August 30, 2007
Astros 2, Turdinals 1
W: Albers (4-6) | L: Pineiro (4-3) | S: Lidge (14)
The Footer Recap Who the hell is Jim Carley?
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AP Photo
Dear Diary,
Today was my 3rd game at the helm of the SS Fucking Catastrophe, and I’ll be damned if we didn’t just win the series. I shit you not. I’m going to text LaGenius later and ask him if he likes apples. Yeah, well how you like THEM FUCKING APPLES?!? WAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA. OMFG, ROFL! That’s going to be so fucking awesome! He’ll be pretty drunk, so I’ll bet he laughs.
The game was pretty fun, but man these guys are fucking frustrating. I thought we might have something cooking in the 1st, with Mr. Peepers on and Flapjack at the dish, but the dumbass made the third out getting gunned down trying to swipe second. I don’t know who gave him the green light, but it sure as shit wasn’t me. Note to self: put a boot in Burke’s ass tomorrow.
The Fat Kid pitched just fan-damn-tastic out there today. Seriously, he tossed like 7 innings with 3 hits and a run. Too many walks, but you know, fuck it. High five. I don’t know what the hell he ate for breakfast this morning, but we’re getting two cases of it before his next start. Maybe sprinkle a little HGH on top like powdered sugar, just to iron out some of the creases in that baby fat he’s carrying. Looks like a giant toddler with chin hair.
Speaking of, I’ve been thinking about bringing my beard back. I don’t know, it used to just feel kind of… right. Like I was a little bit of a mystery, maybe even dangerous. I’ll kick it around a little more, but I’m starting to believe it’s time for the ol’ facebush to make a triumphant return.
We scored in the 2nd today when The Ninja doubled Clank in from 1st, but fucking Manso was staring at Lamb’s ass the whole way down the 3rd base line, and forgot to tell Scott not to keep coming. He was meat, man. I’d be pissed, but it was pretty fucking funny. You know what’s not funny? When we got Gunther to 3rd on a single and a WP with nobody out in the 6th, and no one could get his goofy ass home. Or the time in the 8th when the bases were loaded with 1 down, and none of those motherfuckers scored, either. That is some seriously unfunny shit right there. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to feature a delicious pris fix brunch of glazed ham, eggs benedict, and boots shin-deep in everyone’s fucking asses. With mimosas. I’m not even playing.
I’m not 100% sold on the nachos here. People line up like they’re this sublime delicacy, but you can get some biblical-grade retribution happening in your colon. Twinkie swears by them, but jury’s out for me. He put one into the tank in right today for the other run, by the way. Qualls had an interesting 8th, but nobody scored, so he gets spared an ass-booting. Lidge was fucking huge. Just nailed that shit down tight. I’m considering giving him his own boot to use on others.
Gonna be in Chicago tomorrow, dealing with the fucking drunks all afternoon. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep my temper in check, but so help me, I am going to bring the fucking pain if one of those sausage-gargling human Bud receptacles tries any lip with me. And that’s real, son.
Talk to you post-game.
-Big Coop