- Bret Holmes Baltimore Md

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I Kan't Spell

Friday, September 24, 2004

Slide Away

Song lyrics and the rest of it. It's all just nonsense really. It's all cat chasing tail type nonsense. It's an expression of a feeling that failed to be captured in a glimpse and what have we left beyond words that aren't ours? We have emotions that aren't ours either.

I don't feel sorry for anyone just yet. I don't actually know what to feel right now. I know when I'm near her I'm happier than I've been in a long time. I know that I can just stare at her for hours and not say anything and her beauty mouths all the words that I need. I also know that she's not mine. I also know that I'm a rather hard one to tame. If I spend more time with her I'll fall in love. And there where will I be. Like a man without a country. Stuck on a desert island waiting for her lifeboat to come back and visit when convenient. I'm not going to back off. But, I'm not going to escalate anything either. I'm a little confused but not in a bad way.

I've already sailed seas of wonderment. To be there again would be wonderful, but to simply know that they still exist and I can man a vessel capable enough to traverse them makes me just as content.

How do you peal back from something you so passionately long for? How do you hold fire at arms reach while standing inside a grass hut? Move the wrong way and you'll burn it down.

Lessons learned are always forgotten in the face of that you yearn for. It's beautiful really.

Sad Song

Sing a sad song
In a lonely place
Try to put a word in for me
It's been so long
Since I found this place
You better put in two or three
We as people, are just walking 'round
Our heads are firmly fixed in the ground
What we don't see
Well it can't be real
What we don't touch we cannot feel

Where we're living in this town
The sun is coming up and it's going down
But it's all just the same at the end of the day
And we cheat and we lie
Nobody says it's wrong
So we don't ask why
Cause it's all just the same at the end of the day
We're throwing it all away
We're throwing it all away
We're throwing it all away at the end of the day

If you need it
Something I can give
I know I'd help you if I can
If your honest and you say that you did
You know that I would give you my hand
Or a sad song
In a lonely place
I'll try to put a word in for you
Need a shoulder? well if that's the case
You know there's nothing I wouldn't do

Where we're living in this town
The sun is coming up and it's going down
But it's all just the same at the end of the day
When we cheat and we lie
Nobody says it's wrong
So we don't ask why
Cause it's all just the same at the end of the day

Don't throw it all away
We're Throwing it all away

Talk Tonight * Oasis

Sittin' on my own
Chewin' on a bone
A thousand million
Miles from home
When Something hit me
Somewhere right between the eyes

Sleepin' on a plane
You know you can't complain
You took your last chance
Once again
I landed, stranded
Hardly even knew your name

I wanna talk tonight
Until the mornin' light
'Bout how you saved my life
You and me see how we are
You and me see how we are

All your dreams are made
Of Strawberry lemonade
And you make sure
I eat today
You take me walking
To where you played
When you were young

I'll never say that I
Won't ever make you cry
And this I'll say
I don't know why
I know I'm leavin'
But I'll be back another day

I wanna talk tonight
Until the mornin' light
'Bout how you saved my life
(You saved my life)
I wanna talk tonight

Wednesday, September 22, 2004


Free show - enjoy yourself -


I seriously can't stop thinking about her and what I should do. And what makes this all the stranger is that I know she will eventually read this. I know she will see all these things that I write. Oddly, it fuels rather than deters. It inspires rather than extinguishes. I find her presence in thought makes my day easy. You can say you can wait, and you can say that it won't hurt. But, deep down you have a feeling that it won't be that easy at all. No matter how determined you are not to show anything. No matter how respectful you want to be of someone's life and how much you want things to unravel in natural succession, sometimes, it doesn't happen that way and you may be forced to tip a hand.

I've stayed up night talking on the phone. I never talk on the phone. I find myself being protective and overly thoughtful again. Even, if nothing happens, and I've said this before in a previous post, I at least know what makes me feel better. It's never the booze, or the trollops. It's never the cheap laughs over sporting events or hanging out with fringe friends. Life, at this point, and at this level of happiness is about making yourself proud. It's not about making anyone else proud or collecting things or anything like that. It's about stepping outside of you, looking back and realizing what it is you could be doing. If anything I got that. I got semi-restored. I can now believe again, not in anyone else per se, but I can believe again in me.

Sad Songs Make the World Easier to Deal With

time & all you gave
i was the jerk who preferred the sea
to tussling in the waves
tugging your skirt, singing please, please, please

but now i see love
tracked on the floor where you walked outside
now i see love
looking for you in this other girl's eyes

time & all you took
only my freedom to fuck the whole world
promising not to look
promising light on the sidewalk girls

but now i see love
there in your car where i said those things
now i see love
tugging your skirt, singing please, please, please

time & all you gave
there on your cross that i never saw
well beyond the waves
dunking my head when i heard you call

but now i see love
there in the sea where you pinched my leg
now i see love
there on your side of my empty bed


I am putting my foot down today. I will not step into the office on Saturday or Sunday. I am going to do something I haven't done in a while. I'm going to D.C. to look at art. I'm going to spend the whole day walking around and doing nothing but writing and watching. Yep...that sounds therapeutic and exactly like what I need.

BTW - Happy Birthday Mom!


Yeah, I haven't been around these here parts in a while. Me and old Pancho been cruising the Ponderosa foothills in search of better mescaline. Whoa...whoops...wrong opening...that was to another tale...

But, I haven't been around too often and for reason. I'm stressed people. I've been overly worked and stressed for a good month now. And unfortunately the bi-product of that has been a reduction in any sort of output.

I have a horrible soar throat today from sleeping with the windows open. You know...I slept for more than 6 hours for the first time in months last night. It was quite refreshing. Unfortunately I forgot that it was fall so all the windows were open and the fan was blowing and I coincidentally woke up with a sore throat. I also managed to roll over about 20 times between 7 and 2:30 to see if Jasika called. Jasika? Who is this Jasika you ask? Oh...she's Liz. Sorry if I didn't put you in the loop. Unfortunately, once again, I've been slightly struck by the fate of alignment and since Liz has a boyfriend and seems to not mind his company I can't in good conscious push her any further. hence I get to hold a clipboard for a while....

Fortunately, she is exactly what I want. So, either something will boil up inside me to the point where I firebomb someone's house (not likely) or I can wait. I don't find women that I like on a regular basis. As a matter of fact there's a pretty short list on my wall of fame. Anyway...that's an update...I'm still listening to music, I'm still reading (Gatto, and some poker books) but see now...I don't have a reason to go out on Friday night. I don't have a reason to sleep with random whores. I found what I wanted. I'll just have to wait. And, although she may not believe me, I really have no problem with that. Until that is, I firebomb someone's house...then you'll know I have a problem with it...

Hopefully...I'll get a rush to write later in the day or week....

If you can't can't be good be bad...

Tuesday, September 21, 2004


I was going to write a mean open letter to Uncle Sparky for wanting to know why I am currently, in his words, "a big fat pussy". But, I'll take the higher road here and just say that I found a girl that makes me happy.

Hey, now we can have a double date and you can come over and we can all cry together. All we need now is jenkfatfest (new name with a nice alteration) to get on the wagon and clean up his life....
How are you and the chain doing anyway...and when do you get your gun so you can come over with it and we can discharge a firearm on top of the roofdeck...?

I love Sparks...

Monday, September 20, 2004

Let's talk about spaceships, or anything except you and me. Ok?

I have no words to really describe the emotion that goes through me. It's been so long since I felt at ease walking. And it's not just ease, it's also a serene peace. It is caught somewhere between temptation and penitence. It is the calming feeling of looking forward to your own day just so you can get through it to see or talk to her.

No matter what happens or what anyone decides, I'd like to thank her for restoring my faith in a feeling that I haven't had in a while. I would like to thank her for making me feel peaceful. I haven't been this happy in years.

Thursday, September 16, 2004


Last night I got to speak with the only girl I would consider dating. Hell, I'm already half-in-love with her and I barely know her. But, me, I've seen enough people in my life to know exactly what I want. I see her all the time around Federal Hill and even knew her from my days at college. I was rather rude to her during those days but last night I came absolutely clean and she cried. The only bad thing I may have said is that she looks and acts like Mirel used to act. I say "used" because I really have no idea anymore. Other than that, I let out all my feeling onto the floor. And since, I'm a rather emotional and sensitive person, when it comes to my own domain, it was honest but at the same time, probably a little overwhelming to both parties. But, life's entirely too short and fast to not say what you mean and give yourself a shot to mean what you say.

It was wonderful being honest. You see, I fall in infatuation very quickly. I get so wrapped up and passionate about things that I cast aside prudence in the wake of instant gratification. I hide no intention or feeling and have no problem telling someone that, "I am absolutely enthralled by you. I watch every movement you make when you are around me and everything I do is only for the audience of you." Eww... that rhymed, but that's about how it came out last night.

The good part about that swift moving passion is that I can be massaged into situations and given my propensity to not be impressed or bewildered I am merely content to pass time in that mode. I say pass time, but I pass that time in blind bliss. I am a better man for it, and as I grow, I can stay passionate and still be dedicated. I fall in love with simple things, I guess the most simple thing is the ability to love me back. Anybody who shows me attention gets my full self. If you show me attention you get anything you ask for.

Hell, I dated someone who once cheated on me. I was with her for three years. And looking back on it, we didn't really have that much in common and it was a poor move to have an older girlfriend with no direction other than the pursuit of marriage at 20 years old. I should have been out sewing oats instead of slowly becoming scarred for life. But we've been on that topic for years so we'll just move back to Liz. The point is that Mirel showed me love, and even though I'm pretty whimsical and flaky, I have the ability to retain focus on one thing and make it my life. Even if that thing isn't amazing, I have the ability to keep moving on without the need for anything more than a goal.

I'm not saying that's Liz. Hell I don't even really know her and we only talked in sobriety for about 45 minutes. But I know, that when she's around all I do is think about her. And on average I run into 2 girls a night that I have already slept with, and I could care less about them.

Her name isn't Liz, but I used to call her Liz simply because she looks like Liz Taylor looked when she played Cleopatra. It's obviously not a dead on match, but as far as physicality is concerned, those who know me know exactly what I'm attracted to, and that's pretty much her. But that's not what sums up Liz, not by a long shot. one of those special creatures that absolutely crush men. They are friendly beyond all compare; they tend to be absurdly vivacious and large consumers of vices. They are life in a nutshell. They are what a woman should be. They are given the ability to be bold, assertive, passionate, and decisive.

A woman, to me, is your final asset.

A woman is the last thing you ever buy.

Men don't shop well. And after a few years of either no steady sex, or a life that is dull and friendless they choose any old woman. They choose what they find to be dependable, breedable, and manageable. It's a shame really.

Women are even worse, for they have the final decision in the mating ritual. It is the man who courts the woman and asks her permission. All too often women simply throw themselves onto the "sale" rack and are willing to allow any old customer to come in and purchase them. But, some women, women like Liz, aren't even on the display floor. They are in a backroom somewhere and you have to know the owner and bring only cash to buy her. You have to be on point. You have to be sharp and you have to know that this will be the last purchase you ever make.

The only thing bad about Liz is that she doesn't know how special she is. No one has ever really told her. She dates some sorry sod of a man and allows a putz like me to make her cry because I told she is the most alluring thing I have ever seen. If Liz were stronger she would be out of my league. If I was smart I wouldn't pursue her.

Will I ever see Liz again? Absolutely. Will I pursue Liz beyond this point? I really don't think I can help it. I have to find out. I haven't felt this way about a person in God knows how long. And I have to find out why. I mean I haven't even been mildly infatuated in years. YEARS! I've been sexually infatuated but nothing even close to actually wanting to know someone. As a matter of fact if Liz tried to instigate sex I wouldn't even come close to accepting. Anyway....

THIS HAS BEEN REMOVED. I feel pretty good today. I feel infatuated. I feel like I want to be a better person simply because I may see her again.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Just Writing to Write

"Hey!, who can tell me when Otis Redding died? If anyone in this bar can tell me when Otis Redding died I'll buy them, and everyone else, a drink."

The short bartender spoke up but was hushed.

"No, not you Eric. You don't count, and not you either. I'm talking about the dead fuckers in here. Come on, you guys down there. This IS a bar you know? We can smile you know? We can get absolutely smoked out of our minds and no one is going to care because that's the way it is."

* Looked down at himself after that last statement. And surmised it into "No one gives a shit."

He took a strong pull off of his scotch and water and motioned with his right hand towards the rest of the bar in a downward motion that said, "Ahh go fuck yourself."

He was almost drunk and almost alone if it weren't for the people around him. But, the people around him made him feel more alone, if it weren't for the magic elixir. If it weren't for the booze there would be no mistaking these people for enemies or at least, passers-by. He would be elevated again. "Again", as if one time existed in lieu of this?

He never got drunk anymore. He just got bitter.

He sat down in the red leather chair. It was a stool chair. It was situated in the bottom 3rd of a 40 foot long bar. The stool was one of the only things he liked about his favorite bar and he leaned back to take the full feeling of strong plush leather in.

"well it's one-two-three-four take the elevator at the Hotel Yorba. I'll be glad to see you later." by the White Stripes came on.

He sang out the lyrics to song in chime with Eric. He always sang with Eric. He liked music and it allowed him to be different. It was a conscious selection to be like no one else. It allowed the freedom of choice to still exist. He didn't necessarily even like the music, he liked that he knew more about it than anyone else, and he liked that very few people agreed with him on his tastes.

He sat and sipped at his booze as people came up to say 'hello' or have even more benign greetings consisting of work or weekends. The people around him were dead to him. They meant nothing. He would fight for them in the streets but that was to serve his own purposes. He would buy them drinks but that was for his own purpose. He would get them women but again, that only served his own needs. He was vacant and like cars pulling into an empty motel parking lot, these things filled him.

"Someone's always coming around here trailing some new kill. I've seen you picture on a hundred dollar bill." Elliot Smith now started to come through.

Hours ago * had but forty dollars in the jukebox to counteract any inability he had on controlling the atmosphere. He would pay to hear his music for the entire evening. He didn't want any influence or disturbance in his quest for a quest.


* woke up on the morning of July 18th 2004. He was wearing the same shorts and shirt he had on last night. His body was strewn across the bed diagonal and not in conformity with any sheet or pillow. He opened his eyes and let out a slight moan.

The TV was on with the volume up way too high for such an early morning. He lived on the 3rd floor of a 3 story house and had not, as of yet, purchased curtains. He sat up, ran his fingers through hair and wiggled the loose follicles out as they had been failing to gravity for the past 2 years. He was 25 years old today.

He looked around the room with his hand parted over his eye as sailor would salute an officer. He leaned out of bed to grab at the alarm clock almost 5 feet away. He lost his balance and fell half on the floor. He righted himself and reached for the clock and saw it read 8:35.

Outloud, "8:35?. Ah man what the fuck."
Inside, "Fucking loer you are. Don't go look in the mirror. You're just going to see bad aging and the fruitless battle of the night before. How much money did I spend?"
Outloud, "Fuck! Fuck! Booze!"

He wandered out into the hallway after discarding his khaki shorts and his smart t-shirt. He put on a comfortable pair of mesh shorts and all cotton t-shirt that had some small corporate logo printed on the right chest, but it was worn and felt good against his skin, almost cooling him.

He leaned over the railing peering down into the narrow opening all the way to the ground floor. He got a wad of spit in his mouth and let it drop. It hit the second floor railing. He continued to stand their rubbing his chest and adjusting himself waiting for an audience.

Monday, September 13, 2004


I've probably started about 25 posts in here since last week and haven't managed to eally publish any. I think it all stems from my lack of energy as of late. I have a severe lack of energy which then induces me to be much less creative. On top of the my lifestyle habits have not been rigorously beneficial but have been repetitively destructive. I'm working almost 60-80 hours a week and have not cut down on bad food or drink. My other blog has gone to shit and my other other blog is being neglected because my output is just not there. Bare with me. Well I guess I'm just basically saying it to myself. Type fucker!

Thursday, September 09, 2004


I don't know what it is but I have no desire to write. It could be my job. It could be my ways. All I know is that I want to do good work. I want to change the way people learn. I want to be clean.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004


Author Douglas Rushkoff offers the real threat of blogs,
    "I believe the greatest power of the blog is not just its ability to distribute alternative information - a great power, indeed - but its power to demonstrate a mode of engagement that is not based on the profit principle."

Sunday, September 05, 2004

Music, Will You Marry Me?

I don't know what it is. It might be that I have so many fond memories associated with the music or it might be that I know every song and can sing along. But I'll tell you what my wonderful Internet people, Oasis and other bands that I love make me happy when I don't even want to be. Any song, any time, and I just perk up. I absolutely jump up and get really stimulated simply because I hear their music. It's beautiful.

It's as though I have the best girlfriend in the world. Yep, I am married to music that I love. It's better than any person. It allows me to express my emotion through it and with it. It's wonderful.

Saturday, September 04, 2004

Between the Bars *ES

Drink up, baby, stay up all night.
With the things you could do,
You won't but you might.
The potential you'll be,
That you'll never see,
The promises you'll only make.
Drink up with me now,
And forget all about
The pressure of days.
Do what I say,
And I'll make you okay,
And drive them away
(The images stuck in your head:
People you've been before
That you don't want around anymore—
That push and shove and won't bend to your will.
I’ll keep them still).
Drink up, baby, look at the stars.
I'll kiss you again
Between the bars,
Where i'm seeing you there,
With your hands in the air,
Waiting to finally be caught.
Drink up one more time,
And I'll make you mine.
Keep you apart,
Deep in my heart,
Separate from the rest,
Where I like you the best,
And keep the things you forgot.
The people you've been before
That you don't want around anymore—
That push and shove and won't bend to your will.
I'll keep them still.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

"Nice Velocity. Sounded Like it."
I read this article this morning about Rick Ankiel. For those of you who don't remember or have never heard of Rick Ankiel, he was the melt down kid of the 2000 playoffs. He was this young country boy with a rocket for an arm. He was a lefty that threw in the mid-90's, and unless you are Randy Johnson, you know that's rare. He was a natural athlete who made it to the big leagues, as a pitcher, probably the toughest of the young paths. He came out in the playoffs that year and threw balls to the middle of the backstop screen and behind hitters and in dugouts. It was painful to watch.

So what caused Rick Ankiel's break down?

No one can really pinpoint the mind set of an athlete, much less a baseball player. Other sports, outside of golf, rely heavily on physical ability and moment to moment - flow of the game decisions. In baseball every physical feat is isolated. Every swing has a minute in between the next one, the same goes for every pitch. You have time to sit and think and get terrified by your own ability to not be perfect.

Most major leaguers, college players, and even good high school players have been playing the game for most of their lives and hence have developed amazing muscle memory. Their body and ego rely on this muscle memory to outthink their own brain and put the trust, as they say from baseball benches everywhere, "In your hands." If they develop this muscle memory to such a fine tune how is it possible to repeatedly screw up on a monstrous level?

Unfortunately, the muscle memory sometimes isn't enough. The ability to repeat the same process with minor tweaks along the way sometimes isn't enough to overcome your own head. I had it happen to me once.

I was 15 and playing Junior Varsity baseball at my high school. I was a decent player for my age. I played on state teams that played on National levels every year. Most of the guys I played with at the time went on to play college and pro baseball. I hit in the 3 hole on those teams and started in the outfield. So to summarize, I wasn't a spaz. But, for two weeks in the month of May I was bewildered.

During this two week span I had what golfers call "the shanks". I would step into the batter's box, look out at the pitcher and get ready to swing. My whole life I had said to myself while hitting, "Crush this ball. Attack the ball. Hit the ball up the middle and kill the pitcher." For some reason this time when I stepped into the box I looked out and said, "Don't strike out. Don't embarrass yourself." Now there were no mitigating circumstances leading up to this. This was not a championship game, and I had not been hit in the head by a pitch nor was I meandering in a long slump. I simply looked out there one day and didn't feel as sturdy in my legs. My hands felt sluggish the morning of the game and the hat on my head seemed to slip down into my line of sight. There were little things that built up into a different state of mind. So too, I believe is the case with Rick Ankiel. And so has been the case with dozens of major leaguers, such as Chuck Knoblauch, Steve Sax, John Kruk, etc... These players weren't pitchers, hell they weren't even hitting. They simply couldn't throw the ball to first, or bring themselves to step into the batter's box anymore. They had a mental meltdown.

Now my two week stint doesn't compare in scope or in time to that of Ankiel or those other guys. Hell, their careers ended because of that. The just could not get up in the morning and get over the mental hurdle. I'm sure they were sent to psychologists and therapists but none of that matters. Your body only knows what to do as it is doing it, you can't prepare yourself in a state of calm when a 90 mph fastball comes down on you or when 60 thousand fans are screaming and you want to throw the ball to first. Maybe some people's minds simply can't handle the stress after a little while. Maybe they just crack and can never be glued back together.

Rick Ankiel's inability to throw the ball over the plate could be because of dozens of things. His wife could have been knocked up, he could have a sick mother, he could have seen the devil, who knows. The point is that it happens to most baseball players at some point. You have a problem playing catch. You can't seem to see the ball when you hit. It's such a mental game that the idea of throwing a 4 inch diameter ball over a 3 foot plate 60 feet away with a 6'3" 240 pound monster hanging over that plate waiting to hit it 700 feet can be intimidating. That thought could drive you to quirky things, not to mention the 55 thousand fans screaming and hoping that you do anything interesting, even if it is throwing the ball over the backstop.

So eventually, I snapped out of my slump and went on to a successful career. I came to the plate one day two weeks later, my legs felt strong, my hands felt quick and my eyes saw the ball coming up at me like a watermelon once again. It all comes back to you eventually. When you spend your whole life repeating an action to the point of perfection then eventually your body will reward you with the ability to fulfill you destiny. So it will be with Rick Ankiel. I know a bunch of people will be watching him this year as he makes his return hoping he'll throw one over the backstop, but I am rooting for this one time "wonder kid" to come out and sit down the side one last time, just like he must have a done a thousand times in his head and a dozen times when he was playing JV baseball somewhere.

Favorites List
Pandora Song List
Amazon Wish List
Revolutionary Wealth - Tofflers
Brian Jones

Things Making Me Smile
The City
Listening - [out of 5]
Benjy Ferree - 4.8
The Thermals 3.1
David Gray 3.8

Like the guy with the beard? YES - like the guy with the beers. What? Yep

Bands That I Check Schedules For
Badly Drawn Boy
Belle and Sebastian
Benjy Ferree
The Black Keys
Drive By Truckers
The Eels
Kimya Dawson
Mark Hopkins Band
Iron and Wine
Mates of State
Ted Leo
Two if By Sea

Places I Rock in the Flesh
9:30 Club
Black Cat
Electric Factory
The Knitting Factory
The Otto Bar
Recher Theatre

Places I Eat/Drink in the Flesh
Bishop's Collar
Cross Street Market
Hull Street
Joun Gak
Mick O'Shea's
No Way Jose
The Irish Pub
The Waterfront Hotel

My Greatest Hits (that's so lame)

The time I almost killed a child
July 4th in Korea
Excerpts from Demian
Why I screen phone calls
Bret's Death Metal Report
A conversation at a cocktail party
A conversation at breakfast
So you think you are a Baltimorian
A conversation about a girl singer
Observations from a bar
Observations of strippers
Tech Language
Why I love Oasis
I would go to war
"You Son of a Bitch" An Open Letter to Tom Friend
Dance to Your Ocean
Dream Ranch
When men become pussies
Jason Whitlock is a racist propaganda promoter
Pitchfork takes music snobbery to new level
The Cosmic Clash of the Red Sox and Cubs
The Hatred that is Runts Candy
Starting corporate line-up
Google Bio
Do you know me? List 1 / List 2 / List 3
The Night I Burned Philly Down
So You Want to be a Booze Hound
She Said it was Free
Funniest Corporate Story Ever
Striped Shirts and the Fucks that Wear Them
Death Peddle
Pieces of Morning
Oasis Album Revew
The Art of Tipping
Starting Fires With Grass Stains
Bret's Federal Hill Food Review
Sexcapades and your Picture on the Internet
Stupid Secrets
Stupid Secrets the Return

Contact Me

Stuff I Swing By From Time to Time

Indie Video Archive
Large Hearted Boy
Important Records
Oasis News
Pitch Fork Media
Reptilian Records
Scenestars MP3 Blogs
Sound Garden Baltimore

Shotgun Apparel
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Angry Little Girls
Atom Films
Eye Envision
Homestar Runner
Kill Frog
Junior Varsity Meat Market

Baltimore City Paper
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Calvert Hall
Degroen's Brewers
ESL Cafe
Fantasy Sports
Korean Herald
Villa Julie College Baseball
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