Jeff Johnson Presents More Fun with Old Sportscards: Labor Day Edition

Tim, when’s the last time you gave one single thought to renter’s insurance? What are you gonna do if there’s a fire? And in your neighborhood that’s not an “if” it’s a—wait, quit looking at that cocksucker behind me for a second. He’s not going to be there when your property is reduced to ashes. Tim. Tim. Wake up.

Tammy says you’ve been doing weird things in the Arby’s parking lot to get free Jamocha shakes? True or false?

No, I am not cutting this off! Thanks but no thanks. I’ve been growing it out for the last whole month and it looks and feels awesome. I finally feel like my-fucking-self.

What kinda pizza do you like, bro? Pepperoni? Ha! That’s not fucking pizza, man. That’s so funny. What kinda calculator do you use? Texas Instruments? God, that’s a shitty calculator. Shitty. Shitty. Shitty. I feel sorry for you. Who’s cooler The Fonz? Or Chachi? Sorry. Trick question. I don’t watch that crap. I watch That’s Incredible ‘cause once in a while it blows my fuckin’ mind. Not often. A lot of their program is juvenile. Or Fight Back with David Horowitz, ‘cause I get sick of the man sticking it to the sheeple. Even though the sheeple deserve it. Hey, what German holiday falls on January 23rd? Stumped. You don’t know? Christ. Sleepwalk through life much, bro? What a gimp, man. What a trip.

I’m giving you one more chance to give me the goddamn remote back, Dwight.

I just get the giggles when I’m around you. I can’t help it. And why would I want to? I’m in love, plain as pudding, Judy Anne.

Let’s talk celestial alignment. Though music. Through athletics. My sister is Tori Amos. I’m Corey Amos. When you see Tori writhing on the piano bench and there’s a lot of histrionics, I’m pretty sure I know what you think you think, but really you don’t have the emotional aptitude to fully get it or enjoy it. What she’s really doing is recalibrating the universe via her instrument and her passion, and that’s what I do at shortstop. What you judge as a colossal error—like the ball skittering through my legs and winding up in left field—is something much deeper than that. There are larger forces at play, dancing with one another, only you’re probably too stunted by Western propaganda to realize the beauty and grace of it all. You’ve been trained only to watch iCarly on your iPad.

Some day a baby will grow inside of me. A Chinese one.

Left: What do you mean something crawled on his dick?

Right: It did! It did! It was in the cabin last night. Like an iguana or something. A salamander. It was big and weird and it was in his sleeping bag and now he just wants to go home.

Left: Warner, this wouldn’t be the first time you made something like this up.

I have like six different kinds of hernias going on right now.

Stay out of my dufflebag, shitball.

Teach me to dance like that. Teach me to dance like that.

Little Anthony got hit by a forklift? In his own goddamned driveway? Again? Ouch. What the hell is going on over there anyway? Friggin’ neighborhood shouldn’t be like that. Should it? I’m gonna hop on my mountain bike and rip ass over there to see if I can make sense of things…What? …I am sober. Christ. I gotta listen to this? We’re through, Vicki. Dunzo. Now unlock my bike.

They changed the ingredients in my cereal. They broke into my locked apartment while I was absent and changed out the vitamins from my cereal. They washed them off in the sink and put in their “vitamins” and they put them in a dryer and then put them into a vacuum sealed bag and put that into my normal cereal box, and re-glued it but I could tell it had been opened. And now I am deficient in vitamins. And that’s been their plan the whole time. The whole stinking time.

I had four gyros last night and 31 Rainier beers. And I have to catch today. Squatting.

When my playing days are over, I have a lot of ideas for educational board games. I want to pursue them and make a difference.

Yeah, I am a professor, in fact. I teach a seminar about how much you suck.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit.” I invented that saying. Gave it to Burt Reynolds for the movie Hooper. Did you see it?

Hey, I want a turn. I want a turn. Does this look right? Hey, look at me. Look at me. I’m magic. I am like Ron Jaworksi. Hey, thanks for having me, guys. This is really amazing. This is two-hand touch, right? Two-hand touch? We won’t hit each other?

That’s your friggin’ pep talk?

Yes. I fumbled. Yes, I have to wear these until halftime. Happy now?

Father: Montgomery Burns.
Mother: The musician Beck.
Batting Average: .042
Lip: Mildly infected.

I only subsist on what Mother Nature yields in terms of road kill. Squirrel, possum, deer—I will even suck on old antlers for sodium content—armadillo, skunk, raccoon is very tasty, black bear, golden retriever, house cat, chicken, duck. Any meat with gristle, I will eat. If you throw an old hunk of beef jerky out of your car window I will find it and eat it.

I pitch like fuckers get tasered. Here it comes. Ha-cha-cha! BAM! Taekwondo! Hit that shit. Nice try… My hips are killing me.

I suppose this is the part where you get me to say I love baseball more than cheap Latvian vodka. Well, not today, Einstein. You just keep being a pussy, and I’ll let you know when I hit bottom.

Hey, it’s nice to see you. Eve and I just got back from a workshop in White Bear Lake on “Responsible Lovemaking.” …Well, it was interesting. They said we should always lay down a giant rubberized tarp beforehand and also try not to weep so much.

JEFF JOHNSON