Massholes On Parade

This season, I'm on a mission of mercy. I'm here from Mitch and Murray!

With a division title under my Red Sox' belts, and a fast-ballooning Boston payroll, the playing field is truly even, for the first time since the days of Donny Baseball. We can finally be magnanimous about the local nine, and not treat baseball like an arms race. Acting like dickheads about the Yankees is entirely unnecessary; we have nothing to prove and nothing to gain by doing so. Theo the Pimp has afforded us the luxury of sitting back and just enjoying the ride. We can free ourselves of all this hate and just be happy.

But nobody's getting that message. It's just the same old Yankees-suck bullshit as always. We've all been greedy. Envious. Wrathful. Prideful.




We have a fast-growing karmic deficit on our hands. If we're not careful, Kevin Spacey is going to put our heads in a box. (And God knows what he'll do to the rest of our bodies.) Hell, after this past Super Bowl, a well-deserved kick in the nuts to an entire region (my testicles are still ringing like Christmas church bells), maybe it already happened. Maybe we've already been Spacey'd. It sure feels like it.

Well, I'll be goddamned if I'm going to endure another nightmare scenario because of my compatriots' aggregate assholery. This season cannot be allowed to devolve into the same old bitterness, bile, and bloviation. It's time to fight back against my own kind.

How, you ask? By pointing out every case of Massholery that I find.



Trust me. It's for our own good.

Anyway, the first entry is the perfect example to get this series started:

The victim’s sobbing girlfriend told police the couple went to the Cantab Lounge at 738 Mass. Ave. midnight Saturday. The couple was inside the bar for a while when a large group of people came up to them and started arguing with the victim because he was wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap, according to police reports.

Best part: the Irish accents. Worst part: everything else.

Gentlemen... you skidmarks on the underwear of life... this isn't cute anymore. Five years ago, this might have elicited a brief, evil smile from me. Now I just roll my eyes at how pathetic and pedantic it is. Gee, you really showed that guy. If you stood under a blacklight, you'd shine blue, like the cumstains that you are.

I hope I won't need more installments in this series, but if Chuck E. Cheese's fights are any indication, I probably will.

In closing, this town needs an enema.