Since the sports world can’t seem to get enough about how stupid all these dumb-ss coaching regulations are, allow me to do what these so-called journalists can’t seem to do and tell it to you straight, L-Bow style. That’s right, ladies. BLEEP BLEEP is back, La-La Land style. And unlike that soft-tossing gimp Pedro, I am bringing the HEAT!

So OK, it might it seem like I came in on the shortbus, but I’m fine with wearing this stupid f-cking ice cream helmet. Even if it makes me look like John Olerud’s retarded step-uncle. Not to f-ck a dead horse without lube, but every time I put the thing on, I turn into that Corky f-ck, no foolin’. I put on a bib for the drool. But I’m not going to say anything bad about the dead, so don’t even go there, you f-cking scumbags. Tho I have to say: if I’m standing on the field looking at some UCLA funbags when Brad Penny decides to actually throw a f-cking fastball, I deserve to get dinged upside the dome, and I can think of worse things to be on my mind when I croak than a pair of juggs that don’t look like elephant trunks. But now I can’t step outside of some stupid little box because some overpaid blue feels the need to pull rank? You bet your can of Crisco -ss the discussion got heated, Mr. Associated Press!

First of all, Montague, you ever f-cking call me “Bo” again, I’ll shove what I know straight up your ballbag. I’m not some roided-up two-sport “superstar” that can’t shake off a charley horse. I’m a World Champion and the best third base coach in the entire f-cking game. Call me by my g-ddamn name like a f-cking adult, you cross-eyed sack. Actually, f-ck you, from now on call me Sir Lawrence, King of The World And All Dipsh-ts Therein, because it’d take ten of you jizz jobs to measure up to what I’m packing in my Hanes 100% Cotton Briefs with relaxed f-cking waistband and enough swingin’ room for my BIG -SS BALLS. Bounce on that, b-tches. And another thing — how the f-ck did box wine get such a bad rap? I’m telling you, I’m on my fourth cup, and I am ripped like Ahnuld. Or Maria Shriver haha! GET TO THE CHOPPER YOU UGLY MOTHERF-CKER! Hahahaha!

Second of all, what the sh-t is this garbage about paying attention to the coach’s box? Do your damn job and pay attention to the f-cking plate! If one of you eyeologists can actually agree on what a strike is in the first inning and what’s a strike in the ninth inning, then maybe you can earn the right hold Kangaroo Court on where yours truly should put his feet. Besides right between those XXL loaf-pinchers you’re packing. Never mind that those idiots can’t even get a good view of the strike zone — they’re always to to the left or right of the catcher, trying to go for the reacharound. In case you guys didn’t get the memo, Piazza’s a free agent, and probably shining his chest in front of a bunch of altar boys at some YMCA. You want to feel up Russell Martin’s boobs, do what everyone else does and buy him a Grape Knee-High first. (Seriously — kid’s great, but I’ve got more hair on my pinky knuckle than he’s got all over. Someone needs a box of rubbers and a field trip to Tijuana. Push push in the bush, Russ.)

And while we’re talking about boxes and me deigning to dip my toesies out of one, Edwardo, what is the f-cking deal with you dirt jockeys letting every Tom, Dick, and Hooters-humpin’ Larry wipe out the back of the batter’s box? Where’s the outrage over that bullsh-t move? Where’s your f-cking moral turpitude on that jerkjob? I know that sh-t’s illegal, and I wouldn’t know the rule book from a rabbit turd. Where’s the memo on that, Mo-Mo? Or is it that you can’t bust the stones of a multi-millionaire that can buy and sell your dead -ss fifty times over? But you can bust the stones of a hard-working low-paid coach that’s just trying to do his job, is that it? Well, when I get back from this bullsh-t suspension to coach the best team in baseball — yeah, that’s right, nerds, tell me I’m wrong — and you chumps are choking down another Big Mac and fighting back the tears, remember this: Juan Pierre is getting paid more in one year to NOT play than you clowns will see in your entire life. Strike three, turkeys. You are OUUUUUUUUUUUTTA THERE! Now someone out there get me a box f-cking lunch, size DD. I’M HERE DO IT NOW!