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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!!!!!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! Let us not dally and get straight to the point. Not since Dennis Quaid’s pathetic attempt at portraying the legendary Doc Holiday have I ever witnessed a more disgraceful performance. My good men (and good women), this fraud has pulled the wool over our eyes for far too long. His supporters make me want to upchuck my kale smoothies while I wither to my knees, my body quivering with disgust. His 1.60 WHIP (before last night’s bed shizzing) makes me long for Marco Estrada. His 4.88 ERA makes me lust after Chase Whitley. Seriously, RuPaul has higher testicular fortitude. I’d much rather be tied to a razor blade studded lawn chair, naked, with my mouth duck taped and forced to watch Paul Blart: Mall Cop, one AND two, in a cage with starved hyenas along with 50 rattlesnakes than watch Strasburg pitch. Now he’s injured, and if my animal instincts are proven correct, a DL stint is on the horizon. Don’t be shocked if it’s a season ender, which may be a good thing in the long run, like having your family’s rabid dog drowned after blood-lusting after a river otter when you didn’t have the heart to gun it down yourself. [Jay’s Note: Wait, what?] Say one thing for Stephen Strasburg, he’s a disappointment. It’s over.

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

Please, blog, may I have some more?