Phillipe and Jorge can tell you that we were angels as 'utes, never giving our parents the least bit of trouble amidst the exploding hormones.

So naturally, we side with those media folks who jumped all over Caleb Chafee and Alexander Whitehouse for getting in trouble drinking recently. None of them, of course, ever had issues like adultery, falsifying information, or insulting minorities or those of certain sexual orientations. None worked for a certain capital city newspaper at which the scribes have a history, as recently noted by a favorite columnist of P&J's, of drinking until either all the booze was gone or the sun came up.

(To adapt an old rock 'n' roll band joke here, what's the difference between a reporter and a pig? The pig won't stay up all night trying to get lucky with a reporter.)

P&J know both the Chafees and the Whitehouses, and — we hate to reveal this damning information — they are straight, clean-living people, who would almost be considered boring by modern standards. (We would have said "by P&J's standards," but Charlie Sheen and Keith Richards would look like Scoutmasters by that measure. And yes, the pair could qualify as actual Scoutmasters, both men being decidedly straight, as the Boy Scouts demand. Perhaps a shirt color change from green to brown, BSA?)

P., for one, got scared straight in high school over an incident with the local gendarmes he would care to forget. We hope that both Caleb and Alexander have a similar reaction. Because while we kids of less exalted circumstance might get a strike two, these children — under the microscope — might be looking at strike three before they can foul off another pitch.


If you think Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine isn't dead already, think again.

The ongoing horror show at Fenway Park will require a victim and you can bet your bippy it will not come from the ranks of the ownership, the front office, or the players.

P&J would agree with the top brass if they dropped the manager — it was definitely Bobby V.'s fault that Andrew Bailey has been an injured no-show, Jacoby Ellsbury got hurt early, David Ortiz is now out, Jon Lester and Josh Beckett have been embarrassments, Carl Crawford is still stealing his paycheck, and the current starting lineup looks like the PawSox after a tough loss to the Toledo Mud Hens, the squad's depth being that of a backyard kiddie pool.

Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, Bobby. And sleep tight, Theo Epstein.

Next up: P&J join the pecking party at Foxboro and call for the Patriots to fire Bill Belichick as soon as the Pats drop their first exhibition game.


Great world tour recently by Mitt Romney, eh?

If most of Europe thought that Dubya Bush was the dumbest and most dangerous American dope it had ever encountered, Mitt the Twit blew that idea out of the water. After his Olympic insult, his Palin-esque tribute to the "nation of Great Britain," and his sucking up to Israeli storm trooper Bibi Netanyahu, it was a miracle he made it through Poland without telling an offensive Polish joke. (Here's a good one: A guy walks up to the store counter and orders a kielbasa. The clerk says, "Hey, are you Polish?" The guy says, "How dare you think I'm Polish just because I order a kielbasa?" The counter worker says, "I'm sorry. It's just that you're in Home Depot.")

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