Well, don’t that beat all. Here I thought an old teammate was gonna give old L-Bow a little bend, and maybe let me help him fix his f*cked-up team. Not that I would’ve taken the damn job, but when Billy Bob called me – yeah, he called me himself! – he sounded a little choked up. Maybe someone broke his sliderule, I dunno. Anyway, it was bullsh*t – turns out that old Beano still can’t do a damn thing right, as he re-upped that mook Macha for another three years, and left the one guy that could help his sh*t team in the lurch.

What the f*ck ever. General managers are just overpaid no-talent pieces of sh*t with fancy suits and a f*cking expense account. And a tin eye for f*cking talent. Look at the crap signed this off-season to multi-million dollar contracts. Wonderjew Theo Epstein actually gave money to f*cking Edgar Renteria. $300K for every error’s one helluva bargain, kid! Brian Cashman – aka Steinbrenner’s C*ckpuppet – gave money to both Jaret Wright AND Carl Pavano. And Tony Womack! Remember him? Speedy little no-talent f*ck trying to horn in on Eckstein’s racket? His *ss and the bench are f*cking spooning as I type – save it for the broom closet, *sshat.

And who’s the sh*thead that gave money to Orlando Cabrera and Old Man Finley in Anaheim, while letting a bonafide superstar like Troy Glaus screw to Arizona? He’s eligible for Mensa membership, too! And YEAH THAT’S ANAHEIM NOT F*CKING LOS ANGELES YOU FISH TACO, tho that pencild*ck in La-La Land didn’t have so hot a season, either. And look at this blind-leading-the-blind sh*t – boy genius Jon Heyman repping for *ssmaster Ken Williams, the GM of the White Sox:

Nobody else had Williams’ year, filled with great moves and practically no praise. Like his club, the second team in the Second City, Williams is overlooked and over-criticized. If he isn’t Executive of the Year, they shouldn’t award a trophy.

Whoop dee sh*t “Executive of the Year”. What kinda f*cking talent do you need to make stupid f*cking moves that luck out? Oh, yeah – trading for a Polish jumping bean like Podsednik is BRILLIANT! Overpaying for a washed-up slugger? GENIUS! Trading for a no-good ball-scratching backstabbing b*tch to be your catcher? SO SMART I CAN’T STAND IT! Signing the latest piece of sushi to fall off the top of Mt. Fuji? WAY TO GO EINSTEIN! And how about hiring Ozzie G the Shower-Hating Quote Machine to be a f*cking retard in your dugout? HOLY SH*T WHERE’S THE NOBEL PRIZE FOR THIS F*CK?!?! So they won the most games in the AL – yeah, it’s tough when you get the Kansas City Queens & the Minnesota Ho-Hos for 40+ games. And, oooh, they beat the Red Sox! The Red Sox couldn’t beat their own d*cks if they had a quart of Vaseline, a f*cking diagram, and and a set of Girls Gone Wild DVDs!

If you really want to ruin your already sh*tty live and become a GM, here’s what you need, kids:

1) a lobotomy
2) a college degree from some f*cking Ivy League girls’ school
2) a gag reflex

Imagine having to sit in a room with some slimy salt-hating sh*tstain trying to convince you that his client – probably three toots to the wind in some Chinatown dive with Long Duck Phong playing kidney Pachinko – is worth the Gross National Product of a f*cking African state per year. For over ten f*cking years. And the guy in question is a RELIEF PITCHER. Hey, Mr. Eduardo “I Used To Have a Job Before My Employers Saw How Stupid I Be” Wadely – any of this sound familiar? You really surprised you’re out on your *ss after the crap you saddled Philly with? The place is f*cked enough as is w/out having to deal with Thome’s trick back for another 29 years, let alone Mr. Ooh-La-La Rheal Cormier de Turdburglar. Hope the new guy enjoys the Homerdome you built. Sh*thead.

So, yeah, Beaner, you can take your fancy headgames and your Apple IIe and your wrestling moves and shove ’em straight up the same hole the A’s season went, you spudf*cker. I wouldn’t work for your overrated cr*p *ss if I was given fifty million dollars a year! Hell, I wouldn’t do it for league minimum! And you can bet your d*ck I wouldn’t even dream of coming onto Macha’s staff to do any damn thing for your piece of sh*t no-talent over-reaching group of anklegrabbers, so don’t even THINK of calling me at home tonight with a three-year offer with an option for a fourth for any damn thing BECAUSE I WILL not TAKE IT.

And let me say this one more time, in case you were busy carrying the one – don’t CALL ME WITH AN OFFER becuase I WILL not TAKE IT. I would HATE to mislead MY current CO-WORKERS by making them believe I’D LEAVE THIS cushy PIECE OF SH*T gig IN A HEARTBEAT. Hell, I’D TAKE A PAYCUT if they asked me. I CAN’T WAIT TO LEAVE my house tomorrow and come into work. And don’t think I would ever say KRUK IS A BACKWATER *SSBERRY, because he’s my boy. So don’t CALL ME AROUND 7 PM ON MY CELL. You f*ck.