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! Tis I, Tehol Beddict, back again to educate, subjugate, and perhaps even procreate if you deem myself worthy. Last week’s post got a bit nasty, but guess what? I’m a nasty boy, just like my deceased brother Biggie, so I liked it. My closest friends speak to me like I’m Jonathan Martin, so these negative comments didn’t cut too deep. A trip to Scottsdale was all my chicken and I required to return to the writing world like Jesus, when the whole needs us. My Arizona trip in a nutshell: Steamy modeling shoot in Scottsdale, tanning nude with the Phoenix Suns dance team, speaking with government officials about their negative reception to gays and minorities and how it must stop or I will no longer be visiting their desert wasteland of a city, and ending it all with some of the most sumptuous lap dances I’ve ever experienced, including one from the beazle who starred in the cult hit Grandma’s Boy (probably NSFW). I hate that movie by the way. Despise it really. Moving on.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings fellow fantasy geeks! Tis I, Tehol Beddict, here yet again to service you in ways you once thought irrealizable. I’m merely perpetuating my own genius by coming week after week with top quality, grade-A knowledge. I got’s to drop it on ya’ll, for not tot would be a terrible waste as it would die like a fart in the wind. At long last I’ve reawakened from my Vegas slumber as the elder gods were terribly unkind to me this trip. Of course, that is if you call doing mass quantities of snow with with a pack of bodacious strippers until the birds started chirping unkind. Beyond a doubt the sort of excursion that would make even the great Charlie Sheen jealous. Now let us get to the point of this post. I’m not here to write to you of perfectly formed beauties riding me like a rodeo (or am I), nor am I here to glorify hard core drug usage. What I’ve come here to do today, is talk about Alex Rodriguez, for I am seemingly his last remaining fan on earth.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greeting all! Tis I, Tehol Beddict! In Bora Bora I am also known as “El Papino,” but that’s a story for another time. Wait! Hold on a tick. This wondrous tale includes many of the details of how I obtained this nickname and I highly recommend you read it. With that being said, I am here to alert you to the calamity that is being brought forth to opposing managers, keeping them up nights, plotting on how to stop the monstrosity that is Han-Ram. Let me put it to you like this: There’s no stopping what can’t be stopped.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

If you were one of the Razzball disciples that had dreams of a 20/20 type season from Josh Rutledge please take your head out of the oven. Rutledge may have been sent packing, but things aren’t that bad. It’s not like you’ve been eating snow cones at Minute Maid Park. Besides you own an electric range. Worse thing you’ll do is singe your eyebrows and look like this. Hey, I was a Rutledge believer too. But I hedged my bet and put one of my kidneys on ice for him just in case something went terribly wrong. Damn, the cat’s eaten it. Gareth, bad kitty! At least I have a spare and that has Jedd Gyorko’s name all over it. I really need a middle infielder! If you were a Rutledge owner as well, we are in the same boat. And it’s about to hit an iceberg. Now stay still while I sketch you. The middle infield waiver options are stocked with guys named either Alexi or Alexei. Oh, there’s an Adeiny too. *sticks head in oven*

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There are only three dates that matter to anyone remotely affiliated with baseball prior to Opening Day:  1) The day that pitchers & catchers report, 2) The day that hitters report, and 3) The day of your first fantasy draft (I did say remotely affiliated). Please, blog, may I have some more?

Please, blog, may I have some more?