You’re gonna have to bear with me this morning. Me and Trammell got LIT last night. It was hilarious. FYI, Trammell gets a tad queer when he’s drunk. I’m just saying, don’t room with him.
I’m just saying.
Hendry asked me the other day if I needed anything else here. I think he meant for the team, but I said, “A cup of coffee and a blow job.” Anyhow, just then, Cedeno comes running over, and Wood yells out, “Don’t forget the coffee!” That kid’s all right. Seriously, though, I like the look of the team, and I think we can put together a damn good team with the ingredients we already have. I’ll tell you one thing, though, Cedeno can NOT make a good cup of coffee.
What is with this snarky bullshit the Sun-Times is pulling? They’re putting the Tribune “on trial” for “crimes against the Cubs”?! This is like one nerd beating the hell out of another nerd to get accepted by the cool kids. Hey, nerds. We hate both of you, and we don’t care about your queer nerd fights.
I wanted to give some of you bluebloods some flashbacks to Dusty, so I said I like veterans. Now I just sit back and watch the blogosphere EXPLODE. Bet you didn’t know I knew the word “blogosphere,” did you? What do you think I am? Stupid?
Christ, the media sucks so bad that they even manage to turn a story about me into a Yankees story. Hey, arrogant New York assholes? I never wanted your job. Jesus, that job is killing Torre. And it’s hard to kill a guy whose face is a leather boot. Trust me.
That Vorva guy makes it seem like Soriano and I are B.F.F. Maybe Vorva should stick to the “A-Rod and Jeter have slumber parties” story. It’s not like I braided Soriano’s hair or dipped his hand in warm water. We just spooned a little.
The Tribune tried to make me look stupid, just because I’d never heard of this stupid Billy Goat nonsense, and I couldn’t remember that Fart kid’s name. The one who interfered with the ball. That’s because I was too busy humping the Tribune’s mom in 2003.
The rookies threw to the hitters yesterday. Good Lord, that shit is boring. I would have fallen asleep standing up if Rothschild didn’t have such raunchy gas. The guy seriously stripped the paint off one of the batting practice helmets. I thought I was going to die. I’ll tell you what, though, unlike that idiot Baker, I actually want these guys to throw the ball over the plate. That should be a nice little change, right?
Assuming that I’m a hothead makes an ass out of you and me. Muskrat cuts out the middlemen and just makes an ass of herself.
Well, I gotta get out of here before Rothschild’s fricking ass melts my laptop screen. Talk to you kiddies when there’s something worth talking about.
-Sweet Uncle Lou