ANd again.....here, we go:

circa last summer.....


Double dipping on Pat’s Hat humor….

So this week I feel like we need to step it up a notch, and release two installments of this outlandish bullcrank. My wife has been reading this stuff, and she says it’s off the wall, and that I jump around too much. I don’t take criticism very well, and I ended the discussion by yelling, slamming my fist on my own ballsack, and realizing that I am always wrong, a big ass, and I smell worse than most.

That said, I thought I would take out my little computer and give it another shot. Let’s see how I do on this one.

They’re trying to build a Walmart on the site of Robert E Lee’s last battle. Southerners are all up in arms about this. I would be too, if my racist hero was being defaced by a racist organization like Walmart. I mean what are these people on? The south was in the right, slavery should be reinstated, and Robert E Lee was fighting the good fight as he tried to keep Northerners from freeing slaves, respecting women, and spreading their dirty ideas of independence and equality south of the Mason Dixie. Next thing we know, they’re gonna erect a shrine to the wonderful and powerful Adolf Hitler. The dedication will go something like this…..”We decided it was time that we started honoring real heroes. No more of this giving credit to liberal, smart, talented, accomplished freedom fighters. We need to be honest here America, we love white people, and we hate blacks, latinos, and especially catholics.”

I just found out that there has been some in-fighting among lobstermen from Maine. They are proud that they practice “self-policing.” What this means, is that if there is a disagreement between boats, they usually have a fist-fight. If things get drastic, a duel is called, and they have to take 20 paces, turn and fire. Can you imagine being in York Bay, going to a bar and seeing two 50 year old men trading blows? You ask a bystander what’s going on, and the response would be something like this….”Kevin caught Dave stealing lobsters out of his trap. And Dave fucked Kevin’s sister 5 years ago. He still hasn’t apologized for that. My money’s on Kevin this time.” When you ask if the police should be involved, the man talking to you gestures over to the corner and says…..”Sean over there is on the force, he’s just going to make sure that no one gets killed, and if someone does, he’ll make sure we keep the death toll under control, and properly dispose of the body.” That’s when you realize that Maine lobstermen are too hard core for a little knucklehead like you.

So Menino’s under the gun here, accused of doing what Italians do best, taking bribes and taking care of his own. I want to stand up and be like…”does this really surprise us that much?” I mean, look at the man, and listen to him. He looks and sounds like a Boston version of Paulie from the Sopranos. You ask him an in depth question, and between mumbles and uhhhs, you get some very simplified version of the situation. In other words, he’s telling us on a constant basis….”Let me handle this, I got a guy for that, and it will be handled quietly, quickly, and it would be appreciated if the public stayed out of it.” The man knows more about getting things done through the help of guys named Tiny, Giusepi and Frankie than your average Bossman. I support the guy, and what he does, but there are a lot of people out there who are just finding this shit out. Sam Yoon however, would be like a kitten trying to control a pack of wolves with heavy addictions to cocaine, alcohol, and childblood. I think we should just stick with Mumbles, his speech impediment makes me feel at home.

If you need any more evidence that the apocalypse is fast approaching, turn on your radio once in awhile, and listen to what hose excrement sauce is selling as far as music. They have a song about doing the “Helen Keller.” Now, I am the first one to laugh at a good retard joke, but this is ridiculous. I think the guy who wrote this song should have his voice box cut out, and his eyes burned with Clorox bleach. You wanna laugh about Helen Keller? Really? How bout I make it so you can see what the fuck she had to go through? Making money hand over fist at the expense of a deaf mute who fought her whole life for her own rights, and the rights of others with disabilities is NOT ok. I also take offense to all new music that is presented as hip-hop, R&B, or rap. To me, it resembles more of a 4 year-old with cerebral paulsey waking up in the morning and trying to get out of bed without shitting the sheets for the 7th morning in a row. (That is the exact line that is going to have me ending up in hell when I die.) These people need to spend some time away from the microphone, examining their own consciences, and listening to nothing but Slick Rick, Nas, and Tupac. Only when they can write me a 2 page letter explaining why their shit sucks, and why Luther Vandross was superior to them in every single way, can they even think about getting back on the mic. And recording albums with this tom-foolery is out of control. They need to spend some time in a galaxy far way, and allow some of the most trusted names in music to take a shot at it. Here, I am referring to the freestyle rolling linguisticalized attack force known to most as Hat Crew with Greggy Biggsby (the most dangerous MC in the Commonwealth.) They were last seen embarrassing the microphone with talent it had never previously supported in Hyannis MA.

I think we are all in danger of forgetting how much kids from Dover-Sherborn suck. I was recently talking to someone from my No Excuses group who is helping to counsel a family with an alcoholic and drug addicted son. The parents bought the kid an 80,000 dollar Ferrari, and the kid had the balls to complain that the car was slightly used. I would have punched the kid in the jaw, but Bobby G made it clear that he told the parents to let the kid sleep in a dumpster for a few months before they shell out another 20,000 for a cushy rehab facility. These are the kinds of kids who get college paid for completely by daddy, proceed to fail out of school, and have the balls to say that their parents never did anything for them. They then open up a small surf company in Florida, wear flip-flops everyday, and call home once a year to complain about the weather when it rains. My dad would have a field day with these kids. As a matter of fact, I think my dad should open up a rehab facility. Here is a typical day in Tim Donohue Sr’s rehab facility…..
4:30 am: Wake up….My dad would wake these motherfuckers up by banging a metal trash can in each kids face, spitting on them, and telling them that their balls will be removed if they don’t start some yard work within 10 minutes.
4:40 am: yard work…this involves doing yard work in the dark. No tools are allowed. When the guys ask my dad why they can’t even use rakes or shovels, my dad replies…”I can’t trust you little bastards with metal. Shut up and pick more weeds.”
5:00 am: yard work
5:30 am: yard work…when one of the kids asks if they can have water, my dad replies..”Little Edelbert here is getting too brave, so because of his selfish attitude, we will now run 3 miles.”
6:00 am: The 3 miles are over, and two of the kids are throwing up. My dad tells them that throwing up is God’s way of telling them that they suck at life. They ask if they can get something to eat, and my dad gives them each a fishing pole, and tells them to catch a fish. The kids end up falling asleep at the lake, and my dad drops logs on each of their stomachs. Crying ensues, and my pops tells them that they can cry all they want, but crying takes too many calories to be sustainable.
6:30 am: My dad has mercy on them, and gives each one a cup of water, and rice that was cooked days before. They tell him that it’s not edible, and it smells funny. He says that he has had worse, and walks away to take a cell phone call. Some wise guy named Steve decides that he will organize the group to revolt. When my dad returns to the group, Steve says that they have decided to leave the clinic. My Dad says…”good luck guys, but I removed the engines from each of your cars last night, and the police have been notified to run any of you over if you are seen walking on any of these roads without my notification. Have fun gentlemen.”
7:00 am….A brave little guy named Chris remembers that my Dad is very religious. He decides to try to take advantage of this and asks…”What would Jesus say if he saw you mistreating us like this?” To this my Dad laughs, and says....”Jesus doesn’t give two shits about rich little ungrateful peckerheads like you. He spent 40 days starving in the desert, and if he were here, he would tell you to suck it up, shut your damn mouths and get something done before he himself smacked you all in your earholes.”
7:15 am: Gary says that he is feeling sick, and needs to lie down. My dad says, ”Fine, go ahead.” When Gary goes upstairs to lie down, my dad tells another resident to go upstairs, and dump boiling water on the kids face. The delegate says that he will not, and my dad says….”Ok, we’ll give the kid another hour, if he’s not up, then I will personally wipe my ass with his nose.”
For the rest of the morning, the guys are forced to do make a french drain to prevent flooding in the spring. It is November, and the weather is quite brisk. The boys are forced to melt the semi-frozen ground by urinating on it, then digging the ground with their hands. They claim that they are receiving unfair treatment, and my dad replies by screaming, yelling, and punching the jewish kid who says his lawyer will hear about the situation.
Midday comes to reveal my dad’s light side. He says that everyone deserves a lunch, and has them make peanut butter sandwiches. One of the residents is stupid enough to ask for more, and finds himself running laps around the lake, with a German Shepherd named Tootles chasing him.
The afternoon is filled with my Dad reading to the boys as they do the dishes, wash the floors, and clean the tables and chairs with hot water and toothbrushes. My Dad has rigged an intercom through the building and the grounds. He spends most of the day reading to them from the personal accounts of John McCain’s experiences as a POW. He then starts to read from the diary of a Jewish Concentration camp survivor. When he is finished, most of the kids are weeping, and he tells them that there is no mercy, and they need to pick up the pace.
At 6:00 pm, most of the residents are falling asleep in their chairs, while my Dad is playing country music at full blast through the compound. He allows this to go on for about a half an hour, then gathers the kids, and makes them do push-ups, pull-ups and crunches until they all throw up.
As the sun sets, he takes all of their beds from their rooms, sets them up outside, and locks them out of the building. He tells them that if they try to flee, they will be eaten by bears, cougars, or he will release the “other dogs.” The kids didn’t even know that there were other dogs on the compound, but my dad lets them know they don’t want to test the waters on this one, as the dogs have never been around a person they have not tried to eat.
That is one day, Day One in Tim Donohue’s camp. The camp is titled: Life sucks, and so do You. Get over yourselves……or Camp Eat Shit for short.


Lighter side of life……
Have you ever sat and wondered how many non-human mammals have more intelligence than the average libertarian or republican House member? I know I have, and the answer I came up with is quite shocking. The average otter has more understanding of world events, political issues, and better grammar than our most intelligent republican congressman or woman. (A recent Wesley J. Major poll of wildlife suggests.) A woodchuck on its last legs can still find the ability to feed itself, take care of its young, and die in dignity. Republicans however, think that Democrats are to blame for the fact that they can’t even make love to their wives without realizing how little they know about making a female orgasm. Ask them to cook you a dinner and they will respond that it’s Obama’s fault that there is no food on the table, and at this point you realize that the congressman has never even prepared a single meal for themselves, let alone someone else.


There is a family of squirrels in my neighborhood who are attempting to set up an organized crime family. They have been seen issuing beatings to all outside squirrels, mice, and rabbits who wander into Harmony Grove looking for acorns, discarded bread, and other snacks that are available because of the kindness or carelessness of Framingham residents. The boss of the family is named Cheeks Robinson, and he is renowned for his ruthless tactics, and his daring antics. They have set up shop in an abandoned apartment on Pearl street, where they have opened up an acorn liquor store, and they’re making extra money by selling pills they find on the street to neighborhood possums and skunks. The operation recently got ugly when a few crows found themselves getting jumped by Cheeks’ cousins, a group of 9 gray squirrels who had nothing better to do. The crows were so pissed, they proceeded to get support from local pigeons and returned the next day to drop pebbles on the young squirrels who were busy vandalizing the woodchuck den on Union Ave. The beavers in the river nearby heard about the situation and responded with a statement: “We do not support this type of thuggish behavior. If this persists, we will be forced to damn up all rivers leading to Harmony Grove, and cut off the food supply for 3 weeks. Please be advised that we do not put up with thieves, murderers, or trouble makers of the rodent variety. If we need to, we will alert all coyotes and hawks of these occurrences, and then we will not see so many happy squirrels anymore. Thank you to all who have alerted us of this problem, please know that our beaver prayers are with you all, and this too shall pass.” I will update you about this situation when more has developed.

And now a word from Dick Cheney: “Life sucks, America is supposed to be the Land of the Free, but I am stuck trying to promote a book about why I shouldn’t go to jail for the rest of my life. I tried my best to run this country the way Charlemagne would have, but now all I get is angry letters and bad reviews about my service to the country. Black people suck, women are stupid, and I hate children of all colors. I survive each day by sucking the life out of happy people, complaining, and being angry to all I encounter. I enjoy romantic destruction of country infrastructure humor, and long walks in complete silence. These are the times that I really hunker down and develop new and creative ways to screw the American people, put our most talented and hardest working men and women to death at the hands of unjust war, and drive our country into financial and moral bankruptcy, nahhhhrrrr nauuhhhhh.”








Speaking of angry letters, I recently received some hate-mail from an unidentified sender. It read:

Dear Pat in a Hat,
I understand that you think you are funny, and for this I am deeply sorry. You are not funny, not at all. I take offense to everything you write, and I am going to see to it that your apartment smells like garbage for the rest of your life. Please know that I am not usually a mean person, but after reading your opinion, I am thinking about starting a militia to combat liberal punks like you. Free speech is a problem, and I am going to see to it that you are imprisoned in Louisiana for your words. I have a brother named Luke who has heard about you. He says that we are going to take a “road trip to Framingham.” Please be advised that this will not be a friendly visit. Jesus hates you, and he hates all the minorities that you seem to like. He also hates your music, your style of dress, and your happiness. I hope that the next few months find you sick in the hospital, with blood pouring from your nose and ears. And I hope your aunts die of an unknown illness. Thanks for reading this. My uncle says that you read poetry on Tuesdays, I knew you were a queer.
Sincerely,
Unknown Angerman Lewis
June 2010

I am working on a response to this letter, but here is what I am thinking of writing…

Angerman,
I am honored that you took the time out of your busy day to respond to my ramblings. I know it must be hard to hate people all day long, but you seem to be handling it like a champ. Tell me, does it hurt to know that you are a miserable ass and your family hates you? Please understand that while your opinion is appreciated, you just wasted money on a stamp, and I will soon be throwing up from imagining what your girlfriend looks like. I wish you the best of luck in life, it’s not easy to be such a dirty pissbag. May Dick Cheney have mercy on your sorry, ugly soul.
Peace and Love
Patrick the Hatrick lemur


Thanks for your time guys, you really are great to humor me by reading this drivel. Have a great day, and remember……don’t talk to cops about your thoughts, feelings, or ideas. EVER……


You can see more at www.CopsHateHappy.com/Blacks/criminals/Ihaveasmalldick

and back where it all begannnned

enjoy:


August 12, 2009

We are all entrenched now in the stupid comedy that doesn’t make too much sense created by a crazy recovering alcoholic named Pat in a Hat. Now, we need to rehash something here….I do not live by, nor repeat the words which I record in this series. If you need a translation…..This should be kept under lock and key, forwarded only with my permission, and if you take me seriously, you will promptly be removed from the mailing list. Now back to the action…….

I was recently pondering the soul source for other breeds of dogs, and I came upon the question of where do Hippo souls come from? As soon as I took the time to ask myself this, I realized that hippos are obviously not the reincarnation of any other animal, since not a single animal would want to step into the body of a big, angry, hot, cranky hippopatmus under any circumstances. But I did realize that I am completely speculating with all of these theories….Who has two thumbs and loves speculating on subjects of which I have no clue? THIS GUY……hand motion necessary, however I don’t have a camera.

So the other question I have been working on recently is: why are so many people such dicks? I can’t cross the street without catching a dirty look from some angry asshole who thinks I should be 25 pounds heavier, bald, and walking with a cane. It is probably the case that the men who give me these looks are married to horrible, mean, and smelly wives, but I really don’t think that I have anything to do with their daily issues. Miserable people are annoying. It seems there are more and more of these assholes in my town on a daily basis. It’s like someone took all of the mean, cranky, angry assholes from every state, rounded them up onto a bus with promises of gambling and bowling, and dropped them off in my neighborhood, express for my enjoyment. I’m sick of it, stop that shit, it’s not cool, nor is it appreciated.

I recently listened to a guy on my block talk to me for half an hour about his weiner dog. I guess there were a few mentions of the weather in there, and one about how Brazilians are annoying, but his main focus was the fact that his stupid fucking dog was aggressive and he couldn’t trust the damn thing anywhere without a leash. I sat there listening intently, all the while hoping that his dog would get picked up a by a nearby hawk that was circling. I had a mental image the whole time of his dog getting dropped into the Charles River and swallowed by a giant pike from the 1600s. Unfortunately, my fantasy was never realized and I had to try not to kick the dog as it growled at me.

Has anyone taken a second lately to realize that Republicans are selfish assholes and very delusional? I have, and I’ll tell you I’m starting to get really fed up with their bullshit. I think we should have a parade through the streets of Texas with gay pride flags, skirts, fake tits, and a picture of W dressed in the same. Any takers?

Frogs have a secret desire to shed their skins, hatch into Iguanas, crawl out of the ponds and streams in which they live now, and catch the next bus to a pizza joint. Lobsters are getting angry, pandas are always angry, cows don’t know their own names, monkeys are getting bolder and meaner by the day, gorillas may now have aids, donkeys are loud and absolutely out of control, and lastly, there is a skunk in my neighborhood on an absolute streak of spraying her ass all over every goddamn thing. Her name is Katherine, and she’s not helping anything.

Please feel free to comment on any of my theories. Hyperbole is a dangerous tool and should be kept out of the view of people with no imagination, people who hate people, angry guys named Robert, and anyone who does not have the ability to laugh.
Pat in Hat
Welcome the king of outrageous, senseless, silly, and off color humor.
Raise your foot up high
Say hello to this guy
Let’s not be hasty
It will all be tasty

Blame it on the spider
By the name of clinky
With a brother named stinky, blinky, and linky

More to come next time….thanks to all the people out there who actually take the time to read these thoughts……..

Couldn't resist throwin this post back up......

Please note, the exact source of these emails is currently unknown. The theory is that Bush shares too many secrets with his daughters, who think it’s funny to put this stuff up on Euro blogs.

Sent by: George W…..DUBYAalliNyourGrill@yahoo.com
To: Hugo Chavez…..hugomania@morepower.net

Hey Yogi,
Long time no chat. I’m sorry about all that nastiness over my terms as pres. I hope there are no hard feelings. You really got me on that U.N. sulfur joke. You really picked up some good laughs on that one, myself included. Please know that you are always welcome at my Cuba residence, whenever you wish to visit. I love you a little too much. My therapist says not to get attached to world leaders the way I do, but I want you to know Yogi, that I have always had a special place in my world ranking of leaders for you. You are truly a testament that charisma and charm always pay off. I sometimes go to bed with a picture of you I have framed that I hide from my wife.

Adiuso! Amigo! 

GWB (your best bud from texas)

Re:

For the last time Bush, my name is Hugo. Please don’t send me anything ever again. You really don’t understand that I hate you to the very core of my being? I think everything about you is evil, and I say a daily prayer that you suffer a painful and sudden death at the hands of an Islamic Regime. Your daughters came to my cinco de mayo party. They are quite the partiers man! And I got to hit both of ‘em at once in the hot tub. I love it. Thanks bro, don’t mess with Venezuela.

Peace
Hugo
P.S. If I were you, I would be sleeping with one eye open. We have a word for people like you in Spanish, but my aides say I shouldn’t use it. Just know that the word on the tips of all of our tongues is “revenge.” I think there are some real player haters in the Middle East who are gonna see something through this time. Best of luck you moron. Get some sleep. You’ll need it where you’re going. You should be ashamed of yourself.

OLDY but goody

hey all.....heres a blast from da past


The Story of a Dog named Spatz, a dog who hates sober people…….From the Doggie’s point of view…



I was born in Upham’s corner, Dorchester. My mother was a real bitch of a rotty, and I was raised to have nothing but disdain for loud Irish jerks.
My father was a German Sheapherd with a real adversity to commitment. He was nailing dogs from Worcester to Back Bay. I only met him twice…..Both times commenced a huge conflict. The conflict was within our household, and I am not comfortable sharing that part of the story right now….
Anyway, My owner has been very busy cleaning carpets for $4 an hour. Meanwhile, his dickhead Nephew has been “taking care of the place.” This means that the place is now completely overrun by mice, and cops. So I have had quite a month, and I am just biding the hours until my mother returns from a 5 week stint in Honduras.
So the gist of this story is the fact that Herchel, I call him Herchballs……Hired a kid named Patrick. Patrick seemed like a great guy, until Herchel decided to offer him a Corona. Pat refused this drink, since it contails the devil’s toxin, alcohol. I was trained to lash out at any person who fails to take a drink from my man, or anyone in the house, actually.
So I bit the kid, I bit him hard, expecting applause from Hershballs. But none came, instead I was alone in the house, wondering where I went wrong. It used to be that I would get a big steak dinner for a move like that, but not so much with Hershel.

Im not sure what to think of that kid, and today I overheard Hershballs saying over the phone that Patrick could hmm hmmm cough cough, “Kick me in the balls”

I’m not happy with this discourse, and I will show my disdain through controlling Patrick’s dreams with images of savage wolfs with rabies. (And socially inadequate skunks, esp ones named Barbara, Endicott, or Vicky………and Katherine

BOWSTON BOWLING

TM #10 - "S-47910"
PATman Bowlbutt 138 208 89 435 1197 9 133 208 435 281 670 --- 67 1 0 0 0 0 M
JIM HOLbyNacker (132) (132) (132) 396 856 6 142 162 430 219 601 --- 58 0 0 0 0 0 M


6. # 4-DOUBLE TROUBLE 14 10 .583 3763 293 332 904 444 1287
7. #10-"S-47910" 14 10 .583 3695 279 340 841 471 1267
8. #11-TEAM #11 12 12 .500 3808 315 377 974 498 1301
9. #16-DEMOLITION 12 12 .500 1304 368 369 1010 467 1304


HIGH HDCP. GAME--MEN HIGH HDCP. SERIES--MEN
-------------------- ----------------------
283 TOM R 715 Huffman
281 PDubs 709 T
271 W. 266 RO FEnny 702
263 M


*Some names (all Names) have been altered to protect the innocent victims of PenBot Bowling stats.org

Happy Weekend!

serious sometimes

Just thought I could show you I can be serious sometimes.....


Comfortably Numb

I was struck today with a memory from Camp Oatka, East Sebago, Maine. While there, I went to an ecumenical service that was designed to be Christian, but not specific to any faith in particular. We listened to music, there was a sermon, and the counselors and CITs shared. The campers prayed and shared a little.

I was struck by the open atmosphere, the non-judgmental nature of the service. I was also really struck by a “sermon” delivered by a Counselor, whose name I can’t remember. He played the Pink Floyed song for us, “Comfortably Numb.” He then spoke about something that was really real for me.

He spoke of how the concept of being comfortably numb, in church, in school , and in family life could lead to a lack of novelty, and essentially a lack of meaning. He also talked about how he was leaving college soon, and would be going into the “real world.” He was worried about how he would become comfortably numb in the real world as well.

The counselor also challenged us to get out of our comfort zones, to explore life as we grew up. He was touching on some really deep stuff, and it hit home. He assured us that questioning was a normal process of growing up, and that it was essential.

I took this message to heart, at the age of 10. Growing up in a Catholic household, I was so accustomed to going to Mass every Sunday, that I had the whole mass memorized. I had come to accept the fact that I was going to be there, no matter what. I also started to become numb to the lack of change in the structure of the service. I was not finding meaning in the mass, and would often daydream. The way that my Mom and Dad brought meaning to it was by asking prompting questions after and before mass. This helped us understand a lot of the structure, tradition, and meaning better.
I also took on service, as an altar boy, and later as a Eucharistic minister, in order to literally have something to do during the service. I also did it, because it was expected (Tim and Tom had done it.) It was also a way of “showing off” my knowledge of the church, and it was one of my earliest public measures of people pleasing. I was good at altar serving, no doubt about it. I was even chosen by Fr. Bailey to serve at his funeral, because he had a fondness for my ability, and attention to detail.

This pattern of what Tim calls “everyday responsibility” was very difficult for me, from the start. I didn’t want to do things, just because that’s what I had to do. I didn’t want to follow rules, just because. I wanted to question life. I wanted to live each day differently. I thrived on structure, but I rebelled in so many ways. I wanted space. I wanted freedom, and I had a loathing for responsibility.

I can remember being in school, and how the year would just seem to fly by. The school year would start, and soon enough it would seem to be ending, and we would be going off for the summer. I remember being so lost sometimes, and struggling to find meaning, even at a really young age. I often thought to myself, what is the point of all this? Why am I here? I also remember how talking about these things with my Mom would impress her, would really make her think I was a genius. She would often remark at how mature that type of thinking was. But my siblings, and my dad would often talk about how that kind of thinking would get me into trouble.
I really believe that here began my illness as a Bipolar alcoholic addict. I was addicted to distractions. I would often avoid hard work, and I relied on my keen intellect, my social skills, and my charm to do this. I was very good at pleasing those who needed to be pleased, and doing what I wanted with the rest of my time. I was mean to kids who didn’t fit in, and I was nice to all parents. I challenged teachers in ways that students hadn’t challenged them before. I got in trouble, but I was able to talk my way out of it. I became adept at deception.
My search for meaning came to an abrupt and screeching halt when I was diagnosed bipolar. I lost my mind, and I struggled to get it back. I wanted to be healthy, but I wanted to have fun. I felt that substances were a great way to do it, and I didn’t want to deal with consequences. I was off to the races, and I was equipped with the tools of deception, intelligence, and determination to do things the way I wanted to, regardless of what anyone had to say.

I have come to realize that life is not that bad. I have been given so much, and I can give back in so many ways. If I stay away from bad decisions, risky behavior, and mind-altering substances, I can do a lot here on earth. If I open up my ears, and listen to people around me, I will truly thrive. I have a path laid before me, by God Almighty, and it is not my job to figure out where that path leads. The only thing I need to know is that I have this moment in which to live. I can’t fix the past, and I am not supposed to know what will happen in the future. With an open ear, with Love in my heart, and with a positive attitude, I can do the right thing. Today, I don’t need to know what this is. That is a gift, and it is a gift I never want to give up.

San Fran Seals

Upon Reading a book about Ted Williams, in his last few years, reconnecting with his three closest Red Sox teammates...I have only this to say:

Red Sox are the team to beat
The red sox have a history.
Don't even try to start with me
Cause red sox are the best you see

The got Papi
They got droppee
i mean buckner
Not the luckster
He let the ball thru
And he didnt spew

But TRUTH be told
The team is old
san fran they played
But in that day
They stayed,
with one team
you know what I mean?

It was obscene
to see the glean
in the left eye
of that guy
he was no small fry

Teddy ballgame
splendid spintah
The man who rode bomahss
the man who showed
everyone how
to hit it...pow

Out the park
in the dark...nah in the light
they put up a fight,
they lost a few,
but they formed a crew

There was nothin else
no fear, no doubt
just baseball man
that was the plan

They had to win
but they didnt always
they played on blue, on dark,
and cloud days
at fenway pahk
not with Dave stahk
although he might..nah not goin there


Hey dean, whats up?
hey simon, hey greg
Hey ANTONY, hey wes....hey me!

we got a group,
not a troop, not a loop
but heres the scoop
dont take a poop

if youre not lookin
its no big deal
just tell another
how you feel

Teddy ballgame
best hitter of all time
He was the best,
I like to rhyme
but guys, whats up?
I miss you all.
Lets have fun sometime,
lets go to the mall
lets remembah
when we was young
when we knew who
could have the fun

thats all I got
for now, that is.
I have thoughts,
and sometimes
I handle my biz

I work for some company,
It don't matter
its fun, for now
but whats that chatter?
thats boston, thats wistah
thats weahevah we are

We know when
to drive a car
but we know who can make it work

Simon's racin, in a triatholon
Hes burning steam
hes fast, hes strong
Hes probably the best.
but im not tellin
Its smokin rubbah,
the only thing im smellin

Beean spooneylove,
Greg with the legs
Wes with the chest
and tony the pony
Dave will behave
hes a real smaht guy
and heres pat in a hat
and all he does is try

So smile a little,
I'll play the fiddle
we can dance a jig
and create a riddle
an enigma maybe
but dont get rabies
from a dog named lady

have some fun today, guys, please

But come on ery buddy
come one, come all
to:::::

BOSTON BOWL........boston bowl
Boston bowl, rock and roll

Love ya Seattle....good nite folks.....
Peace and love, bat and glove.

Red sox rule, yankees suck

CELTIC PRIDE...stay alive boys in green.
and listen up, kobe aint that mean
he might be a dick
he may be slick
but the green will take it
they got the truth
they got rondo,
they got the booth
they got class
they got parque
they got a coach
with no malarkey
no charles barkly
the no longer greet
no pistol pete

-PW HATSLEY

Places I can't go

Patchwirk Donovan has a problem:

There is a warrant out for his arrest in PA right now. So this wouldn't normally be an issue, but the company that PW wirks for has a plant in PA. He might have to go there. He hopes he does not get pulled ovah.
The following is a list of places PW can't go:

Any bar
The park
A cigarette factory
a brewery
Canada
Europe
Mexico
Brookline
Any where besides work, home, boston bowl (he's in a league)

Sorry to alarm the readers, but I am just a little werried. Love ya all.

Nobody to run to
Sherrif's on my trail
I gotta move slow
like a fuckin snail
the sun may blow
I ride the rail
FEel the Flow(rence)
And just dont bail
WE all got issues
thats no joke
But here I am
Not a horrible bloak
You smell like crap
And thats no lie
But dont ask me
to eat the whole pie
I feel like a dick
But i dont lie
Im not slick rick
Im a white guy
And irish kid
To be exact
And thats just why
I cant drink jack
I cant drink beer
I cant drink sodawater
I cant drink anything
Thats the bother
back it up
Dump it in
Let me end here
Cause I'm full of sin
But who isnt
Im leavin
Love you guys
and im still breathing