Roll Tide, Playas

Whattup, playas? Get out your straws; it's time to slurp down another truth smoothie. Mmmm...y'all like that? It's because C. Piddy uses raspberry sorbet instead of ice. It's a little more expensive, but when you make ten million Washingtons a year, what's a little sorbet among pimps? In a pinch use sherbet playas. Ain't nuthin nice.

By now you've probably heard the heinous news: I've had another setback in my road back to my Cy Young form. I had a totally fucking boss bullpen session a few days back, and I was straight smoking them on Wednesday. F'real, I was so fucking amped that I had broken three bullpen catchers' hands when they tried to catch my heat. Don't laugh; a 145 mph fastball would hurt y'all playas, too.

Some of the Texas players looked into the pen while I was throwing, and you could smell the fear sauce dripping from their chins. Somebody told me later that Ian Kinsler pissed his pants. I was fucking ON, son!

Then my forearm just caught fire. Seriously, there was smoke all about my jersey-piece, coming out of my collar and shit. Playas, I've felt real pain, and this shit was real. Real real. I looked around to see if someone from the Rangers had popped me with his gat (Don't let his looks fool you: Michael Young will straight put a cap in a playa's ass.) Turns out it's some tendon shit or something, which never would have happened if the Yankees had agreed to pay for me to get a metal skeleton Wolverine-style, but I ain't mad at 'em.

So now I had to go to Alabama to see Dr. James Andrews. Y'all know this playa Jimbo? Homeboy fixes up everybody's broken shit, but he's kickin' it in the deep South. Alabama? C. Piddy likes to keep his shit cosmopolitan, but whatevs...I still got a shot at this year's ERA title if I get back fast enough. So now I'm in Birmingham, and playas, let me tell you: this place is wack and bozak.

So check it: yesterday I decided to do some sight-seeing out in the country. I went up to this farm, hoping I could drop some C. Piddy sauce on the farmer's daughter. Turns out she was a fuggle, but the farmer had this enormous fucking bull. Looked like he was made of steel and muscle and awesomeness. Must have weighed a ton. So core. The farmer said he was the meanest, toughest bull to ever walk the earth. I said we'd see about that as I jumped into the pen, and started wrestling it.

A normal man would have been killed, so how do you think it ended for your favorite core warrior?

Damn right: I chokeslammed that bull through a table. Didn't even have to take off either of the iPods I was listening to. I was about to drop an elbow on his weak-ass bull throat, but the farmer stopped me and said I'd proven my point. I thought I heard the Bull ask for best two outta three as I walked away but whatevs, I ripped the horns off to make earrings for my girl Gia. Baby, if you're reading, you gotta get a dress to wear with these. And do NOT use my fucking Amex again.

So I'm liking it down South. Y'all check it that we won two games yesterday? How many did the Sux win? Just one? And no thanks to Dice Gay, either. Maybe May is Shitty Start Month in China, Dice Gay, but don't worry, lots of great starters give up seven earned runs in five innings in America. Sure, they do it in Double A, but I guess the Sux are that desperate for pitching. Things would be might different if they hadn't traded C. Piddy for Pedro Martinez so long ago. They're still kicking themselves in their weak asses over that one. Fucking highway robbery, son!

PEACESAUCE

P.S. F'real, Dice Gay...giving up a double to Jose Guillen? Kill yourself.