tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post2118505551090235433..comments2008-09-04T07:46:47.111-04:00Ginanoreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-89675010623206528072008-09-04T07:46:00.000-04:002008-09-04T07:46:00.000-04:00

Tiki, I don't comment here often, but I actually prefer the Sox Appeal stories. I'm up in Portland and don't have any frame of reference for the WEEI stuff.<BR/><BR/>OTOH, if Hazel and Heidi came across each other and were suddenly fille with feelings they didn't really understand....

Mainernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-62215491812721371122008-09-03T14:13:00.000-04:002008-09-03T14:13:00.000-04:00

Dear Penthouse:<BR/><BR/>I am a small headline reader on the popular morning show of a large northeastern sports radio station. <BR/>I never thought any of your letters were real, until one day when I arrived at the station. The hosts were both out (they said they were visiting sick kids, but they left the office with various lotions and oils--"odd gifts," I thought).<BR/>Because I arrived at

Jon Meat-her-for-realnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-89033048372217954522008-09-02T21:02:00.000-04:002008-09-02T21:02:00.000-04:00

It was a gray night, gray as the black overcoat stretched tight across the wearer's portly boiler.<BR/>As gray as the mood descending on the wearer as so much cholesterol clogging his veins.<BR/><BR/>Pete Shepherd hated walking, but tonight he felt the need to punish himself. The type of flagellation only possible from the swollen ankles and burn of chapped thighs caused by the quarter mile

Nopointenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-16928671273202427832008-09-02T20:38:00.000-04:002008-09-02T20:38:00.000-04:00

You could stop writing. That would improve it.

Youknoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-59852325410753123552008-09-02T16:53:00.000-04:002008-09-02T16:53:00.000-04:00

Hazel's voice was gentle even through the long distance connection. "Don, why do you keep doing this to yourself? How many times have we had this conversation?"<BR/><BR/>"But Hae-"<BR/><BR/>"No Don. No. This is never going to be a healthy relationship. Why can't you understand this?" <BR/><BR/>He said nothing, staring out through the window at the cold waters of the Charles, the lights

Denisenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-85326203438423775212008-09-02T16:43:00.000-04:002008-09-02T16:43:00.000-04:00

The cheeto twins were in the front row of the NESN comedy show. Scary.

dbvaderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16313968008498094004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-32847598923050517022008-09-02T14:48:00.000-04:002008-09-02T14:48:00.000-04:00

Dear Penthouse:<BR/><BR/>I never thought any of your letters were real. I am a small-minded host of a popular radio show in a large northeastern city. Ever since I messed up a crucial play in a high school football game because I was distracted by the tight fit of the opposing quaterback's pants, I have adopted a macho, hyper-aggressive radio persona to compensate for my desires. I even hid my

ClipToughmannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-9337442887121530222008-09-02T14:00:00.000-04:002008-09-02T14:00:00.000-04:00

Brilliant!

Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-40083047317963513222008-09-02T13:55:00.000-04:002008-09-02T13:55:00.000-04:00

Larry Johnson looked deep into Ordway's eyes, as deep as a bottomless bowl of chili.<BR/><BR/>Chili always gave LJ heartburn, but not even acid reflux could compare to the pain his heart was feeling now.<BR/><BR/>'Glen, is there anything you can do' he mumbled in between bites of a Shaws birthday cake, Shaws birthday cake always made LJ feel better. As a child he didn't mind spending his

Nopointenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-16619608401202533722008-09-02T13:33:00.000-04:002008-09-02T13:33:00.000-04:00

"Don, Don. We can't keep doing this." <BR/><BR/>Jerry's voice was gravelly, and he smelled (as usual) like smoke and sweat- it was the very essence of him. Don felt that if he pressed his lips to Jerry's neck he would taste grass and the dust of the infield.<BR/><BR/>"Please," Don begged shamelessly. Unsaid was all that he needed. "Please," he said again. His fingers flexed in the cotton of

Denisenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-72666428753838922582008-09-02T13:22:00.000-04:002008-09-02T13:22:00.000-04:00

Let the other guys write and you do the editing.

Kennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860366265373331300.post-44536997930300873702008-09-02T00:03:00.000-04:002008-09-02T00:03:00.000-04:00

Tiki, I think the more topical articles like the ones about WEEI and Simmons are the good ones. Sox Appeal is pretty played out.

Mickeynoreply@blogger.com