"Name the TV Theme Song" = Fantastic Times

We did forget one. An important one. The Nicole Eggert one. What fun colors and oh our goodness she got HAWT(er) on the Baywatch, but you knew that.

We know. Always with the Conchords.

It's just that, well, if you don't watch the show, this is the one you want to watch. And if you woke up *way* more earlier than usual, than we recommend watching it on the On Demand at 6:30 in the morning whilst eating Honey Nut Cheerios and a banana. Coffee somewhat optional but not really.

Baguette! Non, merci!

Sunday night 90210! Sunday night 90210!

So Brenda is all OMG my bangs are so dope and Brandon is all I didn't pour coffee into the mug I'm now drinking out of, which is weird because there should be coffee in it after I "acted" like I "poured" coffee into it and mom and dad are all, "Kids, we need a number for the parents you're staying with in Palm Springs" and Brenda is all God can my jeans be hiked up any higher past my navel and Brandon is like, "Dad, f*ck Nat, I want to go to Spring Break, too" and dad is all, "Brandon, you have to work for a living because you're Brandon f*cking Walsh and that's what you do" and David is like, "Steve! Steve! I have a house we can all stay at!" and Steve is all "Me and my mullet love you, David Silver, and how many episodes before your blonde friend with the goofy part kills himself with a gun?" and David is all whatevs, I'm so doing it with Donna this weekend and Donna, Kelly and Brenda are like "Whoa whoa whoa, why is that geek coming with us?" and Steve is all, "Chill, ladies, I got it covered" and the blonde friend with the goofy part is left sulking in the hallway, devestated he can't go to Wally World or some sh*t with his so BFF David.

And that was all in the first *two* minutes.

*

(AP Photo).

We'd feel a whole lot better about Barry Bonds hitting his 755th home run, thus tying true Home Run King Hank Aaron's all-time mark, if the arrogant SOB would simply be honest and acknowledge he is a cheater.

Instead, we get to see him stand at the plate and admire his now-steroidless home run fly into the opposite field seats, smirking.

Asshole.

And now back to things we've never done.

So earlier this year, the A-Rod got himself in some trouble by shouting, "I got it" or something like that as he ran in front of a Toronto Blue Jay infielder who was about to catch an easy pop-up.

The ball dropped and the Blue Jays were livid.

So yesterday, during game three of what turned out to be a five-game, all-day, placed-fourth-out-of 24-teams tournament, we ran to third and in front of the shortstop, who had just fielded a ground ball.

"Wooo!" we said, hoping he would try to tag us and thus, keep the inning of a tight game alive.

As soon as we did it, our heart sank. The shortstop ignored us, got the out at first and ran into the dugout.

Unlike the A-Rod, though, we immediately stopped both the shortstop and the third basemen.

"Sorry about that," we said. "That was ass and (we'll) never do it again. Christ. It's not like (we're) the A-Rod."

Let's not talk about two games later when we hit a two-out, bases loaded, what-would-have-been-a-double but for the ump f*cking us and calling it foul, and, therefore, a two-foul-ball, rally-killing strikeout. Bastard.

Nor shall we talk about when the ump threatened to eject us from the game for mouthing off about the bad call for three straight innings.

Oopsies.