Tonight I feel a little like Mark Wahlberg's character in Boogie Nights when he's rehearsing his lines for the "movie" in which he's cast towards the end of the film. You know, the part where, as Brock Landers, he's practicing in the mirror as if he's Richard Gere in Internal Affairs when in reality all he's got is a scummy-ass pawno role. The part I have in mind is when he repeats the line "So I'm gonna be nice" a few times in a row, tweaking the pacing and intonation in order to get it just right. I don't know why this is, I guess I just feel like, metaphysically, I feel like I'm doing you all a Vincent Gallo-sized favor by sharing my thoughts with you, when all I'm actually doing is phoning in a fallback retread that has little, if anything, to do with the Wonderful World of Baseball Cards, and I'm able to look at and appreciate this pre-emptive bit of self-reflection and thwart it before it gets sent out to the universe. Yeah, cough syrup, just like Lester Bangs suggested. Cross your fingers that everything after this point doesn't suck.
Appreciate this page, likely candidate as the worst in the entire book, a judgment rendered mostly on lack of variety. There might be four themes at most converging upon this orange background, and at least three of them slam their fist upon the coffee table with a proclamation of hate. Let's take a peek behind the glue-backed curtain.
Apparently, I was high on life as well as high on the AL West back in my hand-me-down days. From my best recollection, these stickers were graced with a scentilicious pheromone covering that, when activated by fingernail or coin, dispersed an olfactory essence that reminded one of pizza. Yes, pizza. Alas, the scratchiness and sniffyness have long since vanished. The White Sox and Twins logos are duking it out for secondy placey in terms of besties, but they trail far behind the Mariners. Their pitchfork is threatening, eunuchally, and by that I mean that it's primed to stab you in the johnson (in the parlance of our times) and the stones with one brutal thrust. Why, then, the letters "M" and "S," Seattle, why? The grass is always greener until you forget to water the new sod that hasn't taken yet.
Of the two dinosaurs, the herbivorous T-rex is somehow the better of the two. Mickey Mouse gloves? Seriously?
Vegan predator, my ass.
At least he's better than this "Match Game '76" version with blue dorsal plates. This Charles Nelson Riley of the dinosaur kingdom is clearly in the middle of telling an Elopteryx nopcsai to "Oh, behave..." before clamping his jaws meekly around its fourth and fifth vertebrae.
Mr. Nonsense is apparently the W.C. Fields of the Mr. People or whatevah they're called group, what with his bulbous nose with the broken capillaries and the ill-fitting hat. Let me tell you my favorite W.C. Fields line, from The Bank Dick.
Ambling back into a bar, midday, Fields asks the bartender, "Was I in here last night and did I spend a $20 bill?"
The barman confirms this suspicion, to which W.C. replies, "Oh, thank goodness... I thought I'd lost it."
And then there's a bunch of google eye stickers, most of which don't google any more. My favorite bit of placement is the stalk-ocular-tastic monster sipping from the cauldron of "strong drink," and just in front of him lurks...
...a pile of whatever he just puked up.
I'm a star.
I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star.
I'm a big bright shining star.