My level of celebrity has gotten to the point where people are digging up my ancient Tweets.

Several of mine, written way back in 2008 when I was only 42, have surfaced. Now that the fires of controversy, anger and hurt have subsided a little, I would like to address these Tweets. First of all, the Tweets themselves:

“More like No Country for Old Mansplaining! Can’t believe that piece of shit won best picture! Tommy Lee Jones was the worst, and there were no nude scenes!!! Zero!! #OscarsSuck!”

“ But it’s true, those goddamn orientals do work like dogs! How can we keep up! I really like the potential of this young buck of a councilor! Look out for Rob Ford, Toronto, he tells it like it is! #Orientaldogs”

“ I wish some great hacker would steal all the private, nudie photographs of hot movie stars and then release them to the general public! #EspeciallyJenniferLawrenceSweetJesusSheismyJesusMySexySweetJesus!

“I don’t know. Just something I don’t like about Barack O’bama. Maybe it’s the ears. Such a Ferengi. And we have no idea where he was born. #WhatAreYouHiding!?

“The blacks sure dominated the Olympics again!” #Beijing2008

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Although it’s difficult to apply the cultural values of one era to another, I categorically apologize for my Tweets and to anybody whom they brought pain. I want to be clear that in no way do I endorse hatred, racism, homophobia, xenophobia or any form of bigotry or intolerance. When I made those Tweets I was young, immature and stupid, but regardless, there are simply no excuses for any of them.

In the fullness of time I have come to realize that No Country For Old Men was a great movie, in spite of Tommy Lee Jones talking an awful lot about weird things and there being no nudity. Women are not purely sex objects. I see that now. I am sorry I didn’t see it earlier.

I had no idea a hacker would take my Tweet as inspiration and that The Fappening would one day occur. I am sorry that I was an unwitting party to this sex crime. In the wake of #MeToo, I have come to understand the constant sexual harassment and intimidation that woman daily suffer, and women out there, I want you to know that not only do I hear you, but I am listening.  Thank you.

The Obama family were exemplars, and I am very sorry to have doubted them, particularly the girls. But perhaps more importantly I want to apologize to Star Trek fans and the fictional race of the Ferengis. It was not my intention to imply anything negative about this great and proud and kind of greedy species. In no way was I trying to say that they were Jews, and by assocication that Obama was a jew. That was not my intent. I was drinking heavily that year. I think Jews are great.

Lastly, I want to apologize to the all the blacks of the world. My words were insensitive and ignorant, and I now understand that not all blacks are good at sports. Just look at the Mets. I want to thank you, black people, for this gift of awakening. You have changed me.

I appreciate all the constructive criticism I have received. I’ve genuinely learned so much about how to be a better person and wish everyone all the best.

Namaste,

Michael Murray

PS: Please buy my book A Van Full of Girls. It’s the only chance I got.

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Atwood: You must know how much it pains me to do this, but after the most recent injuries to both Elvis Andrus AND Corey Seager ( si non fortuna velim fortuna omnino! ) I have found that my team, The Bad Feminists, is in need of some help at shortstop. Thusly compromised, I have no alternative but to attempt to discuss the possibility of a trade with you.

Me: You know, I really don’t have a clue how much it pains you to open a chat window with me. Please describe.

Atwood: It feels as if am a lone tree burning on the desert.

Me: A really ancient, worn out and desiccated tree? One that’s been completely abandoned by all the other trees that used to respect her but now subtweet her because they think her work is over-rated and old fashioned? A tree that just decided to go ahead and set herself on fire because let’s be honest, nobody was even going to notice?

Atwood: No, not that tree.

Me: Sounds like that tree.

Atwood: Your ability to evaluate the world around you is very poor. It’s why your team always finishes at the bottom of the league and you’re in a constant, emasculating state of rebuilding. It’s your cycle of pointlessness, part of what feeds your rage.

Me: I can’t remember– maybe because you look so much alike– but was it you who won the Nobel prize for literature or that singer Bob Dylan?

He might have come along after your time, so here’s a little video of him to ensure you have a clear, very clear picture, of the great literary talent who bested you for the Nobel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJymBJ_5iUg

Atwood: I am interested in acquiring New York Mets infielder Asdrubel Cabrera from you, and as you obviously have no chance of winning this year, I’ll give you a couple of promising, young players who you can use next year in exchange for him.

Me: No.

Atwood: Without even hearing who those players are?

Me: I’m not out of contention yet.

Atwood: Yes you are. You’ve never been in contention.

Me: I WON’T BE BULLIED!!!

Atwood: Is that what’s been happening to you? You’ve been bullied into failure again and again and again? That daily video chat with your mother each morning, it’s not really helping you organize your life and establish your own goals, is it? No? Well ask yourself, is it your mother refusing to trade me Cabrera, or is it you, Michael?

Me: Look, I’ll give you Joe Panik for Jake Baurers and Nick Williams.

Atwood: NO! As the great Aeschylus said, “ I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery!” You are a cheat, a blackguard! Panik just had thumb surgery and is out for the next two months! He’s worthless to me! Cabrera for Bauers and Williams, that’s it. Take it or leave it!!

Me: Can you arrange for me to meet Elisabeth Moss?

Atwood: I refuse to pimp out the wonderful actress from the award winning TV show, based on my award winning book, The Handmaid’s Tale, to you!

Me: You will if you want Asdrubel Cabrera in your lineup.

Atwood: You wouldn’t be allowed to make eye contact with her or touch her, you know.

Me: Jesus, of course I know that!

Atwood: I will think on the matter. You are dismissed.

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Eliminate all conflict-of-interest restrictions governing elected officials. Buy-off and/or torture all in opposition.

Remove Harriet Tubman from twenty-dollar bill, replace with Keith Hernandez.

Find out difference between Hispanic, Latino and Mexican. Fire Mexicans. Find out if Cespedes is Mexican; if so, grant amnesty.

Rename ballpark Donald J. Trump, POTUS, Luxury Baseball Stadium and Driving Range. Also suitable for use as as detention/execution facility in off-season

Mr. Met is a loser as far as mascots go, no talent, but the merchandizing is in place.

Need to open up new mascot revenue streams. Sidekick? Chris Christie? Put him in a flesh-colored bodysuit? Sad clown in flesh-colored bodysuit wearing opponent’s hat?? Mr. Met beats on him with a baseball bat or lead pipe whenever we score.

Every time the opposing pitcher gets pulled from the game a giant image of me, President Donald J. Trump, will appear on the video screen saying, “You’re fired!” Crowd goes wild. Crowds love me, especially mobs.

Contact NASA and find out what planet Noah Syndergarrd is from. Get more like him.

Replace foul poles with beautiful, high-quality columns made from the finest ivory and marble.

Order CIA Black Op to steal opponent’s signals. Be present to ensure waterboarding.

In off-season run reality show to determine Mets new closer. Call it “The Closer.” Think intro: “I’m President Donald J. Trump, the greatest negotiator on the planet. I have what it takes to be the ultimate closer, do you?”

Create companion show for The Closer called, “The Burning Hot Wives of Major League Baseball!”

Interview players, management and other team owners (include fan vote but disregard) to find out who baseball’s hottest wives are. Then the wives, in bikinis, tennis skirts, etc, compete against one another (setting a dinner table, pleasing your man in bed, skiing, etc) to see who is the ULTIMATE trophy wife. Winner gets a featured modelling spot in Sports Illustrated and a $100,000 shopping/cosmetic surgery spree with Melania in her native Slovenia. Note: Buy Sport’s Illustrated.

Sign biggest star in the world for role in organization. Leo?? Hulk Hogan?? Billy Joel?? Larry King?? Meet with cabinet to discuss.

Donald Trump’s New York Mets-themed golf resort and luxury casino on Rockaway Beach. Former Mets work as greeters, golf instructors, bartenders, housekeepers, dealers, masseurs and high-end gigolos. Premier bachelorette party destination and homosexual paradise. Will sink Vegas.

Honor the Job Creators Night. Plutocrats and their servants get in for free. During the seventh-inning stretch there will be a welfare queen scramble. The assembled poor will run about the outfield trying to collect one dollar bills as they’re blown around by a giant fan. Loser who receives the most handouts gets a collector’s edition, Omarosa bobble-head doll and $150 worth of gaming chips at Donald Trump’s New York Mets-themed golf resort and luxury casino on Rockaway Beach.

Fire manager every three months. Employees work best if motivated by fear. (Reminder: Fire personal assistant, efficient but missing a finger, not Trump quality)

Buy-off all the umpires, but torture them first.

Tall, powerful and with flowing, blonde locks and a fastball that exceeds 100 mph, he has the distinct aura of the divine about him. He had a tough time early in the game, but seemed to gather confidence and strength as it wore on.

David Wright, veteran third baseman and captain of the Mets served as his human interpreter at the press conference after the Mets victory:

Alice Gwyn, Yahoo Sports: “Thor, you seemed a little confounded on the mound out there as the game started. The Royals kept getting hits off you no matter what you threw. How did you adjust?”

David Wright, human translator:

Thor says, “I could not believe that even as I shattered their puny mortal weapons, sundering them like match sticks with my offerings, they still managed to get little, dinky hits! It was black magic, I tell you! I looked to my captain and said, “What dark arts are these? Surely Loki is behind such enchantments!”

But in truth, never once did I stop believing in my mighty immortal powers, powers which you can see were reflected in the final score.”
Joe Ainsley, New York Post: “Good effort out there, Thor. The first pitch of the game was quite an eye opener. Was the high and tight fastball that levelled Royals lead-off hitter Alcides Escobar meant to convey a message and change the tone in the series?”

David Wright, human translator:

Thor laughs heartily! He throws his golden locks behind his head, saying, the pitch was meant to convey that Alcides is a pitiful mortal and I am the immortal Thor! The Royals, a team that little changeling girl Lordes wrote a song about, needed to know they were in New York now and that things are very different in New York. I smote him. He will not be a factor in this series again. The pitiful human mewling from the Royals dugout after that, little kittens scared of a thunder, made Thor laugh. Verily, it was a good time.”

Benedict Summers, New York Times: “Thor, I have to say, it was good to see the God of Thunder so in control of things tonight, and wow, you are really, really crazy numinous tonight, blinding. Anyway, what would you say was the single most important thing to you being able to pitch such a gritty, consistent and powerful game?”

David Wright, human translator:

“Being a God and immortal status, for sure. I just reached deep into my well of divinity and kept throwing pitches of fire that I knew mortals would not be able to hit. Just stuck to my game plan. Also, the presence of the great Billy Joel at the game, and the playing of Piano Man,

was both touching and inspirational! It was like I was back in Valhalla at the hall of Bilskirnir! Thor, God of Thunder, thanks you all very much, but he must now go and feast and ice the immortal arm!”

( Thanks to Yael Friedman for the idea!)

He’s got great potential as a baseball player and as a family provider, and he also happens to be a cute Jewish boy. For a multitude of reasons this makes him one of the most eligible bachelors in NYC, and one of the women jumping on the Ike train is my friend Yael, who happens to love the Mets, live in Brooklyn and be a member of the Jewish faith. She has asked me if I would write a letter to Ike on her behalf, with the hope that I might be able to help arrange an everlasting and blissful union.

April 2, 2012

Dear Ike:

First of all, I want you to know what a big fan I am of yours. I am hoping that under the power of your bat my fantasy baseball team, A Fury of Pigeons, will claim the championship this year. You are the wind beneath our wings.

Of course, it’s not just time for you to step up on the baseball field, but in your family life, too. You’re not getting any younger, and as your past has reflected, you’re injury prone. I mean, your ruggedly handsome face could easily be broken in half by a foul ball or you could acquire a disfiguring venereal disease from a groupie and then where would you be? You’d be single and childless, Ike, single and childless. And then you’d die. No heaven or anything.  And so, I would suggest to you that it’s time to settle down with a nice Jewish girl.

Her name is Yael, and although she is older than you and has an unusual genetic condition that prevents her body from growing finger or toenails, she is an avid baseball fan and has dressed up as Mister Met for 13 Halloween’s in a row.

She’s pretty tall, can play the guitar a bit and is both a lawyer and a writer. Think about those last two attributes.

As a pro athlete, it’s inevitable that you will eventually be caught urinating in a public drinking fountain or while drunk, crashing your Escalade into a woman training a guide dog. Such accidents are inevitable in the warrior culture of pro sports. Yael can use her professional skills to combat these infringements on your personal liberties and by implementing her writing skills can serve as an awesome PR machine spinning everything you do into humanitarian victories

But where’s the romance in that you might ask?

Well Ike, as you’re known to have ++ power, Yael has the ++ looks. It’s her ass, her ass will make you drop your bat.

Former Mets Darryl Strawberry, Wally Backman and Howard Johnson can serve as references should you have any questions about her adventurous, liberal, fertile and sometimes unpredictable nature. She’s very spontaneous, but also very reliable—like a good, cut fastball.

Yes, if she were a pitch, she’d be a good, cut fastball.

However, you should know that she is scared of spiders, overpasses and is an intellectual. These are small matters in the big picture, and I’m sure that the two of you could over come these problems. So what do you say, Ike, are you ready to give love a chance?

Michael Murray

PS: Yael carries some debt from law school.