Greetings! Ughh, ’tis been a rough couple days for your Lord… getting my butthole re-bleached is one thing, but my current day job forced me to fire someone for the first time in my life. Yes, I was forced to get my Donald Trump on and layoff this bih, who was once my boss. Aaaaaaaaaawkwaaaaaard to say the least. Of course, I made love to her first after doing our usual morning lines in the bathroom, as I wanted to give her one last perfect morning. Telling her to pack her shizz up and letting her know that I would be taking her job five minutes after blowing her back out was an absolute out-of-body experience. I felt the Elders gazing down upon me, guiding my firm hand as I demanded her keys, banned her from the premises, and broke her the worst news she has probably ever received in her life. Lord Beddict will no longer be giving you the pipe and you’re now going to have to buy your own cocaine. Nice gal, she’ll get over it… no she won’t. So yeah, about James Paxton If someone could tell me how a man who throws 100 MPH can somehow only total 3 Ks over his past 13 innings, I’ll service you while you suck you on a blowpop. How many licks does it take to get to the center of Paxton’s psyche? 5 innings, 6 earned, 1 k, 9 hits, but hey, at least he limited the Astros to one walk…

Anyways, here’s what I witnessed yesterday in fantasy baseball. Take heed!!!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! Back at it again with the fresh Disgrace/Delight posts. Naaaaaaasty! We are here, my goodmen, to discuss the downfalls and risings of some of the most skilled athletes on this planet. I shall do my utmost to lock the derogatory comments in my cranium and not bestow them on the good readers of Razzball, for I am not here to offend, but to teach. I am not here to decry these talented young men, only to track their progress as professional athletes and root them on towards future glory and the type of massive wealth that peasants such as ourselves could truly never comprehend. Buuuuuuuuut, you’ve got to be realistic about these things. For I, favorite son of the Elder Gods, just can’t pass up an opportunity to roast a slap-dick hitting, noodle-armed throwing, ass shaving pansy, that would be better served mowing the lawn at Beddict manor, than being rostered in our fantasy lineups.

I am Tehol Beddict, and this Disgrace/Delight. Take heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! Ahhh, nothing quite like receiving the honor of writing the Friday night roundup. I imagine its quite similar to receiving the Medal of Honor, the Purple Heart, or maybe a Nobel Peace Prize. It certainly feels a heckuva lot better than the pride of Julio Urias‘ owners on this fine Saturday. Yeah, Urias was a real spark plug for Dodger nation last night..Sorry, did I say spark plug? I meant butt plug. They were hoping for Justin Timberlake, but instead received JC Chavez. We all expected Christian Bale, but the performance was more Christian Slater. 2.3 innings pitched with three earned and four walks sounds more like Jorge De La Rosa than Jose Fernandez. With that being said, I’m not concerned with the outing whatsoever. That’s also possibly because I don’t own him anywhere, and don’t really care either way. Best of luck to you all though, my goodmen!

Anyway, here’s what else I noticed yesterday in fantasy baseball. Take heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings!!! Your liege lord, Beddict, has fallen on disastrous times. My goodmen, I was robbed by a thief in the night, the kind of criminal mastermind that makes Danny Ocean look like a pocket picking peasant. Not only did this despicable bandit gank me for my Mac-book Pro, but he swooped my black diamond encrusted platinum ring, my SMS wireless sports headphones signed by the Elder God, 50 Cent, a beautiful Burberry jacket, some fly-a** Louis Vuitton sunglasses, two Nike sweatshirts, a pair of high-top limited edition Nike Air Force One boots, and two different kinds of cologne. In the hood, we call this the come up of a lifetime. This scum-sucking pilferer hit the mother load, probably thinking he just robbed a professional athlete, when instead it was just poor old Beddict, washed up mankini model turned fantasy sports writer. I’ve never felt such pain, such anguish, giving me the sort of writers block that would make George R.R. Martin not look like a total pile of Hippopotamus shat. I come to you now, begging for your forgiveness. On my knees, begging you for another chance as I feel we were right on the cusp of greatness. Let’s work out the kinks and get back to doing what I was created to do… whatever that may be.

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is Disgrace/Delight. Take heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

And so it begins… are you ready? I SAID, ARE YOU READY!?!?!? Put on your finest man-thong, blaze up a fatty, blare THIS at max volume, and get hyped for opening day. My red eye is gushing so hard right now that I truly need a supersize man-pon. I fully expect this to be the greatest season in MLB’s wondrous history, with my contributions changing the face of fantasy baseball for our children’s children. Remember me for what I become, not for what I am… Or is the other way around? Either way, the season is on the verge of commencing and I’ve yet to lavish upon you my opinions on who will implode and who shall conquer. Fantasy baseball isn’t a game, for it’s a lifestyle and I chose this LIFE. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is Disgrace/Delight, Pitcher edition. TAKE HEED!!!

Be sure to check out my Football prowess over at the Razzball Football pod (with the OFFICIAL RAZZBALL Game of Thrones podcast starting tomorrow!)

Please, blog, may I have some more?

What a time to be alive! Baseball season is finally within reach! Not in reach, like your delusional mind is telling you about the girl you’ve been obsessed with since junior high and have been in the friend zone ever since waiting for your chance to strike (you’ve got to be realistic about these things), but actually happening! Jay(Wrong), the greatest editor in all of fantasy sports and the Weasley to my Harry Potter, has been up my a** like a 12-inch butt plug about me getting in my content, so here you have it! Ask and you shall receive my goodmen! Today, I tell the tale of the storied third base position. It seems the position has fallen on harder times than Nicolas Cage, as I didn’t respect any of the players outside the top-10 enough to even write about them in the disgrace section. NOT EVEN WORTHY OF DISGRACE? To attempt to put into words how insane that is; that would be beyond my comprehension and would take up my entire day. Or maybe if I had slept a wink last night instead of popping perks with this nice Chinese gal I met at the casino, I’d be able to properly explain. Such is life.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! Wow, my first fantasy draft of the year and the Academy Awards, all in one night! What a time to be alive! I’d like to imagine being there congratulating Leo, as I feel a certain kinship with him, as I, like him, have never been fully appreciated for my talent. I’ve never won any awards and am more well-known for my countless female actress/model take-downs. So what if my catches are extras and his are A-listers? “P is P, Dog!” Haha, have you ever know someone who uttered that phrase? What an embarrassment to life. If this is you, give your life to me and the Elder Gods, and we will do what we can to revitalize any hope you have of being a respectable human being. Anyway, I won’t be winning many awards for this past Sunday’s draft, for I was in the middle of a threesome with Christian Slater’s nephew and Lena Dunham, but as always, I will compete to a grizzly, disgusting, death if that is my fate.

I know I need to put out these position groups out faster than the Kardashian sisters at a Nickelodeon Teen’s choice awards after-party, so with all of our drafts are approaching, sit back, put your feet up, unzip your pants, and enjoy the show!

I am Tehol Beddict and this is Disgrace/Delight. TAKE HEED!

Want to take on Tehol and other writers in our RCL League? Join here!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Once, long ago, magic flowed through my brain, producing works of literary phenomena on my trusted and secure Mac Book Pro. These fingers worked more proficiently than Amber Rose’s as she brought Kanye West to orgasm through thorough butt-stuff. It’s been said I was the Vivaldi of fantasy sports writing, so what, you might ask yourself, caused me pull a Nicolas Cage and go from Oscar winner to Oscar Pistorious? Was it the drugs? I suppose that could have played a small role. Was it because my star has yet to rise amongst this plethora of d*ck-limping writers out in the fantasy sports universe? It gets to me, I cannot lie to you my goodmen (and women). But that never stopped me before… hmmmmm, what could it be? What else, but a woman! She told me I “sucked the soul out her butt”, but somehow I was the one who ended up empty and lifeless. What could I do but grovel on the jagged and frigid flooring of the cell she would lock me in at night after pleasuring her? Her juices were literally the only nutrients supplied to my once ripped body. Crippled and weak, I managed to escape one night while she was catching a Friends marathon on Netflix, breaking, nay, slithering out a fourth story window, where I began free-falling to what I believed to be my certain death, only to fall in the back of truck filled with black market Cialis packages. I snorted one, and immediately gained the strength to return to Beddict manor in order to regain my strength. Still, I lacked the motivation to write……

Oh wise and powerful Elder Gods, I am on my knees, begging you to remove these chains of bondage from all my appendages, for I am lost and the goodmen of Razzball desire the old Beddict. I’m no longer entertaining, creative, insanely handsome (okay, that’s a lie), or knowledgeable about fantasy sports. Wait! Hold on, I feel something! Even now, as I type these very words, I can feel the Elder blood beginning to pulsate within my veins, bubbling like Mt. Vesuvius, moments before it’s eruption! F*ck this, 2016 is mine, and I dare any mortal to step in my path!

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is, Disgrace/Delight! TAKE HEED!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

For the third time in his brief but illustrious career, Mike Trout, the one they call the fish, has produced dongage [Jay’s Note: What word is that Tehol?] on his born day. He’s still well short of my record, as I’ve now delivered dongage on 25 consecutive birthdays, including a quad-donging back in 1999. Maaaaan, you really should have seen me in my prime, downing two dozen raw oysters a day, along with a set of steel flutes that would make Van Damme do splits, and had me delivering dongage like Barry Bonds on the juice… But enough about me, I’m just filling in for Dan Pants and Grey the Elder God, and since Grey titled my first ever Razzball post “The One They Call the Fish,” I thought it only right to pay homage to my one true savior and favorite writer. Grey must be busy trying to track Domonic Brown down for an interview for the podcast he’s never invited me on. Laaaaawd, that boy is hotter than fish grease and carrying me on his broad shoulders as we speak (write?). Anyway, here’s what else I witnessed yesterday in fantasy baseball:

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! It’s crunch time, boys and girls! Are you one of the good people frantically following the trade talks, hoping to find that closer or rookie call up to complete your championship squad? Or are you one of those mud pirates, who has stopped paying attention all together, ruining things for everyone else? I suppose you’re more than likely not reading this if that’s the case, but just in case you are, let me be speak for your leaguemates, and say ef you! In head-to-head leagues, it’s even more despicable, giving undeserving teams huge victories and besmirching the playoff standings. Stick to DFS, for this is a game of Kings, and why I usually insist on playing in high money leagues, where frauds are beheaded like a deserter of the Nights Watch. Kudos to you if you’re still around, fighting for your lives in the greatest game ever invented. You, my goodmen, are warriors and the Elder Gods will write poetry in you honor.

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is, Disgrace/Delight! Take heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?
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