Rule #1 : You do not talk about BJR

The fifth season of the BJR newsletter continues as our contract has been renewed. Several people have also put out "contracts" on the author of the newsletter. Sahlman Rushie, eat your heart out, unless that violates some religious or non-religious principle you have.

For those of you new to the newsletter, I recommend re-reading it several times until you get all the jokes, or until you start stabbing yourself with a honey-baked ham, whichever comes first. Some of you who may know the actual facts behind some of the updates I'm providing, keep them to yourselves, they can only hurt the other readers.

With Dennis Miller co-hosting Monday Night Football, my career aspirations for sarcasm and cynicism now have morphed into delusions of grandeur. I've added these to the mountains of delusions of grandeur that I already possess, like getting a foot massage from Rue Paul or becoming the world freestyle breakdancing champion.

Nephews, for those of you familiar with them, are better than just about anything. My visit to my sister's place in Virginia gave Uncle BJR the chance to see both Braden and Jonathon score goals in their soccer games, visit Camden Yards in Baltimore, and dig worms with Benjamin. Uncle BJR did get a red card for holding the opposing goalie in a headlock and giving him a "covered wagon".

I've been spending oodles of time in Boston, where Reactivity is opening a new office. While I started out really unsure if I would like Boston, I'm glad to say it's a incredible, beautiful city filled with absolutely rotten people. I learned lots of new sign language when I said "hi" to everyone on my morning run.

We also managed to grossly overset expectations for all new Reactivity employees by giving them 3 days in an Arizona resort called the Phoenician. Now they all think I'm a happy go lucky guy who smiles a lot and rarely resorts to physical violence except when asked a direct question.

The streets are no longer safe now that I have a motorcycle license. However, in my safety course, I stretched my skills to the max, learning to overbrake, lay the bike out, and jump away for dear life. I've got the Evil part down, now I'm working on the Kineval. Look for BJR roadrash in the future. I follow up my safety training by riding the back roads of New Hampshire, where i learned to swerve around obstacles like roadkill and politicians.

I don't know if any of you saw the College World Series, but I took evasive action and spent a day in Omaha, Nebraska, with half of the state of Louisiana. I will not talk about the result of the game, but I want to make sure that everyone understands that I am not a poor sport, but that everyone from Louisiana is an illiterate, inbred, tobacco chewing moonshiner.

Looking back, sometimes I wish I could go back in time... and find that little boy that I used to be... walk up to him... look him in the eye... and kick him repeatedly for all the stupid things that he's going to do. And then, I'd kick him some more.

BJR