OK, first of all, what the FCK is up with no pictures of me in a gddamn Yankee uniform where I’m not giving some jackss a high-five after their fifteen fcking minute home run trot? Note to fellow Yankers: when I pat you on the ss as you’re rounding third, it’s because I want you to HURRY THE FCK UP, not because I want to ask you out for drinks later, ALEXIS. Thank god we got bounced early so I wouldn’t have to touch Giambi’s mump-covered shtmound. Yeah, that’s right, I’m fcking over the moon about that no-World-Series sht. You know why? Because fck this, that’s why. Baseball’s playoffs are a f*cking joke.

Oh, wait – is it over yet? Is MLB issuing fcking parkas and longjohns for more games in November, or has the worst fcking World Series since fcking forever finally sht the bed? Can I come out of hiding, or am I gonna see some D-wearing pantload throw to the wrong base AGAIN? Or maybe it’s not too late to see shemales fall on their shrinky-dink dcks chasing after routine fly balls. For fck’s sake, I thought I was watching that fcking Sizemore porn tape again. Never trust a fcking video clerk that has one hand up their nose and one down their f*cking pants.

Earth to 8-Mile 8-balls: if you can throw 1049 MPH (or whatever Fox’s glue gun was spitting out), then you should be able to throw TO THE RIGHT FCKING BASE. If you can pull the wool over the eyes of every dingdong umpire in the world for an entire career with a mile-wide line of sht smeared across your fcking pitching hand, you can THROW TO THE RIGHT FCKING BASE. If you can post the best ERA in the best division in baseball, then FCKING TAKE SOME GDDAMN FIELDING PRACTICE and throw to the right fcking base so that fcking Grecian Formula “supersmart” jagbag gets the sh*t he deserves.

I mean, come the fck on, is it that hard to THROW TO THE RIGHT FCKING BASE ZOOM A ZOOM so that George Will buttbuddy fck doesn’t win another fcking World Series? Chrst, I’d have about 20 rings if I shot up the rancid dckmeat in my lineup w/ the best PEDs MLB can’t detect w/ a fcking Steriod Sniffer 6000 and needles sticking out of everyone’s back pocket. For fck’s sake, even Eckstein got in on the damn act. And he’s one of the good ones! But LaRussa got up his ss, too, and now his balls are the size of Kruk’s, and he’s Mr. Clutchy McScrappington of the Shire of Watch Me Run Around Like a Horny Fck. (Not that MLB could detect a flaming pile of dogsht on their stoop if someone wrote HI I AM FLAMING POMERANIAN POOPY DOOP PLEASE STEP ON ME FOR FUN YOU CAR-SELLING FCKSTICK in gddamn Day-Glo on the fcking bag.)

I guess Bingo Bud’s quest to shove week-old sushi up the ss of Major League Baseball is complete, now that a team with EIGHTY-THREE WINS grabbed that gay-ss trophy. What the fck is that thing, anyway, a set of gddamn fondue kabobs? Suck my fck w/ that spindly horsesht. The Stanley Cup, now THAT’S a trophy. Hockey’s gayer than Provincetown during a Rock Hudson film festival, but gddamn that’s how you make a trophy. That thing has some fcking HISTORY behind it. And you can drink from that sht, too. But, no, winners of the WORLD FCKING SERIES get a bunch of toothpicks. Try taking a sip of Mad Dog from that piece of crp. Thanks, Budders. Let’s bask in the glory of your awesome fcking kitchenwares, and your equally awesome business acumen:

• 2003: the Marlins, A WILD CARD TEAM about 1 loss away from turning into fish soup, wins the f*cking World Series (WAY TO BLOW YANK-MES)
• 2004: the Red Sox, A WILD CARD TEAM with a curse the size of Aretha Franklin’s left tit, wins the f*cking World Series (TLR STRIKES AGAIN)
• 2005: the White Sox, A WOULD-BE WILD CARD TEAM with a curse that puts the Red Sox racist ssbaggery to shame, wins the fcking World Series (PHIL GARNER: THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE DONKEY PUNCHER)
• 2006: the Cardinals, a team one failed drug test away from being sent down to AA w/ a Kooky Kardinal mascot costumes and some t-shirt guns, wins the fcking World Series against JIMMY FCKING LEYLAND. How ya doin’ there, Jimbo? Smoke any fcking cck this week there, buddy? Hope you’re liking your breakfast now, you no-talent dustbuster f*ck.

And all of this happening right around the time that folks are more interested in the No ‘Roid League and gun-toting hip-hop wicky-wicky slamalamma fcks. When the most exciting thing to come out of the postseason is the SHOCKING revelation that Kenny Rogers wipes his ass w/ out toilet paper, you know even diehards are switching off to Oxygen or some Encore Love Story breast exam sht. Sht was so boring, I almost started agree w/ McCarver’s pill-popping nonsense. Yo, Lanny Fcking Poffo – you could be smarter than fcking Socrates, but it don’t mean sht if you can’t get people’s names right. Too bad your buttboy Brandon wasn’t around for some pole-waxing. I’d rather see Mayor McCheese make time w/ some knock-kneed man-meat like a good ol’ Congressman than listen to him explain for the umpteenth fcking time that OH MY GOD teams score more runs when they get guys on base w/ no outs. WHY THANK YOU PROFESSOR! WHAT’S ANOTHER WORD FOR SHUT THE FCK UP?

And who the fck is that turdburglar I’m in the pic with? Yo, statboy! Get me some more of this fcking buttery nipple sht – it’s really fcking good, and I don’t care if this makes me less of a man, because I’m ALL MAN YOU GOT THAT? A buzz is a fcking buzz, and I’m a busy little bee, btch. SMELL MY HONEY RIGHT NOW YEAH! And find out why the fck I’m standing next to that Stay-Puft donderlinger. Someone shd stuff a ham sandwich down both pipes and put that fck out of my face.

Chr*st, I should’ve taken Chaser.