The Poot must have read my book. Either that, or he respects Don's work with Rosie O'Donnell. Maybe it reminds him of bombing the Ukraine.
Wait a minute. Have you ever seen Putin's incredible 2012 version of "Blueberry Hill?" Stop whatever you're doing. Watch this. Then let's have an essay contest. Somehow, it's gotta be relevant.
Yes, you're still shaking, right? Did you throw your room key onto the stage? Ask yourself: Could Bibi Netanyahu beat that?
Anyway, yesterday, while the Russian Fats Domino-Theory was praising Donnie Breitbart, another seismic burp was taking place in the world of egomania: Jon Papelbon revised his no-trade contract, so he can be dealt to the Yankees.
Previously on Homeland, the Pap Smear had stipulated that he should never, ever, ever, be traded to us. To most of us, this was a problem in the same way that not getting phone calls from Publisher's Clearinghouse is a problem. Frankly, the world seemed less dangerous, knowing the Yankees could never get Papelbon. Now, we have one more terror to fear.
One unnoticed beauty of the Starlin Castro trade - (Say, have we started postulating John Sterliing's HR call - a Starlin for Sterling!? - because I assure you, The Master is) - is that it effectively ended the chance of us signing Howie Kendrick. Now, we have the new fear.
Fats Papelbon. Think he can sing "New York, New York?"