Friday, April 24, 2009
God's Gift to Mankind Talks About His First Series in Fenway
Yeah, I get it, the Red Sox fans are planning to shower me with boos and hisses like a bunch of fat, menstruating teenage girls watching cheerleading practice. The Sox fans want to rock Fenway with howls of discontent and make sure that I know how displeased they are with my offseason actions. Well, you know what I say? I say good. Boo your chapped clam-chowder asses off. Why don't you throw some D batteries at me too, just for good measure? But you better make sure you kill me with them, because if not, I'm throwing them back. And for just reference, which one of us has pinpoint accuracy and two golden glove awards? Oh that's right, me, the guy who used your team as a fucking pawn to squeeze some more change out of those two shitbags running the show in the Bronx.
(slaps Hank Steinbrenner in the back of head)
(pumps fist in response to crowd's cheers)
I had zero allegiance to those six combined states of douchebagery. Zero. A big fat rotund one, like your zero of a mom. By the way is she still bagging groceries at Pathmark at getting railed by that science teacher at your old high school? Pshhh, what a loser. You must be ashamed. You should go walk in front of a train.
(media takes 7,000 pictures)
I can't help it if the Yankees wanted me more. They pay like men, not like old women trying to haggle down the price of a used La-Z-Boy at a flea market. I asked for big money, the Yankees delivered. I asked their brass to give me enough money to use $20 bills as kindling for my six story fireplace, and they gave it to me. I asked their brass to give me enough money to top the net-worth of Uzbekistan, and they gave it to me. Old Theo tried to sell me on the Red Sox "pride" and "nation" that comes along with being part of the team. Please, if I wanted that shit in return for my services, I would have joined a tribe of Native Americans, or better yet, a fucking cult. What does he think, I'm stupid or something? I went to Yale. Twice. When I was eleven. So you take that shit back to Bunker Hill, and I'll see you tonight in Fenway...with my gun.