THE RATASS GAZETTE

Whether it's tomorrow, or Goddamn ten years from now, I want to see some fucked-up hippie in a laundry room, in the middle of the night, playing the lint-trap from the dryer like a Goddamn tambourine. I want to behold a Madison-Square-Garden-Ian-Anderson-From-Jethro-Tull-Gauge-Performance on this fucking lint-trap.  Rapid wrist expertise and hip-pounding fury, responding to an unheard, metal-symphony that exists only in this freak's theoretically, unobserved womb of a Laundro-Mat concert stage. A theatrical demonstration with two parts Flamboyance and nine parts S avagery . Whether it's the apartment complex's laundry facilities or the neighborhood "Fluff and Fold," I want to see this Witching Hour, faux-musical tirade that borders on silent, head-banging lunacy. I know Goddamn well, this guy is out there.  Somewhere in the Ether-Sphere this guy lives...he's rocking hard and kicking ass...somewhere.  A manifestation of Pomp and Bravura  that need

     1.  The Windmill      2.  The Early-Release Reverse Windmill      3.  The Distance Bullet      4.  The Casual Near-Miss       5.  The Jenny Hanson Free-Throw

REVISITING MY PREDICTIONS FOR RANDY MOSS IN 2012 - Back in May when Randy Moss signed with the San Francisco 49ers, I boldly predicted that he would put up numbers to this effect: My Randy Moss Projections for 2012... 64 receptions, 960 yards, 12 TD Actual Randy Moss Totals for 2012... 28 receptions, 434 yards, 3 TD ANALYSIS: I was a little off.   Clearly, I was seeing a huge Moss resurgence after he spent a year away from the game, but I'd figure he'd get close to my projections pretty easily... I predicted 4 catches per game for Moss, and he wound up averaging 1.75 catches per game.  I figured he'd average 15 yards per catch, and I was actually right on the money with that one. He averaged 15.5 yards per catch in 2012.  And I definitely thought he'd play a much bigger role in the red zone, but he managed just 3 touchdowns for the season.  So yeah, I missed the mark on that one by a couple of football fields. But let's move on to the real ques

Written By: Brandon Schlong Copyright 2013 Reubenickenobickle You’ll never guess who I bumped into this morning. Nope, nope.  He actually moved back to upstate Warshington I guess, sheeit… Musta been two years ago.  Was it two years ago…? Hadta been cos’, I remember he helped me feed the heifers the morning of Patrick’s birthday. First frost of the year that very same mornin’ come to think of it. Oh, sure! Their daughter Bridgette, runnin’ round a-peein-and-a-poopin ever’ where. I can tell you for Goddamn  sure, that he and Kathy had never been happier. Anyway, it was shorely just a brush-stroke of luck who I… No, it wasn’t her either. Her son died , ya know? Ugh, and it was just so Goddamn messy ! She still wanted an open casket and boy, oh boy…old Hard-nosed Hilda Bickered and fought with Reverend Donaldson till the very last minute. No, they didn’t. Hell, they couldn’t have all them school kids seein’ him the way he looked. Didn’t lo

You know, he's the guy who can snare the ladies.  Some loser teaching other losers how to appropriately approach some tender-little-shaver in some hipster beer parlor.  The night ending with you eventually staggering up the road with her, to your sparsely furnished stink-chamber of an apartment to give her the old "Brown Madam."   "Home sweet Hell," you'll say as you dead-bolt the door and accidentally hit your forehead on the door knob as you take off your Spalding's.   This is the guy that understands  the ladies.  This is the dick-head who can identify the needs and moods of all  the ladies, and if you listen to his Abigail Van Buren-like sage wisdom you'll never hear the phrase,  "You smell like poop," again. This line will be spoken of course, by a visibly-uncomfortable-previously-laughing-just-a-minute-ago-girl-but-now-feeling-nauseated-and-frightened-and-wanting-to-immediately-leave-and-move-out-of-town-never-to-return-from-the