Randy Johnson is my shop teacher

On and on, to the break of dawn
When you buy food cheap, you need a coupon
Or catch a sale retail, before it gets stale

I've never been a fan of Randy Johnson for a few reasons. Chief among them is that he just looks like an asshole, and second is that the treats the Rockies like they were parking cones covered in baseball uniforms. Last night he blanked the local nine, then probably went into the post game buffet and berated the attendant for the Jello being too runny.

Like most, Randy reminds me of some creepy, ahole personality we've all met over our years. Whether he's a strange long lost uncle, a shady car salesman we've encountered, the weirdo in the corner cubicle, or some freaky dude preaching on your college campus. For me, the Big Unit reminds of my Junior High shop teacher. Yes, he was a typical shop teacher: nasty mustache, big ring of keys, rumors of relationships with scuzzy women, smelled like WD-40.

He was also the first teacher to give a young Commish a failing grade. On my progress report, first semester, 7th grade, I received a big fat 'F' in shop, or as it was called in my district 'Technical Arts' and further abbreviated as 'TA.' The failing mark did cause some concern and confusion in the family as well. When I showed the report to my aunt, she replied "TA? You're getting a failing grade in tits and ass!? What kind of school are you going to!"

Thank you, Randy Johnson, you freak. Each time you roll through the Rox lineup you remind me of my inability to work a belt sander.