Eeeeeewwwwww. Yicky yicky yicky.

Warning: Don’t click through this link if you think your hatred of the Commissioner of Baseball is sufficient unto the day, or if you like to avoid anonymous, gossipy allegations, or if you’re easily grossed out by images of this guy, well, doing stuff. Again, let me say: this is alleged behavior. Please, Mr. Commissioner, don’t contract BRPA 2004.

Now that you’ve been warned, click through. Thanks (I guess?) to Luke for passing this tidbit along. I don’t know that it’s raised the level of discourse on this site, but, well, a little yickiness never hurt a workday.

Original comments…

Charlie Comiskey: Bud Selig talking dirty? I find that kinda hot.

stacey: why, luke? why!?

Jim: I am shocked, SHOCKED to hear that an old man would talk about sex. Next we’ll find out that Bud got drunk, put $5 in the jukebox, and played “Hang On Sloopy” over and over because he found the lyrics hilarious.

Levi: My objection isn’t so much to the image it conjures up of Selig’s mouth moving and things coming out of it as it is to his apparent belief that a 20% tip is sufficiently above the norm as to entitle him to make explicit his desire that the waitress be quiet. A classy nasty rich guy would leave a C-note to speak for itself.

thatbob: Yeah, “The Chairman” would have “duked” her – on top of the 20%, which is merely standard. What an alleged jerk!

Luke, hanger-on: I believe his exact words were, “I’d sure like to have baseball relations with that woman!”

Or perhaps, “Once we’re done screwing baseball, let’s do the same to her! Awoogah! E-uh! E-uh! E-uh!”

Levi: My coworker Jim, upon hearing my complaint about this story, says, “Yeah, but no one over fifty tips adequately.”


Luke, hanger-on: It’s true. I often have to swing back into a restaurant to cover for my beloved father, a shade on the dark side of 50, who when in doubt will round down, usually to around 10 percent.

He’s not a lech like Selig but he does have his off-color side, and I often also have to pay the “Dad Tax,” which is a few extra dollars for a waitress who’s been subjected to his corny jokes. On his latest trip to town his favorite was to hold up two fingers in a “V” and ask, “What’s this?” (Answer: A Roman soldier’s high five.) No cab driver, valet parker or waitress was spared. It was an expensive visit for the Dad Tax.

Levi: What you need is a hanger-on to whom you can call, “Duke ‘im!” every time your dad makes the joke. The assistant would then peel off a crisp hundred and lay it on the waiter.