Thursday, March 26, 2009

God's Gift to Mankind: Reggie Who?


What's this I hear - the media expects me to be the second-coming of Reggie Jackson in pinstripes? Hmm, I find this both perplexing and arousing. Perplexing because I taught Jackson everything he knows, and arousing because while I'm busy being perplexed, I'm also gazing in the mirror at the most chiseled set of abdominal muscles I've ever seen. Just look at them - you could cook a 22 oz. porterhouse on these bad boys!

(crowd takes 5,000 pictures of flexed abs)

And don't they know Reggie Jackson's existence was based on mine? How is this possible, you ask? Because I'm older than the fucking sun, that's how. I travel through time like Dr. Manhattan, and show the same apathetic emotions toward anything and everything that does not involve the words: "sex", "Teixeira", "oral-sex", and "win".

Here are a few other legendary figures molded after my previous feets and accomplishments:

- Lee Marvin's manliness
- Frank Sinatra's voice
- The Porn Industry
- Fireworks
- Greek Mythology

So, next time you hear any members of the media questioning my ability to come into town as a high-priced free agent and deliver, remind them about the Alamo. That's right, the Alamo. Santa Anna? All me. All fucking me.

(kisses bicep)
(kisses other bicep)
(forges silver baseball bat out of discarded silverware)
(hits grand slam)

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