I don’t mean to pry into your personal life, Jose, but you look… tired. How ’bout you take the rest of the day off and start over fresh tomorry?
“Here you go, Lois. One hot dog, and one orange juice — freshly squeezed.”
Mike Proly looks less like a pro ballplayer and more like any of the guys from my dad’s Airco Welding Supplies softball team thirty years ago, harriedly trying to score a bindle from a warehouseman in front of the boss.
Try to stifle your giggles, mmmkay? Not only is this an unflattering angle for Mr. Luzinski, his pose is mirrored below him by a graphic of a bat-wielding, bottom-heavy waterfowl. Not only do the guy’s thighs rub together, you can plainly see he wears huge underwear.
The ‘fro. The sideburns. The big, poofy batting gloves. The prodigious ‘stache. The bubblegum straining to escape the lips’ event horizon. If he’s not careful, he’ll make people think he does something interesting for a living.