After getting three comments, two of which coming from someone who by law must love me and coddle me and do what I say lest I call child services again (although they always hang up when I tell them I'm in my mid-twenties), I should really be posting something doodieriffic. Like maybe how I found a used piece of toilet paper (or a really thin napkin from someone who ate a lot of peanut butter) in the garage that I pay over 100 clams a month to park in. That's right, I shell out the big bucks to park in what can only be described as the bottom of a giant, cement port-a-let.
But I'm feeling generous and will instead use this little soapbox for a higher purpose: mercilessly poking fun at people who don't know me behind the reassuring curtain of anonymity that is the internet.
Dear guy who sat in front of us at yesterday's Tribe game,
I thought you were cute from behind. When you turned around, I knew I was wrong for two reasons: one, because I figured out you were a Boston fan, and two, because your face looked like an orangutan's ass crack. I might have picked a cuter animal's bottom-parts to compare your face to, but you were turning around to tell me that "Boston doesn't suck." So now I hate your face.
Would I scream "Boston Sucks" over and over at the top of my lungs if Boston didn't actually suck? Not bloody likely. I also wouldn't scream "Manny, you UGLY!" and "You're going to die alone, Ortiz!" if those weren't also 100% factual.
But let me clarify, ugly face. I understand that Boston bought--err, won themselves a World Series. And as far as a collective baseball aptitude goes, the Red Sox are up there. See, when I said suck, I meant "fellate." Perhaps if I had been yelling "Boston Fellates" we could've avoided all this ass-to-face comparison. But as they say, monkey-rump-face-man, hindsight is 20/20.
Then, as you'll remember, someone told you to go back to Boston. You yelled "I'm not from Boston, you idiot." That's when I figured out that you were a probably Boston fan from Cleveland. This was also about the time I started picturing myself bludgeoning you to death with one of Ortiz's severed manboobs. Not long after, you started inviting Tribe fans to come down a few rows and say stuff to your face. I think we were all as close as we ever wanted to be to your gorilla-pooper face, thank you.
On a separate note, I feel it's important to point out that you were the only man in the stadium wearing woman's leather Isotoner gloves. You must have adorable, tiny, little hands.
Well, that's about it. I've got to get back to plotting assorted acts of wickedness against you and Joe Borowski. He's not nearly as monkey-ass-faced, but he pitches like an Olsen twin.
Regards,
Stephanie
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1 comment:
the game sounded fun. i'm surprised i hadn't already heard about the monkey-faced boston fan while eating lunch at the bean. too bad borowski blew it and you didn't have to joy of gloating over a tribe victory.
speaking of borowski, it occurred to me recently that his name sounds an awful lot like someone from the office. i wonder if borowski's problems are linked to drinking too much house chardonnay. or maybe it could help. who knows?
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