Greetings! Tis I, the one and only Tehol Beddict, AKA Beddict Shmurda, here to put you on game and put lames to shame, but first let me show you how to do my dance. It’s been a rough week for your old pal, Tehol, as I’ve been house hunting, searching Seattle in it’s entirety for the perfect Beddict Mansion. I located what I believed to be my dream house, only to have my offer rejected for another in the wee hours of the night, sending me into the type of violent rage that would even make Mel Gibson cringe. The fury soon morphed into sorrow, as I curled up a$$ naked on the floor, cradling my beloved chicken, Beatrice, bawling my eyes out while screaming insults at the Elder Gods for all to witness. I tell you this, not so you’ll empathize with me, but so you’ll know that if some of my predictions end up being a tad off, it’s because the Elders are clearly continuing their massive and almost unbearable onslaught of punishment against me. This may sound as if I’m already making excuses, but if you knew the Elder Gods at the depths at which I do, you’d know never to curse them, let alone curse them within earshot of other mortals.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

My name is Tehol Beddict, I’m a sexaholic (Hi Tehol)
I have a disease and they don’t know what to call it
Better empty out your leaguesafe funds ’cause I’m coming up quick to strip your cash
Joined your fantasy league just to come and whip your ass

Greetings! Welcome to another, hopefully exciting edition of Disgrace/Delight. I’m your host, Tehol B., and I’ll be trying my mightiest to fulfill your fantasies (baseball that is) in mentioning the players I feel have either disgraced themselves, their families, and their organizations or those of whom deserve feet and rings kissed, as well as animal sacrifices done so in their name. I don’t have time to dilly dally, for I have to shoot a commercial Thursday morning and Brother Beddict needs his beauty sleep. For optimum enjoyment (yours and mine), I should probably begin these memorable pieces of literature earlier then the day before they need to be submitted. That way, Beddict can truly be 100 percent balls deep, and that’s really what we all want, right?!  I didn’t choose this lifestyle, the lifestyle chose me. Let this quest beginith.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

 The moment I wake up
Before I put on my makeup
I say a little prayer for you
While combing my hair, now
And wonder what thong to wear, now
I say a little prayer for you

Forever, forever, Domonic, you’ll stay in my heart
And I will love you
Forever, and ever, we never will part
Oh, how I’ll love you
Together, together, that’s how it must be
To live without you
Would only mean heartbreak for me

Greetings!!! Tis I, Beddict the blessed, back up in that a** like a boomerang, and I’m not talkin Eddie Murphy. You know the thrown tool, typically constructed as a flat aerofoil, that is designed to spin about an axis perpendicular to the direction of its flight? We’re already off-track here! It’s been a rough couple weeks for your dear, dear, dear, most dearest friend Beddict, for not only has he been given the cold shoulder by Razzball Radio/TV, but he’s been c*ckblocked from writing for basketball next season. I’ll be making a televised announcement on where I’m taking my talents this Friday and “The Decision” may shock you. [Jay's Note: Uh, Football Razzball?] Guru is hosting, it and will be naked. You won’t notice, for his body is 100 percent covered in tattoos. Anyway, you’re not here to listen to my whine and moan, you’re here for Disgrace/Delight!! Let’s bang this out like a meth’d out stripper!

Bryce HarperTha God is back!!! If you’re new to Beddict(me) then there’s a chance you missed THIS outstanding column from the pre-season. Read it and weep, for Bryce is our savior. Praise him.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Boy let me show ya how to make that trade
How to spend that money how to win your league and get paid
Girl let me show how to hit that wire quick
How to get that d!ck, don’t give back lip
Go head do what you do make it work for ya!

Beddict  don’t play when it comes to money
I guess that’s why I’m okay when it comes to money

Hit Jay on the hip Guru on the celly
Rudy call Grey, I get ‘em for the R.Kelly
That’s seventeen a chicken, you know Beddict tha bird man
Citizens Bank Park, Philadelphia. I know the Byrd gang

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It’s been said you give away a piece of your soul every time you are photographed. That explains a great deal about me, does it not? Yes, it’s true, being a mankini model has soul f*cked me in ways you people, with your regular jobs, would never begin to understand. It has opened my eyes to great deal of topics that I literally have no choice but to write about (my therapist demands it), and Razzball.com is my outlet. Oh I suppose I could write about these other topics in a locked diary, or even start a blog that nobody reads, and I forget about in a few weeks (like half the female population I know) but truth be told, I’m almost too lazy to write one piece a week, let alone multiple, so basically I need to get out everything that’s on my mind in my disgrace/delight column. Why do I bring this up? Only because there’s a select group of you don’t want to read anything that doesn’t pertain specifically to baseball, or even more specifically, fantasy baseball. Well congrats guys and gals! Cuz that’s all we’re talking about this week. You did it!!! Without your hate, I would be unable to completely eradicate my soul, which is necessary for me to flourish spiritually. I’ve said enough, but enjoy this for it twill happen not happen again, I assure you.

P.S. I miss the hateful commentary that used to frequent this column. Not having it has begun to make me softer than a bloated up carcass someone dropped in a lake. Don’t get it twisted though; Beddict can still take it 0-100, REAL QUICK, so if you want to do battle, sho nuff you better come correct. Let’s get down to it. This is Disgrace/Delight!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

What up blood! What up cuz! What up Gaaaaangstas (Turn this up)!!!  They say I walk around like I got an ‘S’ on my chest. Nah, that’s a keyboard and a cashmere sweater vest on my chest. Greetings! Tis I, Tehol Beddict, internet-thug extraordinaire, returning to you from a much needed creative sabbatical. I can’t truly explain my absence last week. Yes, I was experiencing the kind of migraine headaches I imagine  Christian Slater receiving when he thinks about his career path, for a couple days, but there was something more, something deeper. The creative juices simply weren’t flowing, as I felt like Macaulay Culkin after he made Getting Even With Dad. Where do I go from here? Have I peaked? Do I have anything left to give this world? Has Domonic Brown soul f*cked me to the point there’s nothing left of me but a dried up, useless corpse? My chicken, the normally loving and playful Beatrice, that you see pictured, wouldn’t even look me in eye! The Elder Gods, whom have guided me to countless fantasy championships, had seemingly abandoned me. As I laid naked, curled up in a ball on my polar bear rug, bawling my eyes out, all seemed lost.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Game-of-Thrones-Season-4-Episode-7-Tyrion-Bronn

“I’d be a bloody fool if he didn’t frighten me. He’s freakish big and freakish strong. And quicker than you’d expect for a man of that size.”

Edwin Encarnacion is known for his size, bat speed, and his Herculean power. Sir Edwin is tall (he is 6’2″, so I guess not that tall). He possesses massive shoulders and arms thick as the trunk of small trees. Edwin weighs over twenty stone (230 lbs), practically all of it muscle, making him near in-humanly strong. Encarnacion’s strength allows him to wield a bat so humongous, it would make Greg Oden’s wang look like a thumb tack, giving him enormous reach, making him all the more lethal with his eagle-eye vision. Such is the power of Sir Edwin’s strength, that he has been known to literally obliterate baseballs upon contact with just a single blow.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I take a look at my life and realize there’s nothin’ left
Cause I’ve been toutin and praisin Domonic so long,
That even Grey and Jay(Wrong) think that my mind is gone
But I ain’t never praised a man that didn’t deserve it
“Sir” Dom or Beddict treated like a punk? you know that’s unheard of
You better watch how you manage and how you baller block.
Or you and your staff  gonna be given your papers to walk
I really hate to trip but I gotta loc
As Mayberry chokes, I see myself in the Payote smoke, fool
I’m the kinda writer/model the little homies wanna be like
On my knees sacrificing goats every night saying prayers to the Elder Gods in the streetlight
Been Speeeeending most my life, livin’ in the Models/strippers/writers Paradise!

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As of right now, is anything in this endless universe more scorching hot that Matthew McConaughey? When you take into account his performance in the criminally underrated film, Mud, his epic scene stealing performance in, The Wolf of Wall Street, which was possibly the greatest part of the movie which one would think impossible considering the countless classic scenes that Wall Street has within, and his Oscar winning performance in the true story of, The Dallas Buyers Club, the answer is a resounding, NO! There is none hotter.  Oh yea, I almost forgot to mention, Matty Ice, tag teaming viewers into submission along with partner, and legend in his own right, Woody Harrelson, in the undeniable classic series, True Detective. If his Oscar speech didn’t prove to you that this man cannot be touched right now, then you may want to go see a doctor, for you are clinically insane.

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It began as a whisper… a promise… the lightest of breezes danced above the cries of  men and women cheering him on in little league. That breeze became a wind. A wind of freedom… a wind of justice… a wind of vengeance. The time has come, my Beddictites, to prepare yourselves for a breakout of epic proportions. I speak not of the Herp, but of the Harp; Bryce Harper to be clear.

Some would argue that Nostradamus’s greatest prophesy was made in the year 1566, mere days before his horrific case of the Gout brought him to his death bed. “What prophesy is this you speak of, oh wise and charming Beddict?” Ask and thou shalt receive. A deep search into the annals of Nostradamus’s journals produced this historic find– “In the year of our Elder Gods, 2014, a breathtakingly handsome young writer will come out of the shadows and change the world forever. He will no doubt be criticized by many a troglodyte [Ed. Note-- Good word usage bro.], but he shall not hold it against them, for they not know better. On March 10, 2014, this debonaire young man, who will be known as the Mark Twain/William Shakespeare of his generation, will make a prediction about another chosen one, another young man I have seen in my dreams, an athlete of sorts.  These overwhelmingly powerful visions of this brutish boy swinging what seems to be a wooden stick at a bloodless round object have seemingly pushed me to the brink of my grave. It’s either these visions or this Mother F’ing gout! Anyway, I know not what this prediction shall be, but whatever it is, it will have an 85 percent chance of coming to fruition. These two young men’s futures will be forever intertwined for better or for worse. Take heed, for it has been written. I can now die in peace knowing my last true vision has been recorded in my leather-bound and padlocked journal. Now, if only this useless peasant, wife of mine would bring me my favorite chocolate sprinkled crepes along with some brie. Tis a virtual certainty she’s yet again, getting bent over in the barn by my stable boy, Mortimer. By the Gods, I despise that whore.” It’s been said those were the last sentences ever written by Damus, as he passed and now resides with Hood in “House Death.”

Please, blog, may I have some more?