Louis demonstrates his lefty-handed circle-change.

Comedy giant Louis C.K. did an AMA thread on reddit, which would be familiar to non-reddit readers as an All Questions Answered thread, more or less.

It might have been as awesome as reddit is a horror to read. It’s like going back in time ten years on the internet, which is like going back in time a hundred years in real life. Something about the format promotes boredom. Or at least, that’s my excuse for almost missing this gem, buried in the thread:

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UPDATE: It appears as though Mr. Cole has been the victim of internetting roguery! Per Tim Williams of Pirate Prospects, Cole has exactly zero Twitter accounts. Sadly, it seems as though our attempt to take pleasure in the frailty of another has been thwarted.

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If you’re not familiar with it, Twitter is an online social networking website that allows users to share status updates — known as “tweets” — with friends and other “followers.”

Tweets can be about anything: about a restaurant you’re at, a sitcom you’re watching, or, for example, how you might quit baseball to dedicate yourself more wholly to America’s favorite psychotropic:

It should be noted immediately that the above could very well be the result of (first-overall draft pick) Gerrit Cole’s Twitter account having been hacked. If that’s the case, a word of advice to Mr. Cole: passwords with letters, numbers, symbols are most secure.

Note: it should also-also be noted that this, in fact, might be Gerrit Cole’s real Twitter account.

H/T: Reader Mike, code name “Mike”

As manuals on youth and young manhood have taught us, the secret to a vital constitution is a regimen of organ meats, deep knee bends and cigarettes. Or, as Ty Cobb has taught us, you can forgo the calisthenics and chow in favor of a one large cigarette that’s brimming with nutrients and wholesome, muscle-building tobacco:

This has been Something I Found on the Internet. This has been your Daguerreotype of the Evening.

Earlier today, Bradley Woodrum treated America not only to his prose stylings, but also to that peculiar joy that only a snowman-shaped mouse cursor can cultivate in a man’s (or, ideally, a woman’s) bosom.

Which, that gave the present author an idea — an idea to which the reader can become privy by meeting me on the other side of the jump.

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This photo, taken last week during Mr. Reyes’ official introduction to the mighty Marlins of Miami, shows Mr. Reyes, amidst all the pomp and circumstance of this happy occasion, transfixed, his gaze caught on something (or someone) unknown to us in the distance. Assuming that he is not blind or a robot, please answer the following question to the best of your ability: What did he see?

A. The contents of the briefcase from Pulp Fiction.
B.  Krampus.
C. A mirror, causing him to finally see how goofy the new Miami uniforms are.
D. Clifford, the big red dog, doing something inappropriate.

Extra Credit: What could have possibly disgusted Ozzie Guillen enough to provoke this facial outburst?

(Here’s a hint: the answer’s Sean Penn)

Any report that I ingested a performance-enhancing drug is wrong. Or at least a little wrong. Come on, let me try and defend myself.

Yes, I failed a test, but then I passed a test, so that means I was innocent all along. Right? Like a college that only counts your most recent SAT score. Sure, I got a 600 two weeks ago, but this time I got a 2350, so, hey, that first one must have been a mistake. I used the wrong kind of pencil. You wanted my urine, and I gave you some vomit mixed with orange juice, or whatever it is that I did that ended up testing positive for synthetic testosterone. Maybe there was synthetic testosterone on the toilet seat and it somehow fell into the cup. Maybe I got mixed up between the sample cup you gave me, and that sample cup of synthetic testosterone I was carrying around for a friend. Some guy in the airport gave me a cup of his urine and told me to hold it for him. The security folks only asked about strangers packing my bags, not about strangers giving me their urine, so I didn’t think to mention it. I am completely innocent. Wait, I’m not sure I know what innocent means.

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“Ed” is movie about a monkey who can play baseball and the shitty pitcher who befriends him. There is a mechanical chimp in this movie. Worse, there is a Matt LeBlanc in this movie. Here is a trailer, which, you will surely find, is mortifying in its breadth:

“Ed” has a Tomatometer rating of 0%. IMDB proclaims, in Augustine of Hippo fashion, that the following is a memorable quote from “Ed“:

Jack “Duece” Cooper: I am going to spank that monkey!

He’s not talking about masturbating. He’s talking about beating a chimp with an open hand in order to impart some kind of lesson or set in motion the oft-taught cinematic lesson of regeneration through violence.

“Ed” is memorable. That one time you got hobo spit in your eyes was memorable in the same manner. And that’s apparently how the movie chooses to spell the word better known as “Deuce,” which, in the full light of its atrocities, is fine, I suppose.

It would seem that $6.288 million worth of human beings paid to suffer the afflictions of “Ed,” a movie, let us remember, about a baseball player and a chimp and the poo jokes that bind them.

Distinction withers. No one is named “Woodrow” anymore. People make movies like “Ed.” The world spins on its axis in a numbing dance. Fools like us mistake the ending for endlessness.

Sports Illustrated has released a photo slideshow of some athletes and their wives and/or girlfriends back in the 1990s. Despite the use of the word “athlete,” we actually see some baseball players in here as well. Here are the ones you need to see:

Steve and Heather Avery

Steve is seen here sporting what is known in some circles as a “Cosby Sweater,” after the comedian Bill Cosby and his colorful wardrobe. With the Froot Loops they buy in the cereal aisle at the grocery store, Steve receives a very different Cosby Sweater later that night.

Jeff and Cindy Conine.

Given the attire Cindy chose to wear to the racquetball court, it is understandable how Jeff could mistake her for the ball on his initial swing. Luckily, Jeff is able to recover from his misplay in time.

Chuck Knoblauch and Lisa Knoblauch.

Chuck is convinced it was Lisa’s week to bring the chess board to the park. Lisa, used to Chuck’s absent-mindedness, just doesn’t have the heart to tell him he is incorrect.

John and Kelly Olerud.

John and Kelly gaze in bewilderment as the amazingly futuristic device before them displays “32768 KB OK – – -“.

Randy and Lisa Johnson.

Randy and Lisa’s daughter Samantha discovers her father’s finger is in fact an extremely delicious hot dog.

Roger and Debbie Clemens.

Despite Debbie’s insistence that she is not actually a Pez dispenser, Roger remains convinced of the contrary.

David and Lynn Cone – Athletes and their WAGs: ’90s Edition – Photos – SI.com.

David and Lynn are just as surprised as you are that this is the most normal-looking picture in the group.

Jose and Jessica Canseco..

I don’t have anything for this one because I’m afraid Jose would hunt me down and kill me if I even remotely made a joke about his wife, regardless of how long they’ve been divorced. Please don’t hurt me.

As you all undoubtedly know, I spend about half my waking hours researching my Fangraphs pieces, which means about 5 of the 20 daily hours I spend working at the computer go the sole scouring of Wikipedia, our culture’s depository for generally agreed-upon knowledge. Anyway, for reasons somewhat beyond me, I ended up recently at the Wikipedia entry for the Caribes de Anzoátegui, a top baseball team in the Venezuelan Winter League, wherein I spotted this subtle typo:

I dunno, perchance it’s just society, but I am not certain whether (1) the author merely misplaced a G, or if (2) the author — likely an ESL such person — tried to sound out “foreign” and ended up with a meng-like solution. And therein lies the quandary: Does the mere doubt make me a racist?

Yes. Probably.

I take comfort in assuming, however, that my colleague Dayn Perry — Mississippi native — would have only considered the second option, while Boss Carson Cistulli (Boss ‘Stul for short) — who spends literally half his time in France, the other half travelling to France — would not have even noticed the error in his French-addled mind.

Reader: Also take note that Dmitri Young is no longer on the Caribes. Which is sad.

🙁

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While the majority of baseballers use their respective offseasons to the end of playing golf and/or impregnating females, this tweet (courtesy MLB Trade Rumors) reveals that Texas Ranger second baseman Ian Kinsler dedicates at least some of his leisure time to decidedly more scholarly pursuits — namely, lively discourses with Ranger GM Jon Daniels et al. on the subject of FDR’s revolutionary economic programs of the early 1930s.

While we’re unable to confirm the information at this time, the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has reason to believe that Kinsler’s next conversation with the Rangers will concern, specifically, the Wagner Act of 1935.