So I hear there’s some Kurt Cobain wannabe giving me guff on his website (oooooh!), talking trash about me and Dibs and B-Mart like he knows what the f*ck he’s talking about. Yeah, it takes a real man to plop his fat *ss down in a chair, pop open a box of donuts, and TYPE. You got something to say about the way I do my job, stop two-fisting Boston Crèmes and say what you gotta say to my face. Or maybe you’re too busy writing in your GIRL-nal about how you can’t stand the pain of living because your mom didn’t buy you a My Little Pony for Christmas and you flunked out of Chess Club, and now you’re gonna write a song about it, and then get to second base w/ a shotgun because LIFE’S TOO HARD. Oh boo hoo hoo, here’s a tampon. Man the f*ck up, She-Ra, and show respect for folks that actually have a job. The taxes I pay keep leeching sacks of puke like you on welfare, so remember that the next time you want to prove how big you are by writing on your fancy website about stuff you know jacksh*t about.

And speaking of folks that don’t know jacksh*t – here’s a new thing for BLEEP BLEEP called THE FIVE TOOLS. Figure it out.

5) Jay Payton

Yeah, you’re smart. “Oh, wow, I got traded to the World Champion Red Sox! And their starting OF features a guy leading the majors in hits, one of the best hitters ever, and an unsung scrappy kid in RF! I should totally be starting! And, hey, if they don’t want me and my .125 BA in the OF, I can DH, right? Who they got there? Some post-season hero? The team’s best hitter? He sucks! I should totally be starting! And if they don’t want me, someone will! I can ground out and kill rallies like a mofo! Totally!” Guy needs to go back to Colorado and get the pressure in his head normalized. Or maybe get an Irish breakfast upside his top o’ the morning. How’s about starting Operation: Buy a F*cking Clue, JP?

4) Eric Gagne

Did that stupid Canuck actually reinjure himself trying to change his pitching motion? Are you f*cking serious? How much Labatt Blue do you have to stick in your ear to be that stupid, eh? “Oh, fuuuudge – my car won’t go forward. But that’s OK – I’ll just drive in reverse!” Or how about this? “Oh, fuuuudge – my baseball team is made up of whiny douchebags! But that’s OK – I’ll just fire the manager!” Yeah HOW YOU DOING ED? Great start by wonderturd Brett Myers yesterday against the MetroPOLEitans. Oh, yeah, your team’s going places w/ f*cking Don Ameche at the controls. Full speed ahead, Captain Kirk!

3) The MetroPOLEitans

And speaking of f*cking space cadets – where’s the horse I need to snort to think that bringing up Benito Santiago and ICE ICE WILLIAMS is going to help win ballgames? What, Minnie Minoso was busy w/ a heart-lung-liver transplant? Gordie Howe wouldn’t return your phone calls? F*ck, I heard Jane Russell turned 84 this week. Let’s see her sagging jugs hitting the ground in a Met uni instead of having to smell either of those walking Ben Gay tubes. I don’t care if Beltran loses both his legs and starts babbling about jumbo shrimp – I’d rather have him out in CF in a baby high chair and a bib than ICE ICE F*CKING WILLIAMS. The fact that replacing Pizzaface with BS is almost a push says all I need to say about how crap the Mets are. Hope your midget friend likes last place there, Pedrone!

2) Everyone on the Devil Rays except for Lou Piniella

Thirteen runs. IN ONE INNING. And they were WINNING. BY FOUR. Olney the Lolney reported that Piniella was b*tching at everyone from players to the coaching staff. Like that’s a bad thing! You’re winning by four runs in the 8th inning, and your piece of sh*t team decides to just bend over like a bunch of sallies and give the Yankees a baker’s dozen right there. Hell, I would’ve grabbed the f*cking ball and pitched – I could be dead and throw better than that! A younger Lou would’ve dropped that Phelps tard on his head. Kid’s lucky he can play with himself after that jerkjob. Lou’s a great manager, and a baseball legend, and for this bass-ackward A-ball squad to show him the respect our government shows guests of Club Gitmo is a f*cking disgrace. Note to you piece of sh*t pitchers: throwing a “get me over” strike doesn’t mean throwing a strike that gets over the outfield wall. Note to the rest of you fishtailed queefs: do Lou and basaeball and everyone everywhere a favor and die. Don’t show up anymore, don’t cash your paychecks, don’t even kiss your dog’s *ss goodbye. Just up and f*cking die. Of course, this is Tampa Bay – they’d probably f*ck that up, too.

1) Bill James and his stat jockeys

Yeah, way to f*cking go, guys! Oh yeah! Go Oakland with your drive for last place! Take that to first base! Go Blue Jays with your jerk*ss record! You guys got ROY F*CKING HALLADAY, and you still suck! Letting Delgado walk was a great move, lemme tell you. Yeah, the best 1B in the game besides Pujols – who wants that f*ck? No, give me that Hinske jerk, because I like guys that can find new ways to donkeypunch scoring chances. And oh yeah Dodger pride! That 12-2 start? Yeah, that was real. Jim Tracy’s a great skipper, but even he can’t save this group of f*ckwits. And now they’re 3 games under .500. Oh yeah! Way to crunch those numbers, DePodesta! Are those the same numbers that told you to tell Mao Tse Tung to get in the way of that Jeff Kent throw? At least Kent knows what’s what – someone’s got to get in that kid’s face and tell him how to f*cking play baseball, if that bucktoothed calc nerd’s gonna make Tracy play him. Hey Bok Choi – that glove’s not there to take muffins out of the stove, y’know? And that’s a BAT in your hand, not a SLIDERULE. That’s what you desk jockeys get for taking advice from a night watchman that NEVER PLAYED BASEBALL. Yeah, hold on, I gotta get some stock tips from my mailman, and then I gotta get my haircut by that blind hobo outside the Gold Club. And then I gotta talk to Chesty Nippleridge about my close personal relationship with SHUT THE F*CK UP.

Bite me.