We are a fantasy baseball league whose draft is scheduled for April 14. Ten men enter (or nine or eight), and one man leaves.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

A Fond Farewell to a League Legend. Come Home, Prodigal Son. Peter Always Has a Little Fatted Calf in the Fridge

The Art House Version on the right


Anonymous said...

I am truly overwhelmed. Stupefied. Off balance. I think it was the veal. In retrospect, a sous chef named Lumpy should have been a tipoff. But I digress. Having viewed your post, I can only ask, "Are we quite sure I'm dead?" Because I certainly got that impression. You're not mentioned in the will, you know. Well, not favorably, that is. But seriously...what the fuck is wrong with you? What happened to just building elaborate model railroads? You are, and I've been waiting all my life for this, a paean in the ass.

Anonymous said...

Mind you, that doesn't mean I don't still love you.

....J.Michael Robertson said...

Now youse belongs to the ages. We shall not see your like again.
This was your finest hour. Let four captains bear him forth for he was the noblest Roman of them all. Requiescat Pace.

For the love of God, Montresor. (Poe reference. I'll stop.)

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