blogs and Internet postings dedicated to people who spell shit wrong, but when you see a wondrous sight like this on the lamppost immediately outside the door to your own building, it MUST be posted. I found this truly dumbfounding. Just, well...wow.



I tried to translate, but I'd need Indiana Jones and top secret decryption software to make a dent. Here's what I think is being said...

Reals = Reels
W.W.II Ideam = ????
Jewlery = Jewelry
ac air condistoner = air conditioner (making the letters "ac" redundant)
nic, nacs = knickknacks

They could have used this letter in A Clockwork Orange instead of ludovico. Hold someone's eyes open and make them read this. Instant mushbrain.

My humblest apologies.

11 days between posts is completely unacceptable. I apologize to all the people (person? torture victim? guy who reads all blogs for the CIA?) out there who read (stumble upon? are forcibly subjected to?) The Missing Link. To help make amends for posting so infrequently, here is a brand spanking new edition of Sublime Nonsense. Enjoy!

Pretty much says it all right here.

When advertising can't help.

There just is no amount of silly music than can make some things interesting.

What I'd expect this Friday night will look like in heaven...

"I can tell you're bluffing. You always hold your breath when you...oh, yeah. Never mind."


(Then again, Michael in heaven is probably a stretch.)

Hmm, this is a hard one.

Apparently people (i.e. men) that watch Major League Baseball games are the exact demographic being targeted for ED Medication, also known as Boner Pills. Viagara, Enzyte, Cialis, Coxafloppin*, you name it. When I watch a ballgame, I see nothing but ads for an entirely different ballgame. The latest one from Cialis features their now famous couple in matching outdoor bathtubs. In fact, it shows multiple couples in various outdoor bathtubs in different settings.


So, I think I've found a fundamental flaw in all of this. Cialis is recommended for guys with erectile dysfunction, but what if none of these guys has ED and is simply having trouble pitching wood because, well, THEY'RE OUTSIDE IN THE EVENING IN THE MOUNTAINS IN A FUCKING BATHTUB! Have these people never seen Seinfeld? Some things just simply don't, uh, work properly when cold and wet. Seriously, try a fireplace and a terrycloth robe before popping a pill to juice your junk. Just saying.

*NOTE: Coxafloppin not a real "dead head med" but should be.

Optimal View

So it appears the modest folks over at Calvin Klein jeans have once again decided to put up another boring billboard in downtown Manhattan. The billboard depicts a topless woman in short jean shorts lying on top of one man while making out with another. Innocently enough, there is another man lying on the floor below them all with his shirt and his pants unbuttoned. If I had to guess, I would say they are in various states of undress because they are rushing to get dressed for a church social.


Anyway, there has been something of an uproar over the decency or indecency of this billboard, which is pretty much exactly what the folks at CK wanted. Newspapers, radio stations and Internet articles have been abuzz with commentary, but here at The Missing LiNK, we wanted to get insight from the person who occupies the billboard directly across the street and has the absolute best view of the faux porn ad: Optimus Prime.

TML: So, Optimus, how do you feel about this new addition to your neighborhood?

OP: Are you kidding? I've been stuck 50 yards away from that fucking SoBe lizard for a few weeks now. I was ready to make that little bastard into roadkill if someone less irritating didn't move into the area and soon. The lizard is still behind me, but he can suck my tailpipe for all I care, I get to stare at a denim orgy all day.

TML: So you like the ad?

OP: Like it? That chick is freaking hot. And that's coming from a guy who's used stealth mode to watch Megan Fox shower.

TML: But what do you say to the people who call it akin to pornography?

OP: Come on. I've spent a lot of time the last few years in L.A. Photographers for TMZ discard shots of Lindsay Lowhan passed out in a dumpster that show more objectionable bits and pieces. Seriously, does she ever wear underwear? Talk about Ironhide.

TML: Even if it isn't overtly pornographic, you have to admit that it's at least objectifying and misogynistic. Three men sharing one woman?

OP: Maybe, but they' selling a product. And it's effective advertising. If I felt that I could get a chick like that to mess around with me, Ratchet and Grimlock all at the same time just by wearing the right jeans, I'd be looking for a pair in size 18-wheeler double wide right now.

TML: So then you believe the expression "sex sells?"

OP: Hmmm...a cartoon and toy line that more or less never included a female presence gets turned into a movie and the planet's hottest female gets more screen time than the Autobots and Decepticons combined. You tell me.

TML: Good point. And they're really aren't too many female Transformers, are there?

OP: Eventually there were a few, but nothing to brag about. I kept pitching the Hasbro guys on new characters like the Sluttobots and the Skankticons, but they refused to listen.

TML: Lastly, what of the families who live in that neighborhood and have to see the CK billboard everyday. What do they tell their kids?

OP: Tell them Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen opens June 24th at a theater near you. Transformer lunchboxes, knapsacks, action figures, underwear, toothbrushes, prosthetic limbs and colonial era apothecary tables available upon request.

TML: Optimus, thanks for your time.

OP: Word.

Cross(word) Training

As I may have mentioned in the past, my friend (and author of the always enjoyable blog, EADJ) Dave E. and I have a spirited, ongoing Scrabble competition on Facebook. I used to beat him with regularity, but he stepped up his game and beat me a few times in a row. Problem is, I hate to lose. Always have, always will. So I decided it was time to up my game, and that meant serious training. How do you train for Scrabble? Well, see for yourself.

A Special Appearance by Roy G. Biv

Some evenings you take a crowded train home only to be greeted by a crowded train station as people all pile on to a crowded bus. But other nights you decide to walk because it stopped raining. And you don't even get a a block away before you see this...



(my BlackBerry isn't really idea for shooting these pics, but there was one of the most clearly visible, full-color rainbows I've ever seen directly over Long Beach.)

Dude, sometimes, God is just cool.

Forrest Mutherfucking Whitaker!

New Music - More Music Videos

Just another Saturday in Long Beach.

The huge, over-exposed ass cheeks in Brazil. The roller skating weight-lifters wearing spandex in LA. The freaks (both professional and in the general population) wandering Coney Island. For whatever reason, public beaches and boardwalks have always been places where the oddest swatches of humanity congregate.

Take my hometown, for instance. Long Beach, NY. The City By The Sea. What wonders might one see if they decided to stroll up and down the 2.2 mile boardwalk on a Saturday morning? Well...

It all started, as many beach excursions do, with our friend, Metal Detector Guy.


This modern day 49er looks to find his fortune by mining through Chipwich wrappers and seagull shit hoping to find the gold plated bracelet that some guy named "Avi" dropped while playing Kadima with his hairy-backed cousin.

Like many boardwalks, the Long Beach boardwalk has a lane dedicated for bicyclists. In this lane, you'll see all sorts of sights, like tandem bikes and bikes dragging little wheeled pup tents filed with kids and seated bikes and hand-pedaled bikes and on and on. Maybe even the occasional unicycle. And, most notably, you will always see one or more guy like this: Unnecessarily Tall Bicycle Guy.


That's right. Nothing screams please notice me any louder than riding a bike with a seat 3 feet higher than normal for no practical reason whatsoever. And just because you like to get high doesn't mean your bike has to be that way too. How do I know he likes to get high? Well, he's riding that bike. Barefoot and shirtless. And has a beard that extends from his neck and not his face. And he has a pale, long-haired friend who rides next to him on a similar bike. And then they pull over and meet their other friends and play hackey sack on the boardwalk. The only way I'd be more sure was if he was hanging out with Snoop Dogg and Ricky Williams while licking a shirt worn by Woody Harrelson.

As I progressed further towards the west end of Long Beach, I noticed a fairly professional sporting area set up on the beach. Was it the AVP beach volleyball tour? Nope, that's in July and August. Was it Budweiser Volleyball Invitational? No, that's still a few weeks away. This was a less familiar yet all-too-common site. This was a group of We Act Like We Think This Sport Will Take Off But We Know It Will Never Go Anywhere Guys.


You see, late last summer, the "Beach Tennis USA" folks started loudly hyping their awesome new sport to the Long Beach crowd. They had the biggest names in their sport (I don't even have a joke for this. The biggest names in Beach Tennis? Really? Just think of something clever and chuckle to yourself) appear and hold a big exhibition match. They played music, gave away prizes, demonstrated the sport and gave individual clinics. And after all that, I could still only think of the words of the immortal Homer J. Simpson.
"They were the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked"

The last oddity that caught my eye on Saturday was this:


No matter how hard I thought about it, I could not for the life of me figure out how or why a desktop PC monitor would end up in a public trash can on a beachside boardwalk. Someone had to consciously decide to take a non-functioning monitor with them from their apartment, walk or drive to the Long Beach area, climb up an entrance ramp and cross to the seaward side of the boardwalk to deposit said monitor in the trash. WTF?

Anyway, that's just some of the weirdness you might enjoy spending a day in my hood. Unfortunately, I was unable to discreetly photograph the young woman who thought it was best to jog the boardwalk in a jogging bra and tight silver metallic short shorts. Jogger stripper? Stripper jogger? I'm still trying to do the math on how you can slip a twenty into the pants of someone as they run by.

My slow and steady march towards insanity.

Someday, many, many years from now, when I lie on my deathbed hooked up to tubes and monitors, I will use my last breath to eke out a "Citizen Kane"-esque final phrase. And when everyone is sitting around wondering what the hell "9MPH" means, this blog posting from the year 2009 will be the answer.


I know it's not a big deal, but it's the little things that will ultimately lead me into a haze of alzheimers, schizophrenia and dementia. Things like trying to figure out why in the world this sign ever needed to be made (and in turn, why the rule it enforces is needed as well). Somewhere there's a sign shop where hundreds of "10MPH" signs are already produced and waiting to be sold and hung. But for some reason, the Tropicana Resort and Casino in Atlantic City (home of New Jersey's most mediocre Hooters franchise) feels the need to enforce a 9 mile per hour speed limit in their parking garage, and to place a sign reminding us of it at every possible turn. Really? Would gunning it up to 10 mph suddenly put life and limb in mortal danger? Is 9 scientifically proven to be the safe speed for degenerate gamblers looking to park their Kias and Saturns?

Whatever, it's just a stupid sign. But it bugged the living piss out of me.

When "creativity" backfires.

People, if you're gonna be the desperate one who brings a love poster to American Idol, at least let someone take a look at it before you leave home. You know, just to make sure your use of hearts as the letter "O" doesn't create an unfortunate mis-read.

Sublime Nonsense Returns!

What can break me out of my long blog-less slump? In a word...GOOBY.

First off, allow me to apologize for not posting in a while. Things have been hectic and I got lazy. Then again, things are always hectic and I'm always lazy, so...my bad.

Anyway, why am I back now? Here's why. My boss recently brought to my attention a movie trailer he found online. The movie, based on title and premise alone, seems innocuous enough. Then I watched the trailer. Oh. My. God. Or, better yet, WHAT. THE. FUCK?!?

But before I continue, please watch the following video. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present..."Gooby."

(Please see the receptionist on your way out for a refund on the 1:55 of your life I just sucked away.)

The sheer terribleness of this trailer hurts me in my soul. It makes me weep as I fall asleep each night. It makes my spleen hurt. I'm offended by the very notion that somewhere a script was written, liked, approved, green lit and given a budget. That they hired Eugene Levy offends me (and I actually like him, and even thought he deserved an Oscar nod for A Mighty Wind). That Robbie Coltrane attached himself to this project offends me (forever tarnishing his great work in the Harry Potter series, The Black Adder, and of course, the immortal "Let it Ride"). And the dude from J.A.G.? What, was D.B. Sweeney unavailable? Did French Stewart have a prior commitment? They may as well have googled "D-List Jackoffs" and cast the first few names that came up. To sum up...me = offended.

But simply agreeing that this all looks terrible is not enough. I think we genuinely need to dissect just why this may be the most egregiously noxious trailer ever committed to celluloid (a title previously held by the first "Inspector Gadget.")

Let's start at the top. The first thing we see is the Monterrey Media logo. No one has ever heard of Monterrey Media. The parents of the guys who founded the company probably have no clue who they are. And the art card is awful. It's made out of ripped pieces of paper and a cheesy font. An auspicious start, to say the least.


Next we see a logo for Coneybeare Stories Inc. It's never a good sign when the unknown director of a movie needs his own production company to help release it. In other words, the companies in Hollywood with actual talented people empowered to make decisions all said, "no thanks."

As the actual trailer begins, we hear the voiceover, and now I know what the guy who narrated my 7th grade health videos is doing with his life. I mean, I know Don LaFontaine is dead, but he still could have done better than this hack. Trailers, even ones for sweet family movies, need a voice like Don, or Peter Cullen, or someone who has gravitas. This guy sounds more llike he has a spastic colon. Anyway...moving on.

At this point we get to the heart of the matter, as we meet "the most ferocious monster of all," Gooby. Immediately, we see that Gooby looks like the retarded cousin of John Candy's "Barf" character from Spaceballs. If Fozzy Bear had a baby with Wicket the Ewok, we'd have Gooby. We are also treated to a reaction shot from the lead boy character that will forever go down as proof that you can recognize terrible acting in a single frame.


Congratulations, young man. Your acting career is officially over. If this were the 80's, you'd already be relegated to mysterious sleepovers at Michael Jackson's ranch.

Next, we see that the movie was honored at two film festivals. Obviously, they are prestigious, because they put palm fronds on either side of the award. They reserve those things for Cannes, and Tribeca, and...Worldfest-Houston? Wow. I mean very very very wow. That is weak. Why not put up the "Saskatoon Public Library Medal of Watchability" or "Mrs. Thurston's Second Grade Class' 8th Favorite Movie of 2009."

The next few scenes are the obligatory awful music accompanying generic scenes of the kid and his plushy running and slide and falling and hiding. And Eugene F-ing Levy with an Wolverine haircut and bowtie. Aaaaaaannnnd....speechless. I honestly have no clue what to say to that. (Cue tear rolling down my cheek like an Indian watching someone litter.) When Levy slips at the 1:03 mark and whatever was in his hand flies up into the air, I briefly contemplated suicide.

Then the reviews start to pop up. The first thing you notice os that they are in Comic Sans, a font typically reserved for people who want the most generically playful typeface imaginable. When I was in ad school, and I was a copywriter art directing my own ads, even I knew not to use something so unimaginatively lame. Of course, when you are posting reviews from such reputable sources as "VideoViews.org," "The Dove Foundation" and "NAMBLAonFILM.com," a hack font is appropriate. (P.S. one of those reviewer names is fake, you guess which one.)

And finally, we are greeted with a title card that, as one would expect, is as cloyingly sickly sweet and horrendously unappealing as every second of the trailer that preceded it. All told, it was simply hideous. A travesty of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of a sham.

But I always hate it when people critique my work but offer nothing constructive or helpful. Never let it be said that I am one who criticizes without offering a positive suggestion. Recast the title role. Reshoot the movie. And you don't need a list of potential names to play Gooby. Hell, you don't even need one name. All you need is one letter. "T."


There. Now THAT's a Gooby I'd pay to see.

Well, that's my post. It certainly does feel good to be back blogging again. Nothing makes me feel better than spending 45 minutes writing about how much I regret wasting 2 minutes of my life on a bad trailer. Look out Interwebs, I'm back!

You can never be too safe...

Sent to me via email. Thanks, Blitz.

The New York Mess

I know I typically post my own brand of childish humor on my blog, but there is something going on these days that's making it hard for me to smile, much less laugh. I am of course referring to the painfully uninspired play of my beloved New York Mets. So for today, I'm removing my "toilet humorist" hat in favor of my sports journalist hat. Here goes...

When the season began, Met fans knew our team was far from perfect. Inexperience in left field. Reclamation projects in the starting rotation. Questionable production in right field and at second base. But all those things aside, we liked out chances. Every team in the division had flaws, and ours was a team that only missed the playoffs last year by one game. Most fans thought our new bullpen alone would result in 5 or 10 more wins - more if you look at the twenty-some odd games the pen cost us last year - and, just like that, we're in position to win the East.

Yet here we are, 21 games into the season, and these Mets look suspiciously like the team that imploded down the stretch the last two seasons. Citi Field has been open for business less than a month, yet it seems to have inherited two years worth of ghosts. The home team is 9-12, and hasn't been more than a game over .500 since they won on Opening Day. Some of the question marks have been answered with emphatic exclamation points, like Luis Castillo running well and batting .370. Or Ryan Church hitting .313 and showing no aftereffects from two scary concussions suffered in '08. Yet even with two holes seemingly filled, others appear to take their place.

David Wright has been so woefully inept at the plate this year that the unthinkable has happened - the boo birds have come calling for him. The kid who every fan loved; every dad wished their son would emulate; every mom wished their daughter would bring home to meet the folks. And now he's the scourge of the media, being called out on the back page for, well, being called out looking on the diamond. The painful truth may be that Wright has always been something of a stat compiler. He's had his clutch hits, but there have also been far too many instances, particularly in the last few weeks, where he has come up small. His numbers will be there when the season ends. His baseball card will be filled with triple digit numbers and all sorts of pretty stats, but unless he starts getting the kinds of hits that change games - and in turn, the fortunes of his team - his teflon coating will continue to peel off.

As for the pitching, the new bullpen has been as advertised, at least given the low number of late game leads they've been asked to protect so far. There have been some hiccups from the likes of Sean Green and J.J. Putz, but they aren't going to be perfect every day. And the way this team is supposed to work, they shouldn't need to be. In the rotation, Johan Santana has been All-World, proving to be every bit the player the Mets surrendered multiple players and millions of dollar to acquire. Just imagine where they'd be without him. It's the rest of the rotation that is a mess. All the excuses are there: injury; coming back from injury; the WBC messing with spring training. Whatever the case, the bottom line is that as of this moment, this rotation is not very good. It's possible - even likely - that the best is still to come. That a little rest has done Mike Pelfrey some good. That John Maine is just now feeling like the 15 game winner he was in 2007. That Oliver Perez will even out the "Good Ollie/Bad Ollie" ratio as he rounds into shape. But this is New York, with it's impatient fans and dogged media who expect more from a team with a huge payroll and a brand new multi-million dollar stadium. The bottom line is, it's not too early to worry, and there's is much to worry about.

All of this begs the question, "What now?" Any armchair GM can sit there and point out what isn't working. I actually have some suggestions for the folks at Citi Field that I hope will turn their dugout dances from Heimlichs to high-fives.

The first order of business is the manager. My suggested course of action here is no action at all. Jerry Manuel hasn't been the reason the team is underperforming, and I think his demeanor and accessibility does wonders for keeping the press off the players' backs. Jerry is always good for a quote or a one-liner ("I'm a Gangsta"), and I think guys like Wright or Daniel "is it a ball or a hand grenade" Murphy would be getting tougher treatment if Jerry wasn't shielding them. Plus, it's obvious that guys like Delgado, Beltran, Reyes and Castillo seem more comfortable and capable on the field under Manuel than they ever did under Willie Randolph.

Unfortunately, the move I'd most like to see the Mets make would require a time machine. I said this in November and December and January and I'll say it now. No player made more sense for this team than Manny Ramirez. There's no question he comes with baggage and is something of a complete nut bar (think the illegitimate love child of an Almond Joy and a Snickers). But this is a team desperately in need of a straw to stir the drink. They are listless and flat at times. Even their spark plug Jose Reyes can occasionally lose his fire surrounded by a lineup of luke warm personalities. There are too many Roger Dorns and not enough Jake Taylors and Ricky Vaughns on this team. Manny would have solved that, and brought his .320, 35, 120 line along for the ride.

The first real move I'd consider is not just shortening the leash on Oliver Perez, but eliminating his margin for error completely. If both of his next two starts aren't above average, Perez has to be pulled from the rotation and sent to either the DL, the minors, or extended spring training. If Chien-Ming Wang can stomach it despite being a two-time 19-game winner, the lesser-accomplished Ollie better follow suit. His problems are apparent, as are their cause. No player is more in need of regimen and precise form than Perez. If they had to do it over again, the Mets surely would have prohibited him from participating in the World Baseball Classic, where short outings and sporadic use threw his entire spring preparation into a funk. When he's not "just right," Ollie can be oh so wrong, and these days, that's the pitcher the Mets are getting for their 30+ million. In short: memo to Mr. Perez...shape up or ship out.

Another move I'd like to see given a chance is moving Wright up to the second spot in the order. Much like the Perez move, I'd hope and expect that it would not a permanent switch, but rather a temporary jump start. Wright's swing has gotten long and he's starting to get into his own head at the plate. By batting second, Wright would be forced to think less and just play. Move a runner over, see pitches, get a quality at bat even if you don't hit it 450 feet. Plus, he'd certainly see more fastballs with Jose Reyes on base than he ever will with Carlos Delgado crazy glued to the bag. In turn, you can experiment with Daniel Murphy batting third. Right now, he doesn't have the pop for such a run-producing spot, but perhaps being slotted between two of the teams best sluggers will allow him to approach his at-bats differently and learn how to drive the ball more. Again, not something I'd suggest for the whole summer, but more of a way to shake two hitters up a bit with one move.

Lastly, I'd do something, anything, just to shake the team out of it's doldrums. Have a singing contest on a team flight. Have everyone show up for early BP and surprise them by starting a giant water balloon fight. Hire a pre-game stripper (what's Anna Benson up to these days, anyway?). Just find some way to remind these guys that they are playing a game and that most of them are really quite good at it.

Do I honestly think any of these things will happen? I don't know. The Wright thing seems far-fetched, even though I love the idea of it. Odds are he's more likely to wake up one day in the next week or so and go 3-for-4 with a homer and suddenly everyone will think he's cured. Hopefully, he will be. The Perez thing is a more realistic option. Stories are already coming out that Jerry has issued Ollie something of an ultimatum. As for the "have more fun" edict, it seems odd that I even have to tell millionaires who play ball for a living to loosen up.

Whatever the case, the next few weeks will go a long way towards determining what kind of season these Mets have. They play ten of their next thirteen games against the Braves and Phils before flying cross country to face the Giants and the first place, Manny-fied Dodgers. It may be too early to say it's getting late, but it's also way too late to say it's still early. So if this team wants to deliver on the promise we all saw in our February dreams, the time is now.

COMING SOON: the "TML Nature's Nutsack" update!

This past Saturday, I had the good fortune to spend the nicest weather day of the year so far on the golf course. However, the serenity and beauty of an afternoon at Sunken Meadow State Park on Long Island came to screeching halt when I observed that at least two (and perhaps many more) trees on the course had what can only be describe as giant easily-perceptible scrotums growing from their bases. I realize that making a claim like that will only lead to the assertion that I am predisposed to seeing balls wherever I look, like some NAMBLA-fied version of an old Tootsie Roll commercial, but that is in no way true. That said, I will endeavor to bring my camera with me the next time I play that course in hopes of getting documented proof that these woodland teabags do exist.

Stay tuned!

"I'll be back. In this window. Everyday."

The Not-So-Great Lookalike Experiment

The Missing LiNK recently asked about two dozen people what celebrity they think/others tell them they look like. The responses ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime. The TML 4-Man Executive Committee (who shall remain anonymous so that adoring fans don't send them their panties and such) reviewed all submissions, and here they are loosely ranked from worst to best...


ZERO VOTES


Unanimously, the committee couldn't see any resemblance here, and Dave H. was the one who actually says there is one.
FINAL VERDICT: Huge Fail! Although, it's worth noting that Dave H. has only one testicle, so maybe he knows something we don't about Kevin James' kibbles and bits and that's where the similarity exists.


I think this one suffers from age. In high school Jason may have looked more like Ponch. Remember, 20 years ago, Jason had a few less pounds and no glasses, and Estrada had Larry Wilcox' mouth around his junk.
FINAL VERDICT: Dunh duh dun-dun-duh... Sorry, CHiPs theme stuck in head now.


The irony here is that Rob, a Met fan, despises Chipper. And I couldn't agree more. Any man who has a beautiful name like Larry and voluntarily calls himself something like "Chipper" is King of the Douches. Oh, and they don't look that much alike either.
FINAL VERDICT: I can almost see where people might say they see a resemblance, but it was not enough to sway a single vote.


I guess you really have to know Dave to understand why a comparison to Goldberg might be the funniest thing since the invention of the fart, but people have mentioned it more than once, so who knows.
FINAL VERDICT: Not all bald Jews with goatees and sunglasses are created equal.


I suppose we're stretching the definition of celebrity here. There's probably a significantly higher likelihood of someone stopping Short Round on the street and saying "You look like this guy Dave" than the other way around.
FINAL VERDICT: No time for love, Dr. Jones!


This is another comparison that suffers from age. Sue is my sister, and I will admit that 20-year old Sue and 20-year old Valerie Bertinelli did kind of look alike. Not so much these days.
FINAL VERDICT: It's a good thing my sister and Valerie Bertinelli don't have much in common. If she had named my nephew Wolfgang, I would have had to kick her ass.


Short hair and glasses just aren't enough to win over the judges on this one. One similarity does exist though...Melissa plays softball and Lori Petty was in A League of Their Own. So, naturally, they both think Rosie O'Donell is a piece of shit.
FINAL VERDICT: Stop crying. There's no crying in Celebrity Lookalike.


Okay, sure we're both hysterically funny guys with glasses who could lose a few pounds, but the committee still gave this one four "no's."
FINAL VERDICT: I'm pretty happy about this, since I kind of think Patton Oswalt looks like a sweaty lesbian sock puppet.


SLIGHT RESEMBLANCE


Not a lot of support for this one, but one judge did acknowledge a passing resemblance with the following caveat, "but Clive Owen is good looking." And somewhere, a little piece of Eric died that day.
FINAL VERDICT: Cohen may rhyme with Owen, but the similarities end there.


When discussing this one, there wasn't much overall support. But when these two photos were placed side by side, the resemblance was given some acknowledgment.
FINAL VERDICT: Erika Christensen is the post-op sex change identity of Hayden Christensen, who became a woman after killing the Star Wars franchise. It's true, I swear. So Emily is better off distancing herself from it all.


Two judges thought the Piston Honda comparison was a win, two didn't. I liked the symmetry that one Mike T. looks like a boxer from a game named after another Mike T.
FINAL VERDICT: Body blow, body blow, body blow...Put Him Away!


Amazingly, there was little support for the white Minnesota girl looking like the mixed-race Jersey girl. Side note...how did Mariah not get an Oscar nod for "Don't Mess with the Zohan?" She played herself, and playing a retard typically gets you an award.
FINAL VERDICT: If Meghan showed Mariah-esque inappropriate cleavage more often, there may have been more support for this one.


This is where the difference between "resemblance" and "lookalike" becomes clear. I've always thought these two reminded me of each other, but they don't genuinely look that similar. Plus, I think Ellen Pompeo weighs 57 pounds, which is hard to match.
FINAL VERDICT: Seriously? Seriously? (shut up, you watch Grey's Anatomy too).


They call Einstein "scrappy." Scrappy means you're 4' 8" and only marginally talented. Okay, then Greg is "scrappy" too. That alone should have gotten more support, but alas, no dice. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Greg is actually quite talented, so I'll call him plucky instead. And hope he doesn't hate me now.)
FINAL VERDICT: World Series MVP? Yes. Lookalike? No.


It's kind of cool to have a friend who looks like "Bobby Baccala," but I wish he looked more like Vincent Pastori, because you haven't lived until you get to call a good friend "Big Pussy" every single day. Pussy!
FINAL VERDICT: Bobby married Tony's sister Janice, so he's no one you should want to be confused with anyway.


I thought Mike looked like Brad Johnson the very first time I met him. But I guess you have to be a big enough fantasy sports geek like me to even know what Brad Johnson looks like in the first place.
FINAL VERDICT: After the way he fucked the Cowboy's in 2008, Mike is better off looking like someone else.


When I first heard this comparison I thought it was a good one. But after looking at dozens of photos of both people, I found the resemblance was not as obvious.
FINAL VERDICT: Being brunette, Jewish and cute can get you all the way to Hollywood. Or to being an advertising account person. That's some glamorous shit right there.


This is where the experiment went haywire. Apparently, when you Google pictures of Oscar De La Hoya, you get some crazy scary nasty cross-dressing shit of him (or it looks like him) in fishnets. I subsequently clawed my eyes out with a spork and was unable to continue.
FINAL VERDICT: None. Spork. Eyes. Ow.


SUCCESSFUL LOOKALIKES


Craig has been told he looks like Eckersley, Yanni, and Jesus. That's a little sacrilegious. No one should dare use Yanni's name in vain.
FINAL VERDICT: Upon seeing the pictures side by side, Jack Buck was quoted as saying "I don't believe...what I just saw!"


It's pretty impressive when you've been told you look like Lionel Ritchie, John Oates and Lou Ferrigno. Are there three more different people in the world? Still, Ferrigno was the hands down winner.
FINAL VERDICT: Hulk Smash!


Another solid comparison. Ironically, Josh has also shaved his whole body and nailed Barbara Streisand.
FINAL VERDICT: Aces!


I would go into a long explanation of who Josh Groban is and the beauty of his voice, but I'm hetero, so that's out. Anyway, solid lookalike.
VERDICT: The voice of an angel and a face like Tom's. Josh Groban lead's a charmed life.


THE FINALISTS


Matt looks so much like Christopher from the Sopranos, I kind of want to smother him to death. Or at least shoot him in the foot and call him "Spider."
FINAL VERDICT: Bronze Medal.


Hey, did you know that Lenny Kravitz' mom was Helen on the Jeffersons? And Danny is the man who taught me the term "Halfrican American." It's a match made in hair heaven.
FINAL VERDICT: Silver Medal.


AND THE WINNER IS...


After putting together a killer "Ugly Betty" costume this past Halloween, I never would have thought that Kat looked even more like a cartoon character. But I'll be damned if this wasn't the closest match we saw in the whole bunch. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I owe Disney 4 million for using the Lilo image on my site.
FINAL VERDICT: Gold Medal.


That's all for The Missing LiNK Lookalike Experiment. Thanks to everyone who participated. Now stop reading a shitty blog and go outside, it's beautiful out.