Friday, October 17, 2008
F*ck You, Boston
Fuck you, Boston. Fuck you for ruining my pleasant evening. You left a taste in my mouth reminiscent of the morning after a drinking black-out, highlighted by getting punched in the face by a girl and vomiting in an alley. You made me bite my lip, too, which fucking hurts, so now every time I chew, it stings. And it's all your fault. I also had to suppress my screams of contempt and damnation, because the lady was sleeping, and in doing so I got sick to my stomach. Fuck you for making me stay up when all I wanted to do was pass out, but I couldn't, because I knew what happened might happen. And it did. Goddamn you.
And fuck you, Joe Maddon, for sitting idly by while your overachieving bullpen finally underachieved and then unraveled. A lead-off walk, you watch blankly. A two run home run, you watch blankly. Another series of misadventures for Dan Wheeler, you watch blankly. Game's tied, you watch blankly. And fuck your glasses, too. They're not different, they're stupid. Fuck all of your player's mohawks too. Gee, that's really original, nobody's every done that before (false) - maybe you should start calling yourselves the idiots and wear cowboy hats and sign Kevin Millar and just be that much more adorable, huh? Why don't you do that, too? In 50 years, when one of my grandsons is watching a replay of this game and asking me why all of you dummies have the same out-dated hairdo, I'm going to tell him, "It's because they were the first team made up solely of homosexuals". Stew on that one, asshole.
Fuck you Dan Wheeler. Your mediocre rising fastball isn't fooling anyone. Shave your face, you look like a fucking hobo.
Fuck you, Dioner Navarro, for calling that high fastball seventeen times over the course of an inning. You didn't deserve that All-Star birth. You deserve a diet. And a catching lesson.
Fuck you, B.J. Upton, you should have caught Kotsay's ball, but you were too busy envisioning yourself rolling around in a pile of money on the arbitration table this winter.
Fuck you, W.B. Mason. Who else but you? How about Mayflower - you suck at moving.
Fuck you, Kevin Youkilis, and your garbage can sized head. Your teammates make fun of you behind your back and sleep with your woman.
Fuck you, Dustin Pedroia. Invite me to the laser show, so I can laser your fucking face. With a bat.
Fuck you, Bill Simmons, you gave up on this team and know you're back on the wagon, drinking the Kool-aid. You're not funny anymore and you're not cool because you wrote your book using two fingers. That's called retarded. I can't wait to buy all of your new books from Borders and throw a book-burning rally in the parking lot.
Fuck you ESPN.com, for egging this team on. And just like last year, they were dead in the water, but now, they're showing life. If they win this series, I'm taking it out of your ass.
Fuck you Google, for advertising pee on our blog. What the fuck is that? Pee photos? Who takes photos of pee? The Japanese? Well fuck them, too.
Fuck you Rays fans that were at Fenway last night, you obviously have no idea how to handle the presence of the Red Sox. Cheer on your team instead of standing there like deer in headlights, watching them collapse like you're watching your significant-other make a porno with a bag-lady.
Fuck you Pesky Pole, fuck you Green Monster, fuck you Yawkey Way, fuck you USS Constitution, fuck you Bunker Hill, fuck you Cheers, and fuck you tea party.
No, you know what? Fuck you, Doc Holliday, fuck you for subjecting yourself to this year after year. You need to learn a lesson...
(forgets lesson, burns Red Sox flag)