Whattup, playas? Y'all may have heard about my heinous-sauce injury news, but there's one thing that never has to go in for ligament replacement surgery: the Truth.
The Truth is so fucking jacked that it can grow ulnar collateral ligaments for days like it ain't even shit. So open up your brain piece and let this phat plane of Truth land in your mental hanger. Tray tables and seatbacks in the upright and locked position, thugs. We're about to take off. Or land or some shit.
Right off the bat: the media in New York is probably wondering if they're going to have to call today "Black Thursday" for the rest of their lives. Y'all playas can see why they're upset: the beloved Yankees are losing the best pitcher in the AL East for a calendar year. He's got to go in for a nice frosty mug of Tommy John sauce.
Should the team fold? Forfeit the rest of their games this season so they can sit in a corner and wail over this insurmountable loss? Nah, not even close. Why not? Allow me to quote General Douglas MacArthur: I'm gonna get my return on, motherfuckers.
Check it: My doctor, my boy Jimbo Andrews, says it's going to take my 12-18 months to recover. Now, he's the leading orthopedic surgeon in the world, and he's undoubtedly the biggest expert in his field, but he's full of shit. 12-18 months? Playa, C. Piddy will be back on the mound in 12-18 minutes. As a matter of fact, don't even put C. Piddy under for the surgery; I want to do some curls with my left arm during the procedure. I don't wanna lose one day from my workout regime. You've got a sterile 100-pound dumbbell, right?
Oh, and another thing. My flesh is so core that a normal scalpel won't cut into it. It's like trying to chip into rock. Either buy yourself a laser or a phat diamond-edged scalpel. You know C. Piddy's gotta get his bling on even when he's under the knife.
Playas, I know y'all wanna send C. Piddy a boss-ass get well card and a stripper with huge fake cans to make him feel better. No need. The Core Warrior inside me isn't even sick, and I'm never going to go on the DL of life. At this moment, C. Piddy could win a triathlon and then strangle an Ox in between my thighs. There's nothing here that needs fixing.
Check it: Fact. Most guys come back from Tommy John throwing HARDER. I'm not even sure that's physically possible in my case, but that means my fastball will be 160 mph and my changeup will dip down to around 135 mph. If anyone gets a bat on the ball (un-fucking-likely), it will just vaporize into a cloud of wood dust. Hall of Fame, get ready to open your doors.
C. Piddy will be back.
The AL East will pay.
PEACE-CORE!
P.S. I've been practicing playing Genesis with just one arm and a leg. So far I've beaten Buster Douglas Boxing and taken my Arch Rival team to the playoffs. Even with one arm I can avoid that banana peel to nail that tray, boyeee!
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3 comments:
Yo C, speakin of Genesis, is that your ripped-ass torso on the cover of Altered Beast? I know you were talking about getting werewolf tendon put into your elbow piece and all. Peace!
It is a sad day for playas everywhere. Our fearless leader is on the shelf, but this chariot of Cy Young Sauce will continue to move forward! The Yanks must continue with the rally cry of "let's win this one for CPiddy!" Never has there been anyone more core than you.
Take your time, heal the arm, and make sure shit gets real for them Lemmings.
Don't front, C. This is about the drama. You're spotting Boston a double-digit lead and letting that fraud Clemens fall on his AARP'd and HGH'd face before you step out of the phone booth, rip Jimbo's sutures out, and drop 15 straight W's in Sept/Oct.
I back ya, C. Here at DiceGay.com, we know it's your world. It's time the haters learn it too.
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