The All-Cunts Edition
I wanted to write about the Pittsburgh Pirates today, but
didn’t for two reasons. 1) Everyone and their moms is writing about them and
their unexpected first half, where they are leading their division at the
All-Star break for the first time since 1997. I didn’t want to hop on the
bandwagon. 2) I see this as a mirage. They may end their 19-year streak of
losing records, but I don’t see them making the playoffs. This looks like "Mikey
I" in AC all over again. Instead of making the playoffs or getting with
the girl, they won’t make the postseason/cockblocked by her imaginary parents. Warning:
This post will be raunchy. I’m talking Andrew Dice Clay nursery rhymes raunchy.
If you don’t want to go to Raunchyville this week, come back next week when I
return to Silly Town.
Instead, I am going to focus on your main complaint about
me, not enough use of the word “cunt”. At least two readers want me to drop the
c-word more. You have a fever, HJFHS faithful, and the only prescription is
more cunt. Allow me to vent about the following cunts and how they grind my
gears.
To everyone trying to prevent me from attending/watching the
Notre Dame vs. Navy game in Ireland on September 1st. I could blame
all the international airlines for making their ticket prices so high, but I
will not. It’s capitalism at its finest. I can blame the friend who had his
bachelor party in Ireland this past spring, rendering a second trip to the
Emerald Isle impossible. Who has a bachelor party overseas?!? Do what everyone
else does and go to Vegas. Gamble, booze, and kill some hookers with your best
buds in America, like everyone else. Adding to this shitstorm is another friend
who is moving up her wedding six weeks because she couldn’t keep the dick out
of her and got knocked up. I am now subjected to a Labor Day shotgun wedding.
It might be pretty selfish of me calling these people cunts as they enter into
marriage, but as a Notre Dame fan, the first game of the season will be the
best I feel all season. It’s the only time where they have a legitimate chance
for the championship.
To all of the Kansas City Royals fans who booed Robinson
Cano at the Home Run Derby. Shut the fuck up, you whiny cunts. Boohoo, Cano
didn’t pick your hometown boy, Billy Butler, to participate. Who should he have
left off the roster? The other three of his selections all advanced into the
second round and Cano had to participate as the captain. His most controversial
selection, Prince Fielder, ended up winning the whole thing. It was real classy
to heckle Cano’s mother at the event. Real classy. Also, Billy Butler sucks.
Every year, we are awaiting his ascent into greatness and every year, we are
disappointed when he stalls. He is a worthy All-Star under the current format,
but he shouldn’t have been swinging a bat on Monday night. Why didn’t you boo
KC management when former Royal Melky Cabrera took home the All-Star MVP on
Tuesday? That’s right, because you support a team who blows dogs for quarters
and a general manager who would rather have Jonathan Sanchez and his 6.75 ERA
than Cabrera. Keep cheering cunts.
To the customer who wasted my entire day on Tuesday. I won’t
waste your time with elaborate details, because I know none of you give a shit
about the pipe business. Long story short, a random customer from Texas, who
was doing a project in Washington DC for some reason, was using my company in
order to get better pricing and availability from his main supplier, a
competitor of ours. When the competition couldn’t improve their quote, he
begrudgingly went with us. He claimed he needed the $10,000 worth of material
the next day, no matter what the cost. He also claimed his account in Texas
could handle it as he was a top customer. He was wrong in both instances. His
account was shit and he freaked out about the freight bill to expedite material
(Shipping 300 pounds of material over 1,000 miles in less than 24 hours in not
a cheap expense.) I spent eight hours of my work day on essentially nothing. On
the bright side, I did get to talk to a lot of people with funny Texas accents.
On the bad side, this customer was a huge cunt.
To the guy at the gym using three leg machines Tuesday
night. After dealing with the Texas cunts, I just wanted to go hard on my legs
at the gym. I use the gym as a stress release because I am a meathead and don’t
feel like developing a White Powersesque drinking problem. Instead, this dude
and his mom (if it was his girlfriend or wife, I weep for him) hogged three of
the leg machines. If you want to hog three machines and do circuit training, go
to the gym at 9 am when it is full of geriatrics, moms, and the unemployed.
Don’t go at peak times, like 5 pm when everyone is leaving work. Since all the
other leg equipment was being utilized, I was getting mad. He did allow me to
work in, which was nice. The redemption was short when he stepped on my workout
towel, out of pure cunty spite. Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanks cunts.
To Tony La Russa. In the off-season, R.A. Dickey wrote a
book about his life and his battles with sexual abuse as a child and suicidal
thoughts. He is a 37-year old journeyman who became a knuckleballer to prolong
his career. His story alone makes him the fans’ choice to start the All-Star
Game. And oh yea, he has been the best pitcher in baseball all season. On
merit, he deserves the start as well. Instead, La Russa and his alcoholic
tendencies decides to start Matt Cain because he doesn’t want to subject
starting catcher Buster Posey to the knuckleball. Matt Cain was worthy, but he
is also regarded as one of the best pitchers in the game at age 27. He will
have plenty of opportunities in his career to start the All-Star Game. R.A.
Dickey may never get that shot, based on the unpredictable nature of the
knuckleball. In hindsight, it’s all moot as the National League still won the
game. In Boydsight, La Russa is a La Cunt.
-Written by Marcus Boyd
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