Did you hear that Paw? 15 fuckin’ K’s in 6 and 1/3? And they still got me down here in Louisville rotting away. I told ya I was gonna fuck a town full of daughters. And I went ahead and fucked me an entire team of Toledo-ans along the way. After that game I went out and skinned be an elk’s nuts off with my trapper knife just for good measure. I got them hanging on my wall. I’m counting coup on them sunmabitches this season. Every time I strike out ten or more, I’ma go find me a mammal of some sort to cut the balls off of.
What more does that shiny headed bag of dicks Jocketty need to see? 2-0 with a 2.92 ERA and 18 Ks in two starts last week? And I’m still watching Owings and Arroyo throw those there curly balls that land on fuckin’ Plymouth Rock? Life ain’t fair, Paw.
I got me something really big planned for my next outing. It was sposed’ to be a surprise but hell with it. I ain’t for keepin’ secrets. I’m gonna wear a pair of six shooters in that dugout in between my innings on the mound. I’m going to strike out all 27 hitters. You heard me; 27 up and 27 down, one for every little seniorita I’m gonna attempt to impregnate that night. The secret to my success other then a blazing fastball? Well you just take your trigger finger there and rub it in a little bit’a fox piss in between innings on the laces like, and those AAA faggots won’t even see your ball!
There ain’t a man alive who can hit the Homer Bailey Express. And there ain’t a woman alive who can handle the pecker in my trousers. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna step out back here in my yard and shoot clay pigeons all afternoon with nothin’ on but a pair of snakeskin boots. If Dusty Baker don’t get me up to the big leagues soon I’m gonna shove one of Dick Pole’s clydesdale style road apples down his stupid throat.