 | This is me kicking some ass |
Dear World,
Alright, you caught mebrown-handed. I dont know how to wipe. Thanks for noticing.
I find it necessary to come out with this information because the baseball world has been accusing me of using pine tar on my pitching hand. This couldnt be more inaccurate. It wasnt pine tar, it was poop. Because I dont know how to wipe.
Its not that I dont understand the physics of wiping; it is more that I just dont care. They dont call me The Gambler for nothingits like a spin of the roulette wheel after every time I displace bowel fodder.
I grew up on a strawberry farm in Florida, so I have never exactly been well-versed in using bathrooms that dont have moons on the door. Pooping was never an integral part of my upbringingwe were always forced to use strawberry leaves in the place of toilet paper. I dont know if you know much about strawberry farming, but poison ivy can look a lot like a strawberry plant. After 6 incidents of inflamed, itchy, and highly contagious grundel, I decided that I just didnt give a shit about wiping.
 | This is where I drop deuce |
And now I am in trouble, because supposedly I broke rule 8.02 (a) that says, the pitcher shall notapply a foreign substance of any kind to the ball. Poop is not a foreign substance, in fact, it is quite natural. If it was French poo or Russian poo, then I could see your argument. But it is MY poo, and I am American.
Furthermore, washing your hands is for nancies. I bet David Eckstein washes his handsseems like something he would do. I bet he also washes his vagina.
The Brown Spot controversy hasnt been the first assault to my character and my ineptitude in butt-wiping. There have been many cases of defamation against me. It started on July 29, 2005 with that asshole Larry Rodriguez and one of his cameraman cronies. I started out to the field to begin my pre-game warm-up at Ameriquest and what do I hear from Mr. Rodriquez, that cagy bastard, but a mention of the nickname from which I have been hiding ever since the Great Brownout Incident of 1977. Hey look, he said, Its Kenny Rogers and the Chocolate Factory! Did you come out here to make fudge? Have a good game brown trout! I had sworn to perform a Gold Glove-inspired karate chop followed by a Perfect Game elbow to the throat of anyone that called me that. So I did. He didnt see it coming. After he retrieved his camera pieces and popped his shoulder back into place he said, I am going to sue your ass! And your balls! So he did. Prick.
All of this because sometimes a little fecal matter finds its way to the palm of my hand after I drop my ritual pre-game dook. And then some of that poo finds its way to the baseball, causing it to have a trajectory similar to a mud-ball in golf. And then this trajectory causes me to pitch 8 shutout innings in the World Series. Big deal.
Yours truly,
Kenny Rogers
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