"Come together...over me."

 

Here it is at last, folks! The bit of nonsense that I guarantee will unite all of us, left, right, and center, in loathing—and hysterical laughter—of how idiotic our culture has become.

I received an email this afternoon addressed merely to "Blogger," informing me that my post, "Some Props, Please," "has been put behind a warning for readers."

I was told that I could "update" said blog post, and republish it at 

https://www.blogger.com/go/appeal-post?blogId=3932285159851204335&postId=7392961949121200955.  

to see if it now passed muster.

I was baffled, frankly, because I can't recall anyone on the Yankees deserving props recently. What has happened? I wondered. Has Brian Cashman taken over the internet?

So I clicked on what the post was. It proved to be a review of the ending of Game of Thrones, from May 20, 2019, nearly 4 years ago.

Not sure what the "sensitive content" was. The use of the word "cunnilingus"? A reference in a silly, satirical poem at the end about coming to America to kill? 

Censored for insipid doggerel? Sure, I could see that. "Not at all funny, really." Uh-huh. "Stop wasting everyone's time, including your own." I would plead nolo contendre.

But sensitivity?

I reprint the post now, below, along with your comments, because it serves as a sort of time capsule, taking us back to a better, simpler age, when the junior varsity filled in brilliantly for all our injured regulars, and just before we knew we would be beaten in the ALCS once again by a bunch of cheating knaves.

Note please, the references to the comments about El Chapo nearly blowing the game, and "pants on head," along with the spam about curing ALS and a certain "Dr. Believe."

Ah but we were so much older then

We're younger than that now...

Note: I'm sure this post will be censored sometime in the year 2027. When Brian Cashman is still general manager, and Giancarlo Stanton is still on the DL.

The Censored Post:

Okay, SPOILER ALERT.

But...did I or did I not call it on Sunday with GOT???

Let's review my predictions:

Danaerys, red-faced over having burned up everybody in that miserable pit of scheming nobles and religious fanatics, retreats to the Eastern Land of the Thundering Herds to get her act together.

Hey, I said she'd go back east.  I did not specify dead or alive.

Sansa is handed Westeros, and in celebration invents the Sansa Salsa.

All right, so she only got "The North."  In the end, this show was all about Brexit.

Jon Snow returns to the land beyond the wall, remembering—like Audrey Hepburn in Paris—that he was happy there once.

Check.  And yes, the man who introduced cunnilingus to The North was banished there, with the strict admonition that he never marry or have children.

This was a punishment?  What, did he also beg not to be tossed in the br'er patch?

"Sorry, ladies, I can't commit.  Westeros Council orders, you know, and those three-eyed ravens are everywhere!  But hey, let me show you a little something I learned down south..."

Arya moves to Brooklyn, where she changes her name to Kid Twist and starts a little outfit that becomes known as Murder, Inc.

Check and double check!  Last seen, she was on a ship going to the west of Westeros.  

That can only be one place.  Cue the Neil Diamond "America" tape!

On the boats and on dragons
They're comin' to America
Lookin' to kill
For one more thrill
Comin' to America!