Heard you missed me — well, I’m back! Gimme something to f*cking write on, man!
So, yeah, congrats to the motherf*cking Phillies for figuring out the mysteries of indoor f*cking plumbing. I have two words to say about the 2008 World Series: f*ck this sh*t. I’d rather watch Barry HUSSEIN Obama spread the wealth around like pate on a goose liver cracker with his Red socialistic f*ckbuddies than put up with another pisspoor exhibition of this sport that keeps me hat-deep in as much Yuengling and Digiorno’s as a growing boy like me can handle.
That’s why, due to popular demand IN MY F*CKING PANTS, I’m bringing back the Five Tools to count down why this was without a f*cking doubt the saddest World Series of all time. I’m talking sad like beer-goggling chubby-chasing paper-bagging wallet-stealing pimp-meeting stab-wounding bad. In case you’re new to the party, here’s what’s going on. I’m going to count down the five things that are nipping at my *sshole like flaring hemmorhoids, and you’re going to educate yourself here and here, and then you’re gonna eat a bag of Jeterian herpes and roll your five chins back to the E$PN live chat glory hole you just had your lips around. Better take off your shoes, Jethro, it’s time to start counting!
5) THE COMMISH : I’m cutting out the sh*t and giving you pure nut — Bud F*ckbag Selig is what is wrong with f*cking America. This wall-eyed rat turd does everything he can to f*ck up one of the cushiest gigs in all of the world, and he gets a FOUR YEAR EXTENSION? What the hell would this sh*tsquirt get if he was actually trying to make baseball better, a lifetime deal and Megan Fox’s cell number? Here’s a clue, Bud — if it’s RAINING so hard you can drown Prince Fielder at 2B, and slip & slide to home plate like Rick Dempsey with a pillow down his shorts, then you CALL THE F*CKING GAME. You don’t wait until the road team somehow ties the game and THEN give the go-ahead to roll out the g*ddamn tuna net. I mean if you are so hard up to watch The Hunt For Red October , go down to your local Sanjay Store and buy it with a Coke Slurpee and some 4-day-old burritos for $5.99 you cheap wrinkly sack. I know you’re in the bag for more of that network $$$ and want as many games as you can, but how about you pretend you’re actually aren’t a shysty car salesman anymore, yank that blackhead of a f*cking brain out of your mom’s *ss, and DO THE RIGHT G*DDAMN THING FOR THE GAME OF BASEBALL THAT YOU F*CKING COMMISH OVER. And speaking of screwing the pooch in the wrong hole…
4) FOX SPORTS : Hey Bud I know having enough money to buy and sell as many ten-year-old Thai boys as you can bone is great and all, but how about getting this boy-gash cash from a network that actually gives a flying sh*t about the game they’re paying you to broadcast? I mean, it’s great that Fox Sports does FOOTBALL, but I don’t need to hear about f*cking FOOTBALL during the g*ddamn WORLD F*CKING SERIES! (Do not get me started on that light-loafer Tom Brady b*tch and last year’s Super Bowl OH SH*T YES I SAID SUPER BOWL NOT THE BIG GAME SUE ME YOU NO FUN LEAGUE G*YBOYS.)
I mean, those TBS dicks couldn’t wait to tell me more about good guys being bad guys being good guys and that fat f*ck and his sh*tty impressions between every f*cking pitch (when they actually bothered to show the game ooh how f*cking novel), but at least they pretended to give a cr*p. Joe Buck’s too tired from lifting his Easter-Island-sized d*cknibbler off his bib to bother calling half the sh*t that’s happening (aka HIS F*CKING JOB), which leaves good old Timmy Mac to fill in the gaps with his effluvious and narcolepsy-inducing nutbutter. Yeah that’s right — L-Bow’s got Roget in the motherf*cking house, and all you punguent troglodytes better f*cking make with the astute recognizance! Anyway, f*ck those two clowns with Kevin Kennedy’s acne, I’d rather hear the b*tch that does that b*tch Zelasko’s wig and makeup talk about her welfare check and stretch marks than give two pube clumps like F*ck and McC*cker any more press.
3) THE UMPIRES : Maybe this belongs in this same pile with Bud’s sh*theap, and this all really starts at the top of Selig’s pinhead, but I think the showing by this particular collection of hairless blueballs deserves some extra special attention. I’m sorry, but when did America stop being the place where folks actually worked hard to get to the top? When did it turn into this third-world country where folks get a pass for "doing their best" and are allowed to sh*t all over high-profile events because their number came up? Maybe I’m just retarded or intelligently-challenged, but I’d think it would make sense to get the BEST umpires to supervise what should be the BEST games of the season. Right? Am I huffing paint, or does that actually make f*cking sense? Or maybe I don’t know any better, and it’s in the best interest of the game to have strike zones that resemble pools of diarrhea, and have highlight shows focus on the blown calls that happened every other inning. After all, why have the best in the business do their job when you can have someone else f*cking it up? OK, I get it, it all makes sense now. Thanks for clearing that up for me, severe head trauma!
2) THE TAMPA BAY DEVIL RAYS : Yeah, that’s right, f*ck their name change. They could hang up locker-room quotes from actually GOOD writers like Mitch Albom and Dan Brown, change their name to the Greater Florida High Society 69ers, get bonafide hotties like S*sha Gr*y and J*nna J*meson to pose for their new logo, and install stripper poles on top of the dugouts, AND have Handjob Humpday specials, and they would still be the same old bunch of no-talent losers that f*ck up every year. That sh*t’s in their DNA like brown eyes and Down’s Syndrome. That they f*cked up in the World Series instead of the regular season just shows how sh*tty expansion and free agency has made baseball. Way to take down the Jizzard of Oz and the "defending World Series champions" on your way to a season-ending choke job, Tampa Bay! You should feel really proud of yourselves for overcoming those unbelievable odds and holding it in as long as you did. I’m sure America appreciates you saving the skidmarks for the World Series. Have fun finishing in last place next year. AGAIN.
1) THE LOS ANGELES DODGERS OF MOTHERF*CKING LOS ANGELES NOT A G*DDAMN PENNY-ANTE SUBURB : First things first — I love Joe like I’d love an older, dumber, brain-damaged brother, and I wouldn’t trade anyone on this team for anything (though I’d like to send Andruw Jones to a Jack In The Box that’s serving Mad Cow burgers) (preferably in Taliban Country). But holy sh*t how the hell did we lose to the phucking Phillies? All we had to do is beat up everyone that wasn’t Hamels or Lidge, throw lefties against that phat phuck Howard, and we’re good. What happens? We let a proud graduate of the School of Brad Ausmus Knockoffs like CARLOS F*CKING RUIZ beat us like we’re Mrs. Brett Myers, we let the other Mrs. Brett Myers get almost as many RBIs as runs he gave up, and we let their entire team (including that Pat the Lucky Penthouse-Humping Piece of Fat Sh*t) take us yard. And, really, when that happens, just call it a day. Give up. You don’t deserve the air you get to breathe or the piss that comes out of your colostomy bag.
What a g*ddamn joke. If it wasn’t for Manny Ramirez (and excuse me while I come to terms with actually saying that), we would’ve been swept. And that’s some Grade A bullsh*t, that a team that almost missed the playoffs actually comes in and wins like they did with what they had (which, BTW, was Jack Michael Sh*t). Congrats, Bud. You’ve managed to take the great American pasttime and make it just as sh*tty as football. I hope your leprotic c*ck and your pants zipper have a real nice wardrobe malfunction.
If Los Angeles Dodgers third base coach Larry Bowa has five dollars and Chuck Norris has five dollars, then Los Angeles Dodgers third base coach Larry Bowa has ten dollars.