The (Lack of ) All Powerful Vegetable Mojo

First a brief shout out and digression for the entire one of you who both read this blog and watched the Battlestar Galactica finale (you know who you are, and props to your boy Gaeta):

"On behalf of the people of the Twelve Colonies, I surrender"?
In the words of Little John and Dave Chappelle: WHAT?! WHAAAT?! QUE?
Seriously, is how much I love this show. Such a mindfuck, but an enjoyable one.

*phew*

Now, on to the important stuff: The All Powerful Vegetable Mojo seems to have taken a vacation. It has left its avatar a broken 19.34 ERA shell of a man. First, that mediocre outing versus the Pirates, which, come on. He needed to bring some bubble gum and his asskicking shoes, given how much he has repaid with vengeance their nonfaith in him by his performance with the Sox. But then to lose to Red Sox East, to that man-slut D-Lowe? Inexecusable.
(And I would like to say, to the reports of him being sleep-deprived the night before?
I was in Cambridge all week, and nowhere near the scene. ;)

And I must confess, I have been remiss in my support of String Bean this week, and haven't had time to do the Mojo-raising chants and incense-burnings as diligently as I should have. However, no more. I predict a return of the All Powerful Mojo within the week. Or at least a mysterious voodoo illness striking David Wells.