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May
06
2011
Posted by ZWR at 12:38 pm ET 16 Comments

YES I could see the resemblance between me and a 1920′s pitcher who just threw a 9-inning game, you’re very astute. – Mike Meech

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Original here.

      
Apr
27
2011
Posted by ZWR at 10:18 am ET 68 Comments

The T-Mac Huffing Game

Have you ever watched a Phillies telecast and thought to yourself, “Man, this would be SO much better if I had a Vicks vaporizer and some turpentine?” Well if so, I’ve got a game for you*! That’s right, kids, it’s the Tom McCarthy (T-Mac) Huffing Game!

If being truthful (citing our work, etc) to the point of prudence, the inspiration for this came from the demurely named Tom McCarthy Sucks blog, as they so kindly localized the hate and made fun graphics and such. Heck, maybe now they’ll actually update it or something. NEW ONE! Every time you go to tmacsucks.blogspot.com and it’s not updated, fill your right lung with commercial strength solvent vapor!

Howwwww about that?!

And hey, speaking of awkwardly forced segues, let’s get to the Official game rules, shall we? Without further adieu (sic):

Tom yells at you in a golden-throated, over-modulated voice:
Huff one of those really thick, industrial-sized permanent markers for 10 seconds

Tom breaks Wheels’ balls over the trivia question:
Go to the fridge and do a blast from the aerosolized whipped cream

Tom starts a sentence with, “Heyyyy!”:
Dip an old t-shirt into a bucket of chloroform and it hold it to your face for 5 seconds

Tom proclaims unconvincingly, “Howwww about that?!!”:
Insert your entire head in a gallon-sized freezer bag of a paint thinner

Tom forces a segue to an on-air ad read, saying, “Speaking of…[hardly related topic]…, …”:
Spray oven cleaner directly into your mouth

Tom talks for an entire inning without breathing:
Zip yourself in a Dryel bag filled halfway with formaldehyde

Tom says “red hot”:
Duct tape a sandwich baggie of nail polish remover over your face like a surgical mask

Tom says or does something to Sarge that leaves you rooting for an assault:
Shoot computer keyboard cleaner directly up your nose (one nostril)

Tom cackles a phony used car salesman laugh at something that wasn’t all that funny:
Shut all the doors and windows in your house or apartment, turn the A/C up to high, and pour turpentine directly in your vents

Tom emotes positively for the other team:
Lock yourself in a closet, put a towel along the floor to prevent fresh air from sneaking in, and steam a bucket of ammonia.

That should do it, kids. If you think up anymore, leave them in the comments.

Phillies TV broadcasts are going to be so much more fun now–you won’t even have a reason to mute them and put on the radio!

* Note: Neither ZooWithRoy.com or TheFightins.com (publicly) endorses inhalant abuse. The preceding has been a work of satire. Don’t do drugs.

Sep
02
2010
Posted by ZWR at 1:30 pm ET 74 Comments

In light of Nyjer Morgan’s newfound controversial overnight internet fame, and the loss of their Strasboner cash cow, the Natinals have decided to introduce a couple new ballpark promotions in September.

Due to my well-heeled inside-the-beltway connections, I was able to get a sneak peek at the new swag.

New bobblehead:

COME AT ME, BRO (Gaby)

Also–and frankly I find this rather distasteful–word has it that Morgan is set to launch his music career with the release of the following EP, which will be given away at an upcoming game.

And aww yeah, I wanna feel guilty
but you punk motherf**kers tried to milk me
You’ll get smacked up on the hill with my phone on my pager
It’s beepin while I cut you with my razor

POSTSCRIPT

If you have no idea what I’m referencing with the above, watch this epic brawl between the Marlins and Nyjer Morgan. Specifically, watch for Gaby Sanchez off the top rope. NOBODY, I repeat NOBODY, puts Gaby in a corner.

(Also seen on ZooWithRoy)

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Jul
29
2010
Posted by ZWR at 1:56 pm ET 71 Comments

Days sometimes have the proclivity toward extending themselves with complete disregard for the matters attended to within their countless starts and counted ends. As such it was on this one- late and long into the summer night though still brightness shone upon the streets of West Philadelphia. In a funeral home (an old funeral home, at one point in the building’s past life a corner store with two apartments crowning its hand-crafted shelves lined with boxes and jars- as only can be found in the city) office sat the big man. He looked menacingly at everything, and all were known to shrink from his gaze.

The phone, though, dared ring.

“Who this,” he snapped.

“What?”

“…”

“Who’s this?”

“I’m not gon’ play this game, boy. Who are you, and what do you want?”

“It’s Meech!”

“I don’t know no fuckin Meech.”

The voice responded, upon a sigh, “it’s M1 Crackajack.”

“Ohhhhh. Why didn’t you say so you stupid mother fucker?!”

“Yeah, sorry. Look, cuz,–”

“Don’t know who the fuck you think is of relation, cuz,” the big man interrupted.

“Sorry, I’m just a little worked up over here– it’s the bandwidth. I got a bad batch, man. Shit’s all fucked up over here.”

Inside the small, spartan office, the big man seethed. “The fuck you want me do about it?”

More calmly, as would be judged prudent by both audience and critic alike if given witness to the scene (we feel more eyes upon us in our most desperate moments than actually stray in our direction, so is the nature of sadness), Meech conceded, “There’s nothing for you to do. I just… I need more. Like an early re-up. I’m trying to run my shit over here and I can’t do that if I don’t got no bandwidth. Fools are already trying to take my spot, use my men. The Barkstees boys are up on all my corners–those weak ass bitches belong in the low rises! Everyone knows that. Shit, I even saw my boy Dash is getting beef. He’s a soldier and all, but eventually a man’s got to eat.”

“You go to anybody else?”

“Of course not!”

“Nobody?!”

“Nah. I swear. Some low-level guys offered me shit but I told them I’m not interested.” Meech was telling the truth.

The big man motioned to a corner of the room unseen from windows, doorway, and, to now, the narrative. A man, young- paradoxically emanating strength while enacting subservience- walked with a businesslike pace to the desk. With a few words, silently spoken (though his enveloping grip’s cover of the phone voided this necessity), the troop was off with his orders.

 

1989. Wildwood, New Jersey
A young Michael sits on an aquamarine painted bench in front of The Himalaya, two tickets short of a ride, two beers beyond his ability. His embroidered Z. Cavaricci t-shirt, along with his new jean shorts from Gigolo’s, frames what would later become known as “the outfit”, though at the moment it sings only a song to scrawniness. “Yes, these are real Jordans!” Michael shouts over the Slick Rick cassette blasting from his Walkman’s spongy headphones. “They do too make them in blue, you fag!”

A group of young girls approach (think Odette, Volume 2). Michael stands, folds two one dollar bills, and stuffs them into his sock. “Yo.” They giggle, though are clearly impressed that he leads his group. And with movement and light the night progresses. As the last of the Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam plays for those remaining afloat in the sea breeze and stars, Michael’s friend Tug eats a waffle and ice cream while our protagonist gives the girls directions to The Thunderbird Motel.

 

<End of Part 1>


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Jul
14
2010
Posted by ZWR at 9:13 am ET 81 Comments

I recently threw in an old VHS cassette that had been laying around my mom’s house  entitled, “Sammy Steals Tape”, expecting either a face-breaking and crudely edited composition of Juan Samuel’s greatest-ever stolen base attempts, or a cleverly disguised midnight PRISM movies boob tape (Carnal Crimes ftw) that was stashed away by a much younger (pre-internet fame, yo) ZWR.

However, what I actually got was far more incredible than I could ever have expected. It was grainy, mid-80′s  footage from a PHL 17 broadcast of a Veteran’s Stadium scoreboard in-stadium promotion. I know, right?!

Pictured below is my basically awesome re-creation of this watershed event:

Oh, and the first person to tweet the actual correct answer to me, Ron Artest, or George W. Bush wins a big prize. Huge. I mean, it’s not going to be a free t-shirt or anything, but it’ll still totally rule, whenever I decide what it is.

(Hint: it’s not Shane Rawley, donkeys)

Note: In order to win entries must include the phrase, “Turn that frown upside down.” Contributors to TheFightins.com, their family members, fake and/or gag Twitter accounts and/or internet girlfriends are not eligible to enter to win the huge prize that I haven’t thought of yet. Ryan Lawrence is not eligible.

Jun
24
2010
Posted by ZWR at 4:31 pm ET 32 Comments

meech may live to regret offering me keys to his kingdom
-ZWR

Jun
15
2010
Posted by ZWR at 10:05 pm ET 18 Comments

This is kind of tough. The little guy is nomming some Funyuns and there’s no telling what I’d do if I got to that bag. But this will be short lived. I can do this. For now however I shall Twitter to the masses, providing humor to the masses

Spot check: still gooooooooood.

I smell McGriddle. I know McGriddle. I cannot eat McGriddle. AND NOW THE “I’M EGGIN’ IT” SONG COMES ON?!

It’s the Mets. I’ll be fine. This is good publicity. I mean, I was just on the radio. Sound move, Meechton. Well played.

As the evolution from street tough blogger to affluent Mac owner attests to a greater transformation, I think it time to consider moving to Maine and opening a breakfast shop. The full shabang, too. I’ll wear red plaid flannel and an LL Bean hat that I got at the outlet. Folks can hang their coffee mugs on the wall- a real mom and pop place with hipster flair. We’ll source a local farm for maple syrup, another for blueberries, and write clever things on the menus/chalk board. Sell “Chocolate Neutral Milk Hotel”. “We support same sex unions: Maple Syrup and Powdered Sugar!” Lord, I must stop thinking of food. I know, I’ll go read Zoo With Roy! (back from ZWR) That guy is dope, yo. I think I’ll name the place The Meechy Moose. omg yes

Twenty-one days lost at sea I fought
For twenty-two years non-stop I’ve talked
Through the desert, piss drunk, and confused I walked
I spit a tooth in the palm of my hand
BUT I KEPT TALKING, YEAH

This stromboli is going to be soooo good. And I didn’t tell anyone, but I’m straight killing some Combos afterwards. A STROMBO COMBO COMBO Y’ALL! RUN TMC.

I might as well just go to bed, right? For how many days?

Dude, I want some chicken fingers. For real. My kingdom for some honey mustard. At least Deitch thinks I’m cool.

BIG PELF. Saddest.

cotdamn cotdamn cotdamn goddamn. criminy. bejesus cotdamn.

this portrait from my youth depicts not the impetuous servant to righteousness i've now become

and yet i can’t believe it’s taken this long to return to, or dare say arrive at, or perhaps more aptly stumble upon (my mind’s path lighted dimly forgive me) our friend the hunger artist (no energy for capital letters and i know it’s kafka which i reference). from my cage from my cage from my cage i see them all see them there and they look but only for a moment, that another which i haven’t eaten will not eat. my art unappreciated, my act barely amusement anymore, this … famine for meaning. but i am a hunger artist. noble.

OMG ANGUS IS ON TNT! WAIT THAT’S FOOD, BOOOO… BUT NO, I LOVE THAT MOVIE, YAY (BRB)

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May
07
2010
Posted by ZWR at 1:42 pm ET 57 Comments

Meech.one here.  Unless you’ve been deprived of internet connection for the past, oh I don’t know, five months or so, I’m sure the #1 most visited site in your browser’s history is I want to go the the zoo with Roy Halladay.  The site’s founder, and wanter of going to the zoo with Roy (we’ll call him ZWR), has become a national phenomenon over the past few months because of his extraordinary MS Paint skillz, animal-friendly content, child-like enthusiasm, and fashionable t-shirts.   He’s even the artist behind Philadelphia Eagles TE Brent Celek’s Twitter background page!  It seems everybody wants to know ZWR nowadays. Well, I asked him if he would answer a few questions about himself, his Phillies fandom, and his fondness for zoos.  He obliged. 

Enjoy.

First Phillies conundrum that I can remember
In the summers, when I was very young, a different string band would play every Tuesday night in the Mummers Museum parking lot- which was also our two hand touch football field and around the block from my house. Everyone in the neighborhood would go, and it was particularly fun when one of the better (or more popular/local) bands would perform. Advance to a night on which the biggest was scheduled… and add to it the inherent excitement of the things that make our childhood summers special in recollect: perfect weather, the smell of charcoal burning, the sing-song melodies of Mister Softee trucks. All of it there in a flawed but familial grid of rowhomes. Only the Phillies were playing the Astros, I was wearing my powder blue jersey, Houston had the Astrodome, and my stepfather was staying home to watch the game. I literally paced my small side street for hours, imagining in my head, and I recall this as clearly as my last thought, precisely: Juan Samuel in the batter’s box with Harry Kalas introducing him… then decided to stay home with him. He had worked a long day, and we could hear the Mummers next Tuesday. I don’t remember what happened in the game, if we won or lost, but that really didn’t matter. I don’t even remember Harry Kalas introducing Juan Samuel. Much as the results are important to us, sharing in the game- from those earliest moments on- is what resonates. If being honest I’ll admit that there are moments I’m not in favor of having to rely on memories, though it’s the others in which felt alone you no longer feel as much you realize their value.

FAVORITES
Catch – Milt Thompson, v. San Diego Padres 1993
Hit – Pedro Feliz, v. Tampa, 2008 World Series Game Five
Vet Food – Helmet Sundae

How I’d imagine a novel about ZWR would start (only better)
If one were to tell him, as a child, that upon adulthood he would happen upon an idea so simple, yet anchored in no realm of normalcy, he would have smiled a moment or so and then moved on as if there were nothing further to be done of it. For we’re blessed in our youth with the indiscernible (and woefully short-lived as such) ability to find and carry out our expressions and experiences of joy. But as our present selves grown, it is the fleetingness that prevails. And so he there, with a sip, a nod- if onward into stupidity to tread, no merit of note to speak of- decided to tell of his wish to go to the zoo with Roy Halladay.

Why the zoo?
Zoos combine the more refined offerings of fun found in places such as carnivals or amusement piers (specifically: funnel cake) with the less pretentious educational aspects of those more intellectually stimulating- like museums. And penguins live there in the Northern Hemisphere.

      
Written by ZWR

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R.I.P Harry Kalas