Nicknamed the Cobra, he’s a badass batsman standing tall in an unbelievably cramped pro locker room. The first million dollar contract hitter remembered for his killer throw to third base to nab Jim Rice in the 1979 All-Star Game, this 2-time National League Batting Champion, 3-time Golden Glove Winner and 7-time All-Star once knocked the cover off a baseball. That’s why no one says shit if he wears one shoe and accessorizes with wristbands and a cowboy hat. The muscle of the 1979 World Series, this Paco Camino Man inspired MVP Willie Stargell, unheralded Phil Garner and reliever Kent Tekulve (and his weird sidearm pitching) to deliver three clutch cargo victories, rallying from the brink of elimination against the Baltimore Orioles. We Are Family indeed.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Posted by Feo Mateo at 11:54 PM
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
A couple of total studs sporting classic tan Stratojac brief coats, that's who. The enigmatic woolen coats exude a casual, yet easy-going elegance—that’s The Condor on the left, a contour tailored coat, and on the right, The Cornell; belted, with raglan sleeves. Both come with epaulets and a new storm collar strap. But enough about this exquisite outerwear, the real story is the foxy lady sitting in an old-timey circus truck desperately seeking Cornell’s phone number for some hot action later. ‘Hey Condor, got a piece of paper?” “No,” replied Condor with a suave wry laugh. “I’m busy eying that flock of mini skirt-wearing babes over by the fountain flashing me some tail.” The Paco Camino Man: dressed to kill and always getting lucky with or without stationary.
Posted by Feo Mateo at 7:20 PM
Friday, August 22, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The following handwritten letter was found crumpled up on the early autumn marble steps of McKinley Hall:
Hey did you know the Olympics are on? You probably haven’t heard of him, but there’s this hot swimmer dude named Michael Phelps that I have a total crush on, so I’ve been sending him tons of sexually inappropriate text messages. At breakfast, I’d gladly lick three fried egg cheese sandwiches with tomatoes, lettuce, onions and mayonnaise; three chocolate-chip pancakes, a five-egg omelet, three slices of French toast, a bowl of grits and two cups of coffee off his ripped abs. Then at lunch, I’d eat pound of enriched pasta and two large ham and cheese sandwiches off his taut, muscled ass, and don’t get me started about dinner, when I’d slurp off another pound of pasta (with carbonara sauce) and a large cheese pizza off his gold medal dorsal fin.
Whew, Phelps gets me wet, strokes it hard and stays in lane between my buoys, baby,
Song of the Day:
Kraak & Smaak, “Squeeze Me”
Posted by Feo Mateo at 12:04 AM
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Oh man, so unbelievable, eh?
Posted by Feo Mateo at 11:38 PM
He’s a neon suitor on the town, in demand, living large, born to rock and ready to roll. Turning heads at every corner, he’s well read, on the prowl and dressed to kill. Down with the hip crowd and up on the latest fashion trends, his impeccable style, square jaw line and mysterious eyes only distract from the fact he’s hung like a fearless sexual stuntman breaking long-standing world records. Electrifying live wire Crue women, the Paco Camino Man is a high voltage AC/DC legend lighting up forgotten Van Halen II skies while grounding mortal men powerless with zoo-like Scorpionic blackout envy.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I’m perplexed by the recent flap over the usage of the word “retarded” in the new Ben Stiller flick, Tropic Thunder. Obviously meant as silly humor (remember There’s Something About Mary?), the word has upset both handicap organizations and special education teachers. In fact, they’ve started a boycott campaign that only intrigues more people to see the film.
I think the whole thing is well, retarded.
It’s time to take back “retarded” and permanently amend it’s meaning. Yes, many years ago, the term harshly described mentally challenged, handicapped or disabled people. That’s why today we delicately call them“special.” Imbecile, moron and idiot were used too, but there’s little outrage when high-strung cabbies yell these words all day driving around New York City.
That’s just it—most use 'retarded' to describe a bad play call, a wretched reality show, or the god awful speech by Miss South Carolina at the 2007 Miss Teen USA pageant. Retarded is unrelenting tabloid celebrity gossip. Retarded sums up the Iraq War. And some of the best times I've ever had occurred when being retarded with my dearest friends. No one uses retarded to refer to someone mentally ill anymore. That's retarded.
Relax people—this is just like the word, "gay" which overwhelmingly denotes homosexuality. Half a century ago, gay was mainly used to describe anyone feeling pretty (oh so pretty), or wearing festive clothing at Christmastime. But over time our gay brothers commandeered it. Big deal. The public got over it.
Retarded. Not for retards anymore. Kidding! Yow, lighten up. It’s a new word now.
Posted by Feo Mateo at 12:02 AM
Posted by Feo Mateo at 12:01 AM
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
He’s hellbent for denim and horseman to the manor born. Besides looking utterly fantastic in a rugged waist-length leather ranch coat, this stud is nailing two ace-high whitetail city slickers down for a weekend of beating the devil around a stump. On the shoot, but he ain’t no bunk artist, he got the bulge. Sure he’s an odd stick playing to the gallery, but even full as tick, he's in apple pie order getting a wiggle on with the fillies. You may have been waiting to find out that the Paco Camino Man is of course, hung like a horse and right as a rivet too. That ain't no lick and a promise either.
Posted by Feo Mateo at 12:45 AM
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Hey girl, I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your lavender scented aromatherapy insoles for my shoes and damn, it’s like a flower garden shit all over my feet. Oh yeah, something else you should probably be aware of is that I sort of accidentally implicated you in a grisly double homicide by sending damning manufactured evidence to FBI crime scene investigators. Sorry, my bad, but those detectives were so darn cute! I just had to see them again. Anyway, the Feds just need to do a thorough body cavity search and impregnate you with the sperm from a mysterious lizard man, and boom, just like that you’re off the hook for the murders.
My ass acne is coming back nicely thanks to spray-on Rash in a Can,
Song of the Day:
Rosebud, “Have a Cigar”
Posted by Feo Mateo at 2:11 PM