So he really did it.  The guy who caught my home run #756 branded my baby with an asterisk, and gave it to the Hall. I'm okay with this. Really. In fact, I love this asterisk idea so much, that I'm thinking about other ways to disgrace hallowed symbols of incredible feats. Game on:

Hancock: This skinny motherfucker lifts cars with one hand and drains 200-foot jumpshots?  Bullshit.  How about we have a constant, 10-foot asterisk running on the screen, from opening credits to closing?  Enjoy your fake-ass movie, action fans.

Mount Everest: That shit's HUGE.  Asterisk.

Every professional wrestler: The record for consecutive matches with a pile-driver? Tarnished. 3.1 meter vertical leap from the top rope? Tainted. And I have suspicion that the plot lines and scenarios might be planned out ahead time, further damaging this sport's credibility.

John McCain: You're running for president at age 71, huh?  Pee in this cup. Dude's got years of Vietnamese torture under his belt, followed by 25 years in Congress, and is "straight-talkin'" his way around the country on a tour bus like Mick friggin' Jagger.  Here's the new presidential seal:

I'll take a rest for now.  But any of you guys think about doing some amazing shit?  Watch your ass.  Because Barry Bonds will be there, ready to brand a star on it.