soft hands.

dear 2004 new york yankees,

i just want you to know it's okay with me if you choke; in fact, it's okay if you go down as the biggest chokers in baseball history, maybe in all of sports. you've given me a lot of joy this year, and i'll still love you no matter how this all ends up. it's okay if the sox beat you, but not if you beat yourselves. and that's where this is quickly going. do you realize that in the event of a sox win i'm going to have to hear about what a warrior that beer-gut chicken-legged drama queen motherfucker is for the rest of my life? that saggybritches kevin millar is never ever going to shut the fuck up ever again? that i'm going to see that replay of arod's ill-advised swipe in my dreams? that is, when i manage to sleep again.

like i said, i'll still love you. but know who won't? george. i can smell his panic from here, and he will ruin things more than he already has. please, don't give him that chance.

emotionally distancing myself already,


dear fans in attendance tonight,

since the whole hater world has visual evidence of a handful of jackasses making the rest of us look bad, thus validating in their narrow minds that we're all terrible people, well - might as well make it a party. lowe is going, and nasty stuff or not, he's still a headcase. if i don't hear MEN-TAL GID-GET in full effect, i'm going to be more disappointed than i already am, and that's pretty inconceivable at the mo.

7:49 AM :: ::
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