A-Rod Hearts She-Males

The purple lipstick. The sleepovers with Jeter. I guess it should not come as that much of a surprise then that perhaps the greatest quote to grace sports pages in our lifetime has come from the recent Alex Rodriguez/blonde goomah scandal.

When asked about A-Rod's taste in strippers, a "petite" Hustler Club cumdumpster dancer had the following to say:

"[he] likes the she-male, muscular type. They brought me up to the champagne room one time. I spun around once and that was it. I'm not his type."

AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA. I guess when you're trying as hard as you can to stay in the closet, the next best thing to banging dudes is to nail muscular she-males while on road trips. Seriously, have you seen his wife? Or the chick he's boning on the side? Holy shit! You could crack a walnut on those triceps! That's a thick bitch right there.

I wonder if A-Rod and the missus ever talk about the above hose beast at couples therapy. Guhhhh.

Mrs. A-Rod: Not enough of a she-male.

Greg Oden: Raiding Mike Pelfrey's Closet?

Yeah, yeah, we know this has nothing to do with Mets baseball, but we would be remiss not to point people in the direction of this post at The Fan's Attic. You see, here at Out In The Wilderness, the Mets will always come first. But we also like to consider ouselves one of the foremost online jorts authorities in America.

Behold: future Portland Trail Blazer Greg Oden. Rocking jorts.

Considering Oden is an OSU Buckeye, even if it was just for a year, this should really surprise no one. I think Ohioans consider jorts acceptable attire for wakes and weddings. But not cargo jorts. Those are strictly for partying.

The Greasebox of Dreams

Despite the extra shitty manner in which the Mets decided to distribute Subway Series tickets this year (I maintain that there were more Yankees fans at Shea this year than ever before) I still managed to finagle a ticket to the game Sunday night. Despite the fact that the Mets lost, I actually felt pretty good about the whole night. David Wright seems to have slugged his way out of his slump. Damion Easley, he of the "Should Have Retired 4 Years Ago" variety infielders, homered off of Mariano Rivera, thus confirming that he really truly is done as the untouchable closer he once was. Plus, being at Shea meant not having to listen to Joe Morgan. (Side note: During the portion of the game where they interview Willie in the dugout, Joe asked Willie if he sent Paul Lo Duca with Damion Easley at the plate. The catch? It was a 3-2 count, two men out. I think it took everything in Willie's power to not embarrass him on the air. Joe Morgan needs to be euthanized.)

Even with all of these silver linings on the dump that the Mets left on the field Sunday, the best of all did not come until the game was long over. What occurred on my way to the subway has forever changed my view of food service at Shea Stadium.

After the game ended, my three friends and I decided to walk around the stadium in the upper deck as opposed to outside of Shea. After we got near the homeplate area, the crowd opened up and we were able to move more quickly. As we made our way to the right field sections, we were stopped by an Aramark employee who at the time was manning a gigantic push cart full of shit. Piled atop his cart were crushed beer boxes, hot dog bun wrappers and other assorted refuse. When we got to his cart however, our new friend, who looked a lot like Chris Rock if he had a learning disability, offered us perhaps the finest bounty bestowed upon a group of individuals since the days of Plymouth Rock: The Greasebox of Dreams. He had taken two of the cardboard trays that they give you to carry your food and soda at the concession stands and filled them to capacity with food. The best part? It was like a fucking treasure hunt that only got more exciting the deeper you dug. At first, we thought it was just a box of soggy fries. This theory was fueled in part by the fact that grease had already eaten through approximately 30% of the box. After pulling away a couple handfuls of krinkle cut fries, we realized that there were also Nathans chicken tenders! Holy shit! Anyone who has eaten at Shea knows that the Nathans chicken tender and fry baskets are without a doubt the most delicious item in the stadium. And here we were, walking out of the stadium, with a fucking treasure trove of Nathans. I swear, there were sixteen tenders if there was one. And not only that, but there were two pre-wrapped hot dogs at the bottom of the whole thing. A quick tally put the value of this box at an estimated $60.00. It's been almost 24 hours and I still have not shit out all this food.

Now usually, I am not one to eat food that a strange man gives me from his pile of garbage, but this was an exception. We immediately suspected that something must be wrong with the food if this guy was willing to give us his whole tender stash. But then I thought about it. I have long lamented the shitty food service at Shea. The food itself is actually pretty tasty, but the people serving it almost take pride in how slowly and inefficiently they conduct their business. I figured that it was because they hate their life and resent the fact that they have to wait on drunken baseball fans. But this is only partly true. I am now of the opinion that Shea's Aramark employees don't really hate me or the other fans, they just hate Aramark. From reports I have read* Aramark treats its employees like shit, so in order to get back at Aramark, these guys just bear down and do the worst fucking job any person could possibly do. It's not a bad idea, considering their job security rivals that of City employees. Really, what fan is going to spend the time to hunt down a supervisor and make a formal complaint if they get shitty service? None, that's who. These people would basically have to get caught keeping hot dogs warm underneath their nut sac in order to get fired.

At the end of the day, Aramark employees don't hate you or me, they just hate Aramark. And you know what? That's fine with me. Stick it to the man, that's what I say. The next time I'm in line at the concession stand by Section 3 in the upper deck, and the woman waiting on me is taking her sweet ass time trying to track down the lid to my soda, I'll just smile and remember the Greasebox of Dreams.



*Reports I have read = rumors I saw on a blog

Rocket, Back On The Juice; Suzyn Waldman Spontaneously Orgasms

Roger Clemens is back, and not a moment too soon for Yankee fans! Hooray! How any Yankee fan could be excited about this is beyond me. Let's quickly look at the myriad problems with the "Roger Clemens Is Back In The Bronx" disaster that has been dumped in our laps like an unwanted baby is tossed in a dumpster in the South Bronx:

1) Signings like this are exactly the type of personnel decision that have left the Yankees in the current state they are in (14-16, tied with the D-Rays). As a Mets fan, I was willing to accept the fact that the Mets might struggle for a bit while they tried to develop guys like Oliver Perez, John Maine, Mike Pelfrey, etc., but I was happy because at least they were moving away from the "patch together a rotation with fading stars" bullshit that had been their M.O. since the mid 90s. The Yankees are moving the complete opposite direction - older, frailer and more overpaid.

2) Roger Clemens is a huge asshole. He is a gigantic Texas redneck with an even bigger ego. And he will now be joining a team of other hired guns with comparably enormous egos. Well, joining them at home games. If he feels like it. Apparently the Yankees value team chemistry as much as I value exercise and a balanced diet (I'd take a digital picture of my lovehandles to prove my point, but I don't want to get off the couch).

3) This signing really is not going to have that big of an impact on the Yankees' season. I'd elaborate, but Rumors and Rants does a much better job for me right here. Perhaps the Yanks should look for a closer who they can tender a $28 million pro-rated contract to.

4) Yankees fans, they keep crawlin' back. Any Yankee fan who cheered as Roger Clemens all but rode into the owner's box on a white horse on Sunday should be publicly flogged. That man is what Jennifer Lopez would look like if she were a juiced up Texas meathead. Cheering for him after he pulled his "maybe I will, maybe I won't" routine for an entire spring is like kicking your husband out after he beats you and then throwing an ice cream party for the bastard when he decides to come back home.

5) Clemens is set to make his first start during the first week of June, according to crying little jerkoff Yankees G.M. Brian Cashman. That's kind of funny, because as a Mets fan, I have a player of mine rejoining the team during the first week of June. What was his name...big dude...kind of a dick...ummmm - Oh yeah! Guiellermo Mota! The same Guiellermo Mota who got caught for steroids and suspended for 50 games under the new, relatively ineffective MLB drug testing policy! This reeks of a cover up. Bud Selig, baseball commissioner and known douchebag, most certainly suspended Mota during the first wave of random drug testing in order to prove that the new testing is "working," while telling Roger to lay low for a few months in order to protect the legacy of one of the better pitchers of our generation. Total. Bullshit.

6) The Yankees now have a thirdbaseman who wears purple lipstick, a shortstop with a flattop and a grown man who frosts his tips. This is not a pennant contender. This is a really shitty boy band.



Lance Bass's bigger, gayer brother.

7) I am not a skilled enough writer to put in to words how absurd Suzyn Waldman's reaction to this announcement was. Enjoy. (via "Yes Joe, It's Toasted")



This woman makes Fran Healy sound goooooooood.

So in conclusion - enjoy, Yankees fans, for you have added one more expensive, selfish rent-a-star to your already bloated payroll.