On Tuesday I asked you to recommend baseball-related media that I should consume, digest, and defecate into the port-o-john known as my brain. I received so many good recommendations that I will probably become overwhelmed trying to decide where to start, and instead re-watch MacGruber precisely one–thousand times. So way to go guys. (But seriously: way to go. I will consume so much of what you threw down in the comments)
However, I did notice that some of you bemoaned (or just kinda weren’t into) my desire to read certified masterpiece Juiced, by Jose Canseco. “What this book will lack in tact, insight, truth, and readable syntax, it will make up for in being written by Jose Canseco,” was my thought as I added it to the list.
It’s really, really, really, easy to make fun of Jose Canseco. I’m not so much above making fun of the man as I am too lazy to compile the relevant material. Given the wealth of quality material Jose generates, this should tell you something about how lazy I am. What this post definitively is not, then, is me making fun of Jose Canseco. What it is, is me letting Jose Canseco tell us two things:
Life holds a cruel ending for all of us.death
— Jose Canseco (@JoseCanseco) October 8, 2013
— Jose Canseco (@JoseCanseco) October 20, 2013
This has been Letting Jose Canseco Tell Us Two Things.
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