Monday, September 27, 2010

September 26 2010 PHI v NYM Game 3. Hefty Hefty Clinch Sack

It sure is a shame it had to go down this way, Followers, it is. Dropping the last muts series of the year, the finale of which being a NL east clinching situation. It really is a shame that our boys couldn't fucking crack open them champagne bottles and jizz each other down like a boring night at the frat house in victorious, orgasmic glee with the muts firmly under our heels for yet another season. It's a real fucking bonzo bummer that the umpire wanted to shove a lamp post up Cole Hamels' dickeye rather than do their jobs. It's also blows that we could hit for fucking dick with RISP. It's a crying Phucking shame, really. Especially on Fan Apreesh Day.

But you know what ain't such a shame? That we, THE MIGHTY PHUCKING PHIGHTIN'S, are no fucking matter what, going to the fucking post-season while the loathsome flushing queens get to head back to their off-season carwash gigs and pending assault cases! Phuck you. There is mathematically no way the Phils could be eliminated as no one in the National League can best the Phillies 93 wins. Even with your little final gasp of victory you cannot stop shit. You are weak. Blow me. My penis.

I think it's pretty apparent that the muts masterfully laid down for the braves in some tawdry attempt to thwart the Fightin's chance at a division title. I honestly would not put this hypothesis of mine past these cretins from the upper borough. 

And really, we have to fucking get our shit together with RISP. Yesterday was a fucking joke. I think we stranded maybe 36,000 runners with a 2 run deficit. I understand the urge to play your asses off might be waining with the clinch possibility seeming so inevitable but fuck, if we're to stay hot we have to play hot-to-Phucking-trot all the way. No Phucking mercy for the weak. Complete and utter vagina covering domination. Grind your teeth, bear the fuck down, wear women's underwear or dirty condoms, whatever. Stay horny.

Could it be the clinch jitters? Anxious to finish? I know the feeling. It's like the old joke. 

Me: How can you tell when a woman's has had an orgasm?

Chris Wheeler: Are you serious?

It was still a Phucking good time at the park yesterday as I got to meet Follower Karen. It was good to see her hurling drunken abuse at any mats fan within earshot. I think I saw her even whip out a Phillies themed blow-dart pipe. It's amazing what you can do while yer on the clock @ CBP.

I'm leaving the fucking country AGAIN tonight, F's but this time for a much shorter duration. I'm going to Ireland to drink a lot and stalk Adam Clayton, sexually. Hopefully I can buy a Guinness shirt and have a whiskey with the town leper as he peels potatoes for his village. Or plan a bombing. I'll be home the day before the play-offs start. Just letting yous know The Clog might be filled with dorky images of an American abroad being as ignorant as possible on purpose to show the rest of the world who's fucking boss. We are. Please don't crowd my family at the airport for autographs, I'll be having a blog signing at the Wawa at Girard and York next month, yo.

If we get 'er done tonight in DC it's only fitting that Doc be on the mound. He has been with it all season. Hopefully all The Men watched the season premier of Eastbound and Down last night for inspiration. It was the titties. "If there's one thing I hate more than anything in the world, it's soccer! And I hate when people do it around me!" Nuff said.

Fuck new york and most times use protection.


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