Yeah, OK, BLEEP BLEEP, whoop dee f*ckin doo. I gotta make this kinda quick – HR and JB spiked Ravvy’s super special double mocha super sissy latte w/ some ruffies and Exlax, and the Nutless Wonder’s about done w/ pennying the supply closet door shut. Fun times, no doubt. WELCOME TO THE BIG LEAGUES MEAT! Hope you like fudge! F*cktard.

Anyway, my name’s come up a few times in recent weeks about going back to baseball and saving the Kansas City Royals from their dead ass self. So, yeah, I’m gonna get interviewed, and, yeah, I said this:

“Because you’re young doesn’t mean you’re going to get beat,” Bowa said Wednesday. “Playing winning baseball is hard. You’ve got to put in the time and the effort, respect your other teammates, respect your manager and respect your coaching staff. It takes work.”

… but, really, for all you dumsh*t folks that think I’m serious, learn to read between the f*cking lines. You want me to translate for you? Maybe you no speak good Engrish, Babar? OK, then. Get real close to the screen, Duckie. What I ACTUALLY F*CKING SAID, you walking fart, was: “If you think I want to leave my sweet-as-a-prom-date gig here w/ E$PN for a gig where I’d have to deal w/ MATT F*CKING STAIRS as my clean-up hitter, that f*cking milk-and-cookies g*dboy, and a bunch of pissant kid pitchers that don’t know a brushback pitch from a set of baby back ribs, then you *sshats need to think about doing mankind a favor and make like lemmings taking a tour of the Brooklyn Bridge.” I mean, really, how f*cking bored or stupid do you have to be to throw my f*cking name onto this f*cking shortbus? What do you think I f*cking did in Philly? You think those were BALLPLAYERS? Are you fat knoblickers blind or just brain damaged? Sh*t. I’d have better luck managing the Bad News Bears, WITHOUT Tatum O’Neal and that Kelly Leak f*ck. Incidentally, that little greasy Leak-looking d*cksquirt on the Suns – he’s all right! Kid knows how to play the f*cking game! And he’s not even American – whoda thunk it? That f*cking hair, tho – HEY THERE SPUNKZILLA. TEN BUCKS AT SUPERCUTS. GET ON IT PALEFACE.

Kansas City hasn’t done sh*t since George Brett was kicking the crap out of the AL – why not bring him in as manager? Yeah, he might be a little light in the cleats, but f*ck it, dude was tough as nails, and could rake like a motherf*cker. Or, what the f*ck, bring back that Jimy Williams sped. “Manager’s decision.” Yeah KMART SUCKS too, Gramps. Surprised the old cooter can actually say big words without spitting up an organ. But, y’know, say what you want about him, but the guy was a winner. F*cking couldn’t explain his way out of 2+2, probably couldn’t tell you what he just dropped in his drawers, but had great f*cking ingame instincts. You’d have great f*cking instincts too, tho, if you had a jockstrap crawling up your *ss for 50 f*cking years while trying to teach greencards how to f*cking bunt.

Like it’s so f*cking hard – you CATCH the g*ddamn ball with that f*cking stick in your f*cking hands. CATCH the g*ddamn f*cking piece of sh*t ball with your g*ddamn motherf*cking piece of sh*t f*cking bat. How many F*CKING times to I have to say it, Padilla? You hold that f*cking bat like you know what the f*ck you’re doing – it’s a piece of f*cking wood, not your f*cking priest’s d*ck! You HOLD the f*cking bat like this, and when a pitch THAT YOU CAN F*CKING BUNT – this is the KEY PART OF THIS DISCUSSION, Padilla, don’t f*cking give me that f*cking siesta sh*t, ese – when you get a good f*cking pitch, then you square around and you let the ball hit the f*cking bat. You don’t punch at the f*cking ball like it b*tchslapped your face.

And that goes f*cking double for you, Millwood – for f*ck’s sake, you were a f*cking Brave! Didn’t any of those “chicks dig the long ball” f*ckwits teach you a g*ddamn thing about handling the f*cking bat? You keep that foul strike 3 sh*t up, I’ll pinchhit for you w/ that f*cking In & Out Burger loaf I squeezed off last night. THAT piece of sh*t actually HAS some f*cking stones! Probably has a better f*cking change-up, too. F*cking hell, I can’t wait for your dead *ss to get the f*ck out of my f*cking life. F*cking get the clap, you soft-tossing j*zzmop.

All right. I got time for one f*cking question, and boy oh boy I can’t wait to f*cking answer it:

Dear Larry: I am just writing to tell you that you have lots of gay fans. I have started a tribute website to you at thebowaconstrictor.net. Would you like to write something we can use as an endorsement of you on the site? Keep smiling! [R. Santorumm, Bethesda, MD]

I’ve gotten a few f*cking e-mails like this the past week (f*ck if I know why), but I just want to take the opportunity to tell all you well-dressed, well-groomed, oily *ssgrabbing sausage-smoking b*tchtits what I think of your f*cking shit. That’s why I’m using the ripsh*t pic of me at the top of this post – I’m about to unleash the f*cking fury on your pansy *sses. Now listen up and listen good, because I’m only going to say this one f*cking time, and I don’t repeat myself. And if I have to f*cking repeat myself, I’m gonna do it with my f*cking fists. OK – for the last f*cking time, if I EVER get ANOTHER f*cking e-mail from any of you f*cking people, I will, so help me f*cking G*d, get out a pair of f*cking pliers, take your f*cking

[EDITORS NOTE: Unfortunately, this portion of the post was somehow lost between being written and being posted to the Blogger servers. Mr. Bowa can’t remember what he was going to say here, but I’m sure, if he wasn’t nursing yet another hangover, he’d be happy to thank you for your interest in his career, and appreciates the show of support from you and other fan wesbites. However, Mr. Bowa prefers to distance himself from such fan-based endeavors, for the sake of professional integrity, and as such refrains from actually endorsing such things directly. Please know that Mr. Bowa appreciates your support very much, though, and as a token of appreciation would like to send you some autographed photos from his unpublished Playgirl spread (“Ramrod Hardball”) – please get in touch with your address, and we’ll send the pics right out to you! Feel free to post the photos on your website, or auction them off to allieviate the burden of your webhosting costs. This offer is extended to any and all interested parties. Thanks for reading our weblog, Mr. Santorumm, and good luck with your future endeavors!]

EAT IT YOU PIGGY B*TCH! SQUEAL! YEAH! YEAH! JUST TRY IT F*CKER! YEAH! BRING THE F*CKING PAIN! YEAH RIGHT THERE! WHOS YR DADDY! WHO IS YR F*CKING DADDY! Yeah, that’s right. That’s what I f*cking thought. C’mon, try it again – I f*cking dare you. Who’s yr daddy? B*tches.

OK – Ball One just came back and told me the Ravinator’s coming around. “C’mon, guys, I really gotta go bad!” Hahahah. Showtime. Until when the f*ck ever, ladies.