1. Having The Best Player On The Planet® is no detriment to the awesome cosmic power wielded by Cleveland's Black Hole of Athletics that on a molecular level simply strips electrons from their orbits but on a B-movie level (except for The Black Hole where those fuckers inexplicably survived, not so tough now, are you, Maximilian Schell) tears skin and muscle and tendons off of disintegrating bone, a flash of red that vanishes in a third-quarter olé-defense nanosecond, inaudible screams, the most violent of ends over before you can say Jack Robinson vacuum cleaner. Kudos, miserable town of nightmare and deceit, you have no peer in this space-time continuum.
2. Completely disconnecting from flesh world in order to connect with pulp world is refreshing. Except when you have to call the cops four times over the course of three days on your redneck grease monkey neighbor who refuses to graduate adolescence and won't shut the hell up at 11pm. Do you really want me to blare my stuff? You listen to Toby Keith and play-by-play NASCAR. I listen to Slayer and Mayhem. My money's on me, but unlike you, I'm not a complete dick. Too bad pouring the contents of an oil pan on someone and then setting said person on fire before dousing said person with water then repeating the process until they're nice n' crispy is illegal. Damn oligarchy with your "laws."
3. North Korea is threatening the nukyuler option on Queen of the Reconquista (or whatever Lou Dobbs is calling that shit -- look! A mexcan!) Sotomayer? Wow, they're more hardcore than the wingnuts except for Spray-On 'cause he'll drown you in his briny tears.
4. Aside from probably being necessary, I think another Black Death would be funny. The last one gave us Ring Around the Rosie. (hey, just go with it) Who knows what catchy rhymes a fresh catastrophe would bring!
Ring around the cadaver!
Look at what I discover!
We stink in the sun!
Now you try!