OH You Loveable Phillies

I love the Phillies. The only thing I love in sports more than the Phillies are the Phillie's announcers. I got an email from a dear friend recently telling me that the Phillies may not keep Scott Graham, who is the no-nonsense play-by-play guy and smoothest Phillies fan you'll ever meet. This sucks. Anyway, as I was reliving some of my favorite Scott Graham moments, (like how he laughs at all of LA's hilarious stories, even though he's heard them all at least three times a season for the last eight years, and how before each Phillies broadcast, the announcers would sit very very close to one another in the booth and Graham would fire off questions to them while they are all wearing matching hilarious hawaiian shirts with the Phillies logo on them) Anyway, as I was rooting around on the internet, I found these pictures:

The first one is Wheels, the second one is Graham, the third is LA, and the fourth is Harry the K. Fair enough. When I look at these pictures three things strike me: one, this picture was clearly taken at a Sears in South Jersey; two, Kalas has moved into the Hubie Brown Stratosphere of handsomeness; and three: it was clearly a group shot that they diced up to write individual profiles. However, a search of the entire internet has failed to return the picture as a whole. Obviously, it's my job to put the pieces together. Here's option one:

Not bad, I guess. I still can't get over that picture of Harry the K, though. Did he look at a series of photos, and then say, "yes, this is the one. That's the one I want on my profile." That would mean that there were pictures that looked worse. See if you can spot the subtle differences in my second attempt to reconstruct this legendary picture:

God I hate that Jon Jovi. Anyway, There are two differences. I've added three of the worst people on the planet, and Harry the K has been replaced by Burkey the K.

This may qualify as Phillies Blasphemy, but look at what 25 years of Phillies baseball has done to Harry the K! Time has not been kind to Harry. But this also has a great deal of relevance for me.

This means that in 25 years, I'm going to look like this:

The Bearded man has been Kalased! Just as a treat, here' s a look at the next 25 years of the Bearded Man's life, step by step:

If you would like to be kalasized, please send a headshot and $6 to ChristopherTobin@yahoo.com and his paypal account. I love the Phillies.

Accelerator Watch, Day 65

I thoroughly apologize to all of you who have been checking this page regularly for updates on the Accelerator, my new best friend, and part of the debutant homeless of Hoboken. Let’s start here: Did you know that the Accelerator got a haircut? And did you also know that I saw the Accelerator outside of MY apartment building picking through MY trash? Here’s a picture of what I looked like when I saw him:

Here’s a list of things I hoped he saw: (1) One of the crossword puzzles I had completed, so he’d know how smart I can be. (2) Some of the Taco Dip I made the other day, but couldn’t finish. (3) Cigarettes, even though I don’t smoke, but I know that the Accelerator loves cigarettes cause I was waiting by the bus the other day and I saw him searching the ground for something, then pick up a cigarette butt off the ground and light it, all in one motion.

I saw the Accelerator, and I immediately told my girlfriend to stop giving me long boring accounts of which of her friends are getting married. I told her to stand back and watch, because it appeared as if the accelerator was doing his taxes. Upon further review, he had gone around town and ripped down all of those things you post if you lose your dog, or give guitar lessons, or need a roommate, and decided to furiously peel through them.

Like I said, I took this picture while I was on a date with my girlfriend. While she wasn’t exactly thrilled, I was thrilled enough for the both of us, and I could tell that made her a little happy.

Bon Jovi Should Die in a Fire
Can someone please pull Bon Jovi aside and tell him he's a multi-millionaire and that he can stop making music now? Did you know that when the world gets in Jon Jovi's face, he says, "Have a nice day?" If I were him, when the 'world got in my face,' I'd say, "I have trillions of dollars, I've screwed ten thousand broads, and I have a sports franchise." See if you can tell which of the following is an actual poem by an actual third grader, or lyrics from his most recent album:

Sample A
Everyone's a miracle in their own way
Just listen to yourself not what other people say
When it seems like you're lost, alone and feeling down,
Remember everybody's different
Just take a look around

Sample B
Beauty is in you and everywhere
Beauty is my mother
Because she has diamond eyes
you can't be ugly
if you think you're beautiful

Send your answers to ChristopherTobin@yahoo.com.
Here's another gem from Jon Jovi: "I hijacked a rainbow and crashed into a pot a gold!"
FUCK YOU JON JOVI.

I don't know why this picture says, "Michael J Loveland" on it, but it makes it just that much creepier.








Jon Jovi's lyrics earn him a place alongside Dhani Jones and Slylock Fox.

Homeless Hall of Fame
Ole Burkey Bear is coming apart at the seems.
Yes, it’s finally happening. Since it’s long been the aim of the bearded man to spread joy around the Philadelphia Area, I’m going to focus on the positive things that have happened to me recently. I’ve gotten a new nickname and made a new friend in Hellboken. I don’t know his name, but we call each other “Accelerator.” So far, pretty awesome. He’s homeless, and totally bat shit out of his mind. I was walking home from my waitering job the other day when I passed him on the street and he put his finger in his ear, slammed his head into a stone building, and then screamed, “ACCELERATOR!!!” I looked at him, and said, “accelerator?” and he screamed it even louder. Kind of like in West Side Story, when that guy meets the Spanish broad and sings that song, “Maria,” except, Accelerator. And I think he’s American Indian. I immediately accepted him into my homeless hall of fame, the roster of which looks something like this:
Point Guard: The Accelerator.
Shooting Guard: This guy I saw in NYC three years ago, who was playing an upside down bucket with two sticks. He did this without skill or any rhythm, but a passion that I’ve only heard about in Bible Stories. When he was done skillessly pounding his bucket, he smashed a dinner plate with his stick, so as to end with a flourish.
Small Forward: Zig a Zig- In the restaurant I work in, there’s a guy who everyone calls Zig a Zig, because he says Zig a Zig at the end of all his sentences. Also, he has six teeth. He sounds like a character, so I introduced myself to him and he said, “who the hell are you?” and I said, “I’m Zig a Zig Junior,” to which he replied, “go wait in the girls bathroom, and don’t come out for twenty minutes, zig a zig.” I’m not sure he was homeless, because he was pounding drinks at 3 O’clock in the afternoon, but he and I had one of the greatest conversations of all time, so he’s in the Hall.
Power Forward: The Troll guy who guarded the bridge in and out of Manayunk
Center: The Michael Jordan of the Homeless is a woman who I always saw in Philadelphia. She weighs around 300 pounds, plays a recorder like in second grade, and wears a plastic pitcher around her waist. Also, she has one of those change makers that those guys who work in arcades have. She clearly has a sense for the dramatic, as well, because she was at the bike race playing her recorder.
It has long been my dream to round up all these people and start a band, with NYC guy on drums, the fat lady on horns, the Accelerator as the lead singer, and the Troll on bass. Zig a Zig, I think, would be too prideful to join my band.
It occurs to me that the most fun I’ve had since I moved to Hellboken has been in the company of degenerate alcoholics and crazy homeless people. This is not a good sign.

Election Time
So The Bearded Man's quest for personal gratification has landed me in Hoboken. And, as many of you may know just from looking at the picture below, I've decided to run for Grand Snob of Hoboken. This is a lofty position, and I'm excited just to be eligible of such an elite and finneky position. To cast a vote, send a wax sealed envelope containing a letter detailing why I would make a good Grand Snob up your mother's ass. My platform is as follows.
Smiles From Hoboken- This is the program under which we banish all "Smiles From Hoboken." This program will be easy to roll out, as our Hoboken Residents, or Hobokenists, as I like to say, rarely ever smile as it is. (Nay, not even a smile from the Rotten Hearted Dick-Holes that walk around with their Smoking hot, undeserved girlfriends) In this way, we will have no trouble in maintaining that nothing pleases us, which is central to our shared desire to eraticate all types of Satisfaction, save Self-Satisfaction. As we all know, Self- Satisfaction is expressed in witty comments about money to poor people, not smiles.
Something Missing
As many of you may point out, something is missing from the above picture. That something is my beard. I think that it's pretty obvious what has happened to it. It's regressed back into my face for the summer months. This could be for one of three reasons. One- The heat. Two- the beard's natural inclination to tell me when it disapproves (Not a beard friendly town). Three- I had a nightmare where I got a job as a waiter in Hoboken, they made me shave my wonderful beard, (even though I had it when I was interviewed and hired) so I went home that night and shaved with no shaving cream, put my beard inbetween two peices of bread and ate it, bite by bite, while crying like a child.
I say let ye with bushiest beard cast the first stone. (Don and Russ may commence stoning.)

Steve, I'm seriously Scared of You.

Hi there. Pictured below is my friend Steve. I once had a job where my desk was next to someone who answered phones. She would say, "your name is pete, P as in Paper, (etc.)" I started to think about how I would spell my buddy Steve's name, and I thought; S as in Strangle, T as in Thermos full of blood, E as in Evidence, V as in Victim, E as in Early Death.

I looked in Steve's dream journal, and it described a scene just like this to your left. You see, Loomis is the ultimate paradox, because killing everyone on Earth would make him extremely happy, but having no one left to kill would make him very sad. Here are things that make steve happy: learning about history, costing people their lives, his buddy Jim, treating electronics as if they're humans who are purposefully trying to fool him, football prospects and Steely Dan. Also, this is a complete list. In the Projected Lifetime Killing Factor (PLKF), Loomis' score is a nearly perfect 17. (See bearded man appendix for formula). There is a softer side, though. Here's Steve helping out at a charity dog rescue.

Anyway, the point of this is that Steve always complains that there isn't enough beard content on the site (he likes reading about my beard. I forgot about that in the list above.) So seeing as how I want to live to see Steve eventually kill me for some other reason, I'm gonna talk about my beard for a lil'.

State of the Beard

My beard is in a state of flux right now, as I am going for a two week castaway look, but have arrived at a well fed AIDS patient look. Below are some concerns:

This stint on the unemployment line has given me ample time to keep IMPECCABLE grooming standards. Just today, I shaved my ass and balls, head, and beard, chest, stomach, and inner thighs. Make it quick, Loomis, please?

The Bearded Job Search
Hey Bearded Man-fans. Recently, Some time between when my new boss was showing me how to staple two pieces of paper together (this is true. My question: If she wanted me to put something in alphabetical order, do you think she'd run through the alphabet with me? Let's hope not, but we may soon find out) and when the black girls in the call department were asking me if I had ever been to prison to make sure it was ok to have a crush on me, I started to wonder if my considerable talents were going to waste. The answer is "yes."
I need some money so that I can propose to my girlfriend, and go back to school, and start a career, and be unhappy in new and more interesting ways. In the interim, here are a few jobs i have considered.
-Body Builder
-Sheep Herder
-Shit shoveler
-Stapleist, ABC Orderologist
-Professional Phillies Fan
-Job in Marketing
-Small Engine Repair
-Garage Door Opener
-Ferris Wheel Operator
-Archery Enthusiast


Also, I thought about a job holding things for famous people? If I were famous, I'd pay someone to hold things for me, but I'd also fire that person a lot, tough call.
Anyway, seeing as how I could train a retarted monkey to do my job (and perform most of my social interactions as well) I think it may be time for a new one. If you have any ideas, tell them to someone who will tell them to me in a very kind and non-threatening way.
Time to Shake The Idea Bushel!!!

Idea #1: Injured Leg Magazine
For the first year, Injured Leg Magazine would be mostly making fun of people who have injured their leg, and the way they always tell the same dumb story about how they fell off their dumb bike or how one time I was riding an ATV and I put my feet down to stop because the brakes didn't work (I knew this getting on) and then the thing sucked my foot under it and I ended up running myself over, which is the only time I've ever heard of this happening, ever. I ran myself over with an ATV. That's like something out of the Matrix. Anyway, sooner or later, Injured Leg Magazine would slowly become exactly like Maxim.



Idea #3: Last words at UO
"Well, at least if I'm a shitty employee, it's some consolation that I may be a nice guy."

Slylock Fox is a Rotten, Nitpicking Motherfucker

For those of you that don’t know, Slylock Fox is a cartoon that ran in the Newark Star-Ledger when I was growing up. Here is a sample cartoon that I found on the internet.

Shady Shrew borrowed music CDs from Roxy Rabbit. When she tried to retrieve them, Shady claimed that they had been stolen. The Shrew insists a burglar entered his house. He says the vase was knocked over when the thief threw the door open. He claims that he called the police when he heard the crash, but that the burglar fled with the CDs before the police arrived. Slylock Fox doesn't believe Shady Shrew.

Answer: that cartoon is garbage. Most cartoons are garbage, but at least most of them don’t make you angry. The answer is that there are no hinges on the door, so the door opens out, not in, so the door couldn’t have knocked over the vase . If I had to assign people from my own life to play the animals in this cartoon, that ant-eating idiot (shady shrew) would be me, the topless mouse would be Keane, Shady Shrew would be Don, I guess, and Slylock Fox would be Satan himself.
The other thing is, do you really think Roxy Rabbit is going to have fresh flowers in a vase by the door next to his uneaten piece of cake and his banana peel’d couch? Roxy Rabbit lives in squalor. I would think, before you go out to buy fresh flowers, Roxy Rabbit, maybe finish off that turkey leg and patch up the holes in your wall. Now that I re-read it, Shady Shrew lives there, and not Roxy Rabbit. Whatever. The point is, if you solved this without reading my answer, I’ll play with your wiener for an hour. (If you’re a girl, I’ll play with your boyfriends wiener for an hour.) If you want to get into enough detail to realize that there are no hinges on the door, then why not get into enough detail to see that Shady Shrew’s eyes are connected to his hat, and he probably can’t see. That’s probably why his place is such a mess. Also, does Max Mouse solve all his crimes topless? Why is Slylock Fox coming down from upstairs? I think he and Max Mouse have to have a serious talk. If I sound angry, it’s because I wasted at least an hour every Sunday of my childhood feeling like an idiot on account of Slylock Fox’s underhanded tactics.
Anyway, The point of all of this: I take the bus to work. It occurred to me yesterday that they let anybody on the bus. This is because there is no ‘they.’ Last time I was on the bus, I saw this:

At first look, this is a picture of a very old man riding the bus. But let’s have SLYLOCK MOTHER-FIN’ FOX take a look!!!

‘Bout-to-die the Crocodile is taking the bus. Slyburke Fox sees that he’s about to get off the bus. Why does Slyburke suspect that the city of Philadelphia is in grave danger?
First, Let’s notice his stack of 40-50 very old newspapers. Now, it could be that he was taking them to get them framed, or into storage, or to be put into an album. But I’m sure if you asked him, he’d get all jittery and mumble something like, “uughh, I gotta get deese to da mayor.” Also, I bring two books on the bus with me, in case one gets boring, I read the other. Maybe he just needs to catch up on his reading.

Next, let’s observe that he’s set to get off at 30th street station, right around rush hour, where he can sell (?) his armfuls of newspapers or taste blood, or whatever he’s setting off to do. I just wish I had more time to spend with him.
Last, the scariest thing of all: Cleanly shaven face. This man is just crazy enough to appear sane. This is his big day, he’s bringing all those newspapers to 30th street station, he’s gotta look his finest!
Unfortunately, junior detectives, 30th street station is still standing, and this man’s mysterious intentions remain beyond the reach of Slyburke Fox.
We did solve a mystery today though, we can finally file Slylock away with Dhani Jones and anyone who was mean to Don in High School in the Bearded Man’s “Boy Offender File.”