Yikes!: Yesterday I got another notice from Bob Frank. For those of you who don't know who this Bob Frank prick is, he was my former slum-lord when I lived in the house on the left. Basically 8 of us (yes, 8 of us!) lived in this dump of his, where he proceeded to rail us all year for damages that occurred before we even signed the lease. Being the upstanding Syracusians we were, we decided to fix the joint up on our own dime, and get this turd off our backs. It actually was very reminiscent of Revenge of the Nerds, expect there was no tri-Lambda and U.N. Jefferson to impress. Although, we were constantly greeted by the football team, bent over with their pants around their ankles singing "Old McDonald" every evening. Back to the platter at hand. This Bob Frank wanker now feels that we still owe him money for fixing up his house out of our own pocket. Too bad he doesn't know that the sole reason that Dick Bianculli went to law school was to sue his pants off!

Where the f--k are my tickets!?!?!?: So Paul and I decide that at this stage in our lives, there is no reason not to have season tickets this year. This way, we end up getting all the playoff tickets, and we can also be the coolest guys on the block when we give away free tickets to the Yankees v. Devil Rays, Wednesday, 1:00pm showdown. Oh yeah, but we can't do that until the damn tickets show up in the mail! I called several times, and Steve, my ticket agent, is no where to be found. I'm probably just over-reacting as always, but with my luck, I can see these bad boys not showing up, or sitting on my desk in that massive pile of mail all summer.