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!

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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:

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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?

Greetings! Hmmm, it seems I’m leaving the good ole U.S. of A on Tuesday to go fishing, and I somehow just realized I don’t get internet reception where I’m headed. Ain’t that bout a be-yatch! I’m not fond of leaving my readers “hanging” as I prefer you all erect… err, anyway, your flaccidness shan’t be a problem, for I’m leaving you with a short post with my second half predictions. Oh, you think yourself to me more intelligent than the Elder Gods and myself, do you? Oh-hoho! Well, I’ll be your huckleberry. Leave all predictions in the comment section, but beware, the Elders seldom allow my defeat and are known to curse generations of my opposition’s families for centuries.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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Sky: “Beddict, what’s up broseph? Want to manscape each other and hit the Oregon coast for the week? My wife’s finally allowing me hang out with you again after the Playboy mansion incident.”

Beddict: “No can do, big dog. It’s Shark Week. Call me next week and I’ll make sure there’s not a solitary hair anywhere near your junk.”

Grey: “Tehol, I’ve been chosen to write the pilot for what could be the next, Game of Thrones, possibly even bigger, and I’ve chosen YOU to collaborate on it, you know, because of your rapier wit and panty dropping charm. Total life changer here, Tehol.”

Beddict: “First off; nothing will EVER eclipse GOT, as it’s the greatest show of all time. and 2nd: C’mon son….IT’S SHARK WEEK!”

Jay: “T-Beeeeeezy, guess who’s in town, playa?! That’s right, me, Jay Long-Dong! I received 30 Tinder matches since I landed in Sea-town, and they all want to get wasted at Beddict Manor for a week straight.”

Beddict: “No can do, Kimosabe. Nobody loves butt naked freaks more than Beddict, and I know we’ve never actually hung out, but bruh, Shark Week. Maybe next year…..Just a different week of next year.”

J-Foh: “TEHOL, you old son of a gun how are ya. Any chance you can watch my kid for a couple days while I go catch the donkey show in TJ?”

Beddict: [Hangs up phone.]

IT’S Mother EFFing SHARK WEEK, YA’LL!!!!!

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Ittttttttttt’s sooooooo haaaaaaaaard to saaaaaaaay gooooooodbyyyyyyye to yesterdaaaaaaaaaaay. Greetings! Yes, yes, I’m back, needing a week off to mourn the ending of another epic season of Game of Thrones. (Be sure to check out the Razzball pod covering the finale!) Some of you may be joyous over the fact that I won’t be posting anymore Westeros mashups, but then again, some of you aren’t right in the head. I come back to you, rested and perky, much like Cersei Lannister’s body double’s breasts, ready to get back on my job, which is dropping hot lava rocks, praising the Elder God chosen, and mercilessly disintegrated the souls of the weak whom are causing those of us unfortunate enough to own them, to drop our drawls, grab our ankles, and take a 3 foot rod all the way to the guts. No mercy, no fear.

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

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! What a day. What a muph*ckin day! LeBron James has officially ascended into Godhood as we are witnessing a beast of the likes I haven’t seen since Rocky Balboa got absolutely shredded and destroyed by the supposedly indestructible Ivan Drago. I’ve been on my knees more often than an alter boy as of late, giving all that I have to the city of Cleveland, giving all that I possess in rooting on The King, Machine Gun Delly, and the rest of these scrubs. IF they pull this off, it is without question, the largest finals upset in NBA history. Well, at least since I was birthed by the Queen of the Elder Gods on the rim of Mt. Vesuvius… Oh… this is a baseball post… My apologies, as I know most of you could care less about the NBA finals, but seriously this is incredible television and I hope you get involved. Let’s talk a little baseball though, shall we, my goodmen (and women)?

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

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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All hail his grace, Tehol of House Beddict and House Razzball, first of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of Fantasy Baseball, and Protector of the Realm.

Come, sit with me at the fire pit while we witness Grey, Lord of Light, burn another traitor at the stake. Ahhhh, I love a good BBQ, don’t you? Rudy Gamble, Warden of the Norh, is here, rambling on and on about how statistics show that gelded men are superior warriors. Oh Sky, I’m truly sorry. The theory HAD to be tested. Sending the High Sparrow, Jay Wrong, to bring you up on false charges, imprison you for 2 and ½ months, feeding you gruel, and b*tch slapping you with the ladel every time you got mouthy was a tad over the top, but hey, I’m a King, and am extremely busy. Kind of forgot you were in there. J-FOH, bring me another glass of red wine with a wildfire floater, would you? And no lip this time. I don’t want to have to feed your spleen to the direwolves. Really, J-FOH, you can be quite mouthy. RAAAAAAAAAALPH, by “the 7”, you are a right lackadaisical bastard. Were you touched by a stone man recently, or were you just sucking the pipe with Ser Smokey again? I REQUESTED my armor  removed over 20 minutes ago. Oh, imagined I’d enjoy roasting by the fire, sweating my kingly balls off, did you? Don’t make your King command Grand Maester Mike to lace your milk of the poppy with donkey urine again. That brings to mind the time my Dragon, Dom Brown, the Dread, almost choked to death on the last assassin who dared make an attempt on my life. [As always, Game of Thrones spoilers ahead!]

Please, blog, may I have some more?
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