We did it! Me and My Boy KERSHAW!1! have finally broken through. Joe Posnaski, whom I greatly respect, put Uncle Charles on his Top 100 list. Prestige!
Feels good, doesn’t it? Finally appreciated for all that talent, and all those good looks. I think I’ll treat myself to a little milkshake while I peruse the rest of the list…
*spits milkshake all over monitor*
What. In. The. FUCK!
71? 71?! You, Joe Posnaski whom I greatly respect, are trying to tell me that there are 70 players better than My Boy KERSHAW!1!. Poppycock!
Let’s see what you’ve got here…
Pujols at one. Okay, no complaints here. Greinke as best pitcher? Whatever. That emo little gremlin couldn’t handle the pressure like KERSHAW!1! does. Lincecum way up there? Alright, but I liked him better when he was just a musician. Wait…
Sandoval at 25?! That fat tub of crap hasn’t proven anything at the bigs yet! One decent half does not get you on the first page of the list. Plus he’s a Giant, which means he’s not just getting fat on regular gravy, but man gravy as well. Matt Cain, another gravy gobbler, at 27?! Look at this picture of Cain and tell me that they don’t keep him around just to see if he goes all Tyrell on somebody.
Ugh, now I’ve lost my appetite. What, I can’t eat around retarded people, is that so weird? Whatever.
5 closers. 5 guys who pitch one inning at a time, not even every day, get ahead of the greatest curveball on Earth. That’s it. I’m done.
Clayton, let’s get out of here. I need another milkshake. And make sure everyone in the restaurant is “up to speed” this time.
*shouting* My whipped ice dairy drink brings the attention of many males to my place of residence and/ or employment, and they declare that its quality far surpasses that of yours. Absolutely, it far surpasses yours. I could convey to you the recipe, but i would have to demand compensation.