Yeah, I’m writing this during a game. What of it? No one’s paid a lick of attention to me since I got here, anyhow, no matter how much I scream and yell. By the way, that little speech already matched Dusty Baker’s “bitch the team out” total in the three years he was here. Wait. It was four years? Man, that guy really was a pussy. I made Prior cry during the talk, but only once. I’ll try harder next time.
Either he misplayed that ball, or that ball weighs 80 pounds.
In case you haven’t heard, Kermit and I are writing over at Desipio for a while to help that Dolan kid out. Dolan’s a good shit, even if he’s making more work for us. Kermit put up his first post today, but the idiot can’t figure out how to link it to the Desipio message board. Nice work. Real professional, Kermit. You’re making us look like a couple of chumps. Anyhow, Kermit writes about how Zambrano and Lilly are batshit crazy, yet forgets to point out that I’M THE FREAKING POWDERKEG, BITCHES!!!
Here’s a question. What am I supposed to do with the eighteen #5 starters that Hendry collected for me? Marquis is clearly a lock in the #4 spot, just because I want to see if I can give Hendry another grabber. But then I have Prior, Cotts, Miller, Marshall, Guzman, Marmol, and about 50 other guys who all keep sending me boxes of chocolate for the 5th starter spot. I’ll wait until next week, when 14 or 15 injuries thin the herd.
The Sun-Times‘ “Tribune on Trial” series gets even dumber with this interview of The Score’s Mike Murphy. I’d like to give that dude an enema with the gravy from Brown’s Chicken.
McDonough was talking shop the other day. One of the things he mentioned was that Selig bitched us out for spending too much money during the offseason. I was surprised to hear that, seeing as how I thought Selig died three years ago.
Prior and Wood still aren’t hurt, no matter how many banana peels and Micro Machines I leave lying around Prior’s locker.
Well, I gotta go. Zambrano is screaming about something and Prior’s curled up in the fetal position at the end of the bench.
-Sweet Uncle Lou