reviewed by: 1900s Baseball News Reporter

EXTRA EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT.
Baby O baby, this is a grand-slam steal of a deal. This baby is a burgaler, I tell you, free hamburgers are for the winning only, not for ball-players that go out there and play like sleeping babies. Only in my sweet-dreams of candy carts and dandy-candies.

Remember when Mr. Spalding was pulled in on his chariot by two albino stags slippy-zippy right after the calamitous Chicago White Stockings bench-clearin’ brawl in April 1903? Oh yes, surely was that a bench-clearer, yes folks, I tell you, I tell you the truth. I have seen DAMES PLAY BETTER BASEBALL than this.

And whatta dunce this fairy is to drive around in circles all day, whisperin’ dixie, looking like a big douche on a mid-summer’s eve.

How in the hell does this numbnutted, bird-brained, trickle-dick-half-dim-dick-wit, idiot imbecile boob-bomb mustard-gassin’ nimcompoop MEATBALL get grub for FREE? This is a calamity!

Well, the future of baseball is here and now — and this talky-picture portends the future of baseball — in the future, babies will enslave their daddies. This is a calamity, now, isn’t it? Babies have no rights. Babies are not allowed to vote. Babies are not allowed to go to war. Babies are not allowed to play baseball in the white leagues, nor the negro leagues, babies have to play baby ball in separate baby leagues, and they play for bubble gum, not clams. And we all know that with babies, that, well, there are no rules with babies and baby baseball, its’a an all-out CALAMITY.

This cloy moving talky-picture makes fills me with disgust: how can a baby cause an entire business to give free-chow to a child to every sleeping child, and how do they expect to stay in business — or expect to win the big pennant game‽ — with this shitty commercial, it beats me.

Bugs, cranks, cranklets, mother hubbards, yes, even cranklets, they play better ball than babies; babies make playing ball seem more like a crouching crappy cricket match at Cambridge — or even worse — rounders at Rimmy’s by the docks.

This restaurant team looks like a Dutch bed of tulips, and they ain’t even ironed their damn shirt.

What if every team starting throwing the game for gambling babies, now that wouldn’t be a straight game of baseball now, would it? That would be more like shooting fish in a pickle barrel. Imagine if every clubhouse gave seats to every bug, crank, and cranklet that stormed the joint during the pennant game? What if every subordinate baby enslaved their insubordinate Daddy? What if every baby had to fight in the trenches over there in Duetchland? What if babies were in that Zeppelin? What if all babies traveled not in MODEL-Ts, but in pin-striped purple hot air balloons? What if a baby slide into third base, deliberately spiked and picked’a fight whitta Ty Cobb, proceeded to fight’em, and won the skirmish?

Now that would be a calamity, wouldn’t it‽

Rating: 30 Seconds of HELL

by Mr. Football

Well team, football season is over and this super bowl fan had an awesome time. Mr. Football is going into hibernation. Until next year, this is Mr. Football saying good night and good pizza.

This video is freakin’ awesome.

Excuse me, I have some work to do.

Rating: 30 Seconds of Heaven

by Mr. Football

“We are not doing it.”

Chica babe, what are you talking about, we are contractually obligated to do all night long after you put on your Mack daddy makeup. So let’s just kiss and make up and get that box of Franza, pick up a few bags of Totinos, and put on the DMX CD. I’m talking an overtime work out — and I’m going for that two-point conversion — and … IT’S GOOD. I’M GOING TO DISNEYLAND.

Go daddy, you always leave me hanging.

I mean, I have to visit your website just to bust a quick nut?

Rating: 30 Seconds of has anyone seen my DMX CD?

by Mr. Football

Serryously, I’m freakin’ POed that the Cow Girls are tardy for game time. Prolly their just makin’ out back in there locker room. They’re job is to be on the field on time because that is they’re job and that is what their paid to do. Hello, duh.

Maybe their i the locker room gicking it out. After that maybe wet N wild in the shower for soapy time? I am filled with questions.

And no, I’m not still filled with questions after the wrestling team deliberations. I mean, what the fuck, I didn’t make the freakin’ team so I just think the coach is a wimp and he was afraid of my boppin’ him in the nose of freakin smearing him with one of my golden signature knuckle sandwiches. I’M TALKING FOOT LONG.

This is racism. Seriously, I’m calling the cops.

Rating: 30 seconds of hell.

by Mr. Football

Now just because my name is Mr. Football does not mean that the team did not call me Mr. Pizza during my Freshman year. I ATE SO MUCH PIZZA, I HAD TO GEAR UP FOR TRAINING CAMP. Coach said ate pizza and lots of it. What are you looking at? You gotta problemo, Paco? What chaco? U looking at me?

Football > your geek club

Anyway, these GoDaddy commercials are awesome. I mean, I often call my pizza lunch awesome and I usually awesome is the only adjective I use to describe anything life has to offer.

WAH WOOMBA. AY PAPPY, CHECK OUT THE JONGAS ON THE HOT MAMMA. Some serious tigs, y-ell-o, operating, please connect me to those awesome rack of congas. Seriously, I’m stoked. I GOT A FEELING THAT TONIGHT IS GOING TO BE A GOOD NIGHT.

Wowee. Some serious bazookas and daddy wants it and daddy needs it. WAH WOOMBA. AY AY, AY AY PAPPY, me bad a bad boy. Give me spankings — after practice, of course. AY AY hot bazooka momma come watch me practice and thereafter we can get jiggy in the hot tub and buy some freakin awesome domain names using only your JONGAS. HOT HOT, 911 WARNING: VERY HOT YA-YAS.

Rating: 30 seconds of awesome.

by Mr. Football

Sup Mr. Losers, this is Mr. Football, and I’am going open a can of whoop-ass on you’re tooosh, using yo’ure ass as the can opening, you little wimps.

Now, many dudes like myself like checkin’ phacebook for status feeds, live updates, and creeping a lil sneak peeak at and up the cheerleader squads’ mini-skirts. I’m all like, “Pull your minis up.” “Babe, come’on, pull that mini up for Mr. Football.” Then I’m like, “I swear, babers, I’m Mr. Football, but my middle name is Mr. Sincere.”

Albeit, this wimp makes me POed: I mean, this wimp scores the Touch Down on his first date, but totally biffs on the xtra point. He and his namby-pamby car have some stupid facebook super computer installed and that just reminds me of the damn contemplative endings of Doogie Howser MD., when he writes in that freakin’ computer journal. That is some lame, I WANT SURGE.

Real men check there Facebook status for hot chicks, but real men wait until after practice.

Rating: 30 seconds of wimp stew.

… through this hell. Raise your vibration to a different frequency to transcend these crumby commercials. Gotta get that boom boom boom

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

We’ve uploaded several free football clip art images for you. To download any of the clipart, simply click on the image you want, then right click, and “Save Image As” to your computer. Downloading our football clipart is as easy as that. Enjoy.

video by kim-jun il-lation

This video is absolutely fantastic, very thoughtful, a with beautiful asian delicate harmonies. So soft and delicate. A hot drinks really get you going. I really appreciate young adult man’s splendor and valor. Valor in the hot face of hot drink fire.

ILLATIONS:

1. The bass line very technical, a very difficult stringa to play. Most probably studio musician hired for his higher-ranking baseball skills.
2. h20 stands for water. thank you for water!
3. Young man stand with aplomb and a country patriotism.

Rating: 30 Seconds of Heaven

With this commercial, 30 Seconds of Hell kick-starts our continuing “Tall as a Damn Mountain” series, wherein we cull commercials with the tallest people in all the land.

Part one of our series features another clever commercial from ESPN’s Sportscenter. This commercial features former-NBA Allstar, Gheorghe Muresan, a 7′ 7” center who played for the Washington Bullets in the ’90s. He is really tall. Gheorghe is such an erudite — a damn tall erudite — that he starred in My Giant (1998) with co-star, Billy Crystal.

In a white-collar office setting, we observe colossal hulking Gheorghe Muresan as dances. This may sound like a TALL TALE; however, this did happen, this really happened, in real life, this is not a tall tale, it’s tall entertainment, a tall pleasure every dance-step of the way.

I like to think of the creative board meetings, the pre-productions phases of this project that prefaced. I imagine the creative team being like, “Hey, what we got, whose got a pitch, hurry up, I’m not listening.” Soon after, someone meek stands up and says, “I colored-penciled storyboards with Gheorghe Muresan dancing in the office.” The creative director, whilst smoking a cigar, turns and says, “Colored pencil? Oh brother, not more colored pencils. Kid, are you shitting me?” The meek man replies, “24 piece Crayola. Sharpened as a Native American arrow head.” The cigar-ed boss replies, “Kid, you’re promoted, I’m so sick of all these schmucks drawing with those garbage brands Rose Art and Color Busters.” Cigar boss turns to Belinda, the secretary, “Get Gheorghe Muresan’s agent on the phone, pronto, or YOU’RE FIRED.”

Before I wrote this digressing review, I thought of transcribing the entire commercial — then I realized that would be a waste of time, for I’m watching CNBC right now, and American Greed is on. My point is this: take your money out of banks and stuff it under your mattress, pay attention to the simple dialogue in this commercial, and enjoy yourself whilst Gheorghe Muresan dances.

After writing this, I now realize that most of Gheorghe’s fame and success in the public eye has focused only on his height, and despite the title of this post, this post is about the joy Gheorghe spreads. It’s not all about his height, it’s about what’s inside of his tall body, and inside of his tall body is a big, warm heart.

Rating: 30 Seconds of Heaven

Sky-tops Gheorghe Muresan greets us at the door with a sky-high welcome

Lovesick of Television

Sometimes you need to take a break from television commercial reviews, simply because you are overwhelmed by how much you love to be sick by television.

In this instance, this Capri Sun©®™ commercial — great juice pouch, btw — speaks volumes. Some might describe Capri Sun as a nice juice pouch to sip from as you take a nice stroll beside the lakeside. I want to be on this beautiful beach, whilst sippin’ my Capri Sun©®™. I’ll tell you why: it is a Capri Sun island paradise, and that’s a fact. I want to be in this commercial: it states that the Capri Sun ©®™ fruit drink is 11% juice, which, by today’s 2010 standards, is the purrrfect amount of juice to fuel one throughout the day. Just like this Capri Sun ©®™ commercial states: there is only one, Capri Sun. Time to hit the beach! Big Waves to hit, y’all!

Rating: 30 Seconds of Heaven