I’m here, y’all. I keep coming up with vastly intriguing subjects about which to blog (what else is new?), but then I get distracted, forget them, and curse myself out for not writing it down. I got stuck in a rut and LTJ’s calling call brought me back.
Actually, the real reason for my absence is that bastard Josh Beckett. Well, I’m most angry at Curt Schilling. He reads The Diatribe (during breaks from Everquest and Sons of Sam Horn) and he tipped off Beckett about my last entry. Josh didn’t take to kindly to my suggestions. He showed up at my house one day (with that thug Youkilis) and broke my hands. Youkilis tied my hands to a fence and Beckett kept throwing fastballs at my hands until he heard snaps. What’s really odd is that they kept referring to each other as “Thomas” and “The Cab Driver.”
Say it with me now….
YYYYYOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Youkilis totally rubs me the wrong way. He freakin’ started crying when he was hit by a pitch last season. The guy constantly looks like he’s about to go run to his mommy. I wish him well this season and he’s not on Old Mustache Face territory, but he’s on my Sox Not to Love list.