Thursday, April 3, 2008

Dear, Lance Berkman

I love you Lance. Not just because Texas is the universe to ya or your offensive capabilities or how you ate a twinkie some asshole fans were baiting you with while calling you fat or how you are now the glue that holds this waning franchise together since Biggio retired. Seriously, you WILL be the Biggio of this current wave of Astros sucktitude; a great teammate, a tough as nails ballplayer, and someone willing to pick flowers out in right field when the club asks you to even though you're a first basemen and should never be stuck out there just to make room for a bat less impressive than yours. Despite the love, I do have a couple of bones to pick with you.
First, get off the whole Jeebus thing. I don't care about your religious beliefs and your quest to guide young atheletes to the light (how about you try that shit on Chris Henry and Pacam Jones. Or Milton Bradley or Delmon Young). It's kinda creepy and it makes me wonder what skeletons you're hiding in the closet. Like in two years we're gonna see you on To Catch a Predator skeletons. I do respect you for not doing the whole kiss the fingers and then hold them up to the sky routine. That is fucking lame. Yeah, because Bog wanted you to hit the dinger instead of the equally religious pitcher striking you out. Remember the old axiom, "God is only in the winners locker room." I would totally love to hear a ballplayer say in a post-game loss interview, "God, just didn't want us to win this one." It'll never happen and the umpires and HUMAN faults will continue to be blamed for the L's for eternity.
Sorry, Lance. I got carried away. But back to my point, tone the whole Jeebus freak shit down. That or get caught with some hookers and a pile of blow and then fuck up your knee playing touch football on your road to redemption.
Second, the whole Big Puma thing ain't gonna happen. Fat Elvis will be your legacy no matter how much Richard Justice tries to shove the Puma down our throats. And hey, you're really not fat. I've seen you in person and you're a pretty lean cat. But your a few jean sizes up from Adam Everett and have no chin. Therefore, the whole Fat Elvis thing caught on. We could understand that. We cannot understand Big Puma. I mean, puma's are pretty lean and sleek so you pretty much just made a fat joke about yourself so you can't bitch. Oh, and giving yourself a nickname is fucking weak. If you REALLY want to be known as something other than Fat Elvis (and I pray you do not), then holler at Annie Savoy. Nuke Laloosh, brother.
Jay Debauchery

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