Where's BYH?

He was nailed on To Catch a Predator with a small Vietnamese boy.

He gets out in 7 to 10.

 

Corn nuts.

 

GODDAMMIT. I should have made a Remington party joke. Fuck.

Damn you Mizzou!

 

BYH has been busy scowering the waiver wires in hopes of rebuliding his failing team in our fantasy league.

We know he is fine because of his recent incessant complaining about league DL rules on the private NIAFL message board.

 

He kidnapped my girl cat and they're shacked up somewhere South of the border, where the Internet access is spotty and man-feline love is encouraged.

 

BYH makes sure to insult me at least 36 times a day just so I know he's OK. At least that's what he tells me.

I think he was caught going through Bill Lawrence's dumpster, and now he's locked up for wearing his tighty whities on his dome.

 

Drivng down the Garden State Parkway yesterday I passed a Honda Odyssey minivan with the NY license plate BYH-xxxx.
Just made me wonderr.

 

No way can he afford a Honda Odyssey.

 

"He's at home ... a-waaaashing his tights."

 

I checked in with him, and BYH's secret project involves sculpting a larger-than-life representation of Carlos Gomez made entirely of chewed grape Hubba-Bubba.

That's a shitpot of gum, folks, but he should be done soon.

 

I heard he's spending time with his wife.

Sucks for her.

 

Close - actually BYH has been called in by the Twins to study Gomez base running and try and figure out why a guy that fast keeps getting thrown out stealing