Whattup, playas? C. Piddy's here to take his massive guns to a pinata of ignorance and spill some sweet truth candy over all y'all. Y'all enjoy that candy rain? Truth tastes like a Zagnut, playas. Feel that in your molar-piece? Those are truth cavities, playas. Goddamn, it hurts so good.
Right off the bat: C. Piddy knows what y'all playas want to hear. There's been big news lately, and this blog beast hasn't taken a stance yet. C. Piddy's a master of dramatic tension, but it's time to bust an opinion on your faces: Michael Vick is a political prisoner. How's everybody going to get down on him for having some little dogfights? Hell, if anything, they should be be mad at his dogs for being such pussies.
Point blank: his dogs are weak-sauce, playas. I'll tell you who won the time I went to Mike Vick's dogfights: C. Piddy. Playas, I ain't yet met the dog who can survived being powerbombed off a ladder. Same with a DDT into a steel folding chair. God, I get so amped just thinking about how fucking core it was to have those sharp slobbering fangs come at me and completely fight them off. Y'all playas should see me right now; I'm so fucking juiced that I'm breathing smoke. My jaw is straight numb. Brb, going to go see how far I can punt the neighbor's poodle. Straight spiral, playas.
Okay, cool, I'm back. They weren't home, but no bigs. (btw, 91 yards. And that's WITH an unfriendly bounce. Net, playas, not gross.)
Batter up: nice game tonight, Sux. If you can't tell, C. Piddy's sipping on the sarcasm sauce. Now your division lead's back down to single digits. You hear footsteps yet? Nice start this weekend by Dice Gay, though. Way to be a pussy and beat up on a National League team. Some of us are over that shit, Dice Gay. Y'all playas remember what happened the last time C. Piddy pitched in the NL? Oh, I don't know: sixth in the Cy Young voting. Nothing left to prove there, playas. Domination-sauce leaves a stain you can't wash out, not even if you use Stain Stick AND Chlorox. Trust me, playas. C. Piddy's tried.
Straight ballin': My man Giambi is right to speak out, and the media-piece needs to shut its truth vacuums. Steroids didn't turn him into the giant, bloody ox that is sitting in the corner of the clubhouse ripping through the Manhattan phone book before each game. Steroids didn't make him so fucking jacked that I once saw him rip the door off a cab and eat half of it before he realized it wasn't food. His fundamentally fucking boss body made him do that, and just because he foams at the mouth most of the time, it don't mean nothing. Jealousy's a sad thing, media types, and it's showing. Y'all wish y'all could be that core. My man is so phat he doesn't take showers, he just squeezes moisture out of every pore in his body to clean himself up. Like a cheetah (I think).
Straight-up: C. Piddy's working on some leads for a new elbow ligament. I told my nephew Reid I'd buy him like eight packs of Pokemon cards if he'd give me his, but his mom said no deal. I thought she was playing hardball and upped the offer to twelve packs, but no dice. Jesus, the kid's eleven; he could probably regrow the ligament during puberty or some shit. Whatevs, a hustla's gotta make a way out of "No way." If I'm not pitching back to back to back perfect games by August I can kiss that Cy Young goodbye. 81 up, 81 down, playas. You know how we do.
CHICKPEACE
PS - Can you imagine Borat (that retard I was telling all yall about earlier) playing NBA JAM? Dumbass probably doesn't even know the code to get Air Dog. HIGH FIYEEEV.
P.P.S. Does anyone know what the "i" in iPod stands for? That shit's keeping me up nights, playas.
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3 comments:
Never mixed up any domination sauce myself, but spot remover and a good pre-soak cleared up whatever dripped out of that chil-cheese hotdog I ate at the cockfights in Juarez that time. Shout it out, brother. Peace.
Oh yeah...it's a cheetah.
What up C.Piddy? After you shouted me out the other day I wanted to drop a line and tell you that I appreciate it. I read your blog all the time, the truth sauce you spread on daily events sure tastes better than any Tabasco sauce or any other condiment that just pales in comparison.
You may be wondering who I am, so let me open up your mind piece and enlighten you. I am Air Dog. Yeah I actually exist. My pops made the game when I was 8 years old, and put my mug on a character, making me evn more famous than you and your guns could ever imagine being.
Regardless, I'm a fan of the blog and your obvious respect for my computer graphically engineered skills makes my heart piece happy. Looks like you'll be suing my character a lot in your rehab.
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