Wassup to all you toolboxes and 0.0 Experiment groupies? I can’t go one day without someone pestering me on my email, facebook, or the one the site I operate on the most, Myspace about writing a new blog (mainly Whitey and Sheehan). The thing is, unlike those two douchelords, I have a life that involves getting my fingers wet and dropping Lazy K downpours on unsuspecting Myspace poon. So if you want the 0.0 Experiment to fuck you up with truth on a daily basis you’re out of luck, especially last week considering it was Little 5 week. Now contrary to popular belief, I actually made it to a few classes, but most of my time was spent stealing books at the library from nerds who went to the bathroom so I could sell them back at the bookstore, and trying to frat at the best of my ability. I usually tend to stay away from the frat scene considering most frats (and by most, I mean Pi Kapps) bro extremely too hard, but with the undying love Delts shows me I had to show some back by doing my best to creep out 90% of Gamma Phi’s pledge class the very first night of Little 5. Even Reggie made his weekly trip to Delts, his frat of choice since every other one “wouldn’t give him a bid because he took all their girls”. Not real sure about the truth behind that since every night I see him talking to a girl who is a 7 at best, holding hands all night, maybe the occasional dance, but can’t close the deal.
Enough about how fucking awesome we are because the biddy that tried to skip town with my time piece this weekend could go on all day about our eminence, I’ve got something else I want to get off of my mind. This kid in one of my classes, some d-bag who watches so much porn he swears he is in relationships with Audrey Bitoni and Eva Angelina, asked me if I wanted to fill in on his intramural softball team. Reggie went home, so I was going to spend my Wednesday night killing a 12 pack of Miller High Life by myself then walk to Wal Mart to tell little kids to enjoy their time when they can piss their pants and not need an excuse for it, and to steal vintage tank tops (Sure I can afford them but when you are probably going to have your own TV show and you already have groupies like those twins from Brownstown, there are things you just don’t do….and one of them is pay for your own tank tops) but doing some work in softball sounded better.
So I showed up 15 minutes late because I started listening to classics like Soundgarden’s “black hole sun”, Limp Bizkit’s “nookie”, and “Butterfly” by Crazytown (I wouldn’t say I’m a Crazytown-a-holic…..but I wouldn’t say I’m not) so I got in one of those zones, you know what I mean. Of course needing space for trophies so I could show off to the biddies, I didn’t bring any baseball gear either, so I arrived in my patented 90s vintage tank top (No, not your run of the mill crapperwear, I’m talkin’ about a 1994 San Antonio Spurs tank top, so yeah, I looked pretty fucking awesome). When I got there some doucher, not realizing who I was, wouldn’t stop calling me “the dude”. I guess he was making fun of my tank, but he is obviously retarted because that’s an awesome name, almost as cool as my nickname, “Lazy K”. Naturally I’m lazy as shit so it works perfect. I also love the name since it sounds awesome for my business “Lazy K Cuts”, where I give dougies while we listen to Jock Jams, Creed, and N.W.A. for the small price of a blunt.
Now for those of you who aren’t from the Kentuckiana area or just don’t watch the Little League World Series, let me fill you in. I was probably the best little leaguer New Albany Township or New Albany City League has ever fucking seen. I was getting police escorts to K-Mart to sign up every year, and the year I threatened to not play when they tried to make a rule against me pitching 2 games in a row because of my pure dominance, they gave my team authentic jerseys and fitted caps. When try outs to rate kids for the draft came along I would come on three hours of sleep because I was fingerblasting Jennifer Markson (while doing the Westside symbol with my fingers) at her house until I fell asleep when she made me watching some dumb fucking movie called Save The Last Dance and had to walk to try outs year after year. I’d finally show up, late, and throw knuckleballs to the kid I was throwing with, point to the fence and whiff on purpose when I was hitting, and jog in slow motion when they were getting my 40 time, it was a fucking joke. Everyone in the gym knew my ass was top pick, it was just a matter of what team I’d being sticking my Boa Constrictor-like genatalia in week in and week out. I had parents fighting over the first pick so I could take their team to the ship and make them feel like winners for once. My dad coached every year but I never got to play for him because he never had first pick. He had second once but the guy with first pick knew what my shit was about and couldn’t pass me up. Biddies instinctively stalked to my games like Monarchs migrating to Mexico in the fall, I was inevitably making the All-Star team and calling the shots on my league team. My grandpa pitched for the Yankees so George Steinbrenner had been scouting me since I was like 3, it’s true that I threw a 1 hitter with a broken finger, I had a Barry Zito curve in 5th grade, and I was hitting switch before it was cool to be a switch hitter, so yeah, I’m fucking sick. I’d probably be in Jason Heyward’s shoes right now if I hadn’t figured out biddies in New Albany will open their legs for any basketball player.
So this fag that asked me to fill in on his lame ass softball squad was in for a rude awakening when he realized I could take any pitcher the other team put on the mound yard with wood, let alone his Demarini and I had too much swag for the “Master Batters”. Original name I know. I’m making a team next year just so I can have an awesome name like “Premature E-Shaqulators” for our basketball team. They put me in right field and penciled me in at 7th in the lineup. Obviously he wasn’t aware I only made 2 errors ever in little league, once because I wanted to fuck up this fag on my team’s perfect game, and another because some d-bag said I couldn’t catch a pop up in my hat. He also probably didn’t know that I’m like 8 for 10 with 6 rubies and 2 homers lifetime against that piece of shit Aaron Alvey either.
I’m not going to bore you posers with the game details because it was mostly same old same old with me making the biddies wet with my golden glove and fluid stroke at the plate, the real shit popped off in the 9th….Only because they wouldn’t let me pitch (must’ve been something like the rule in pee wee football where you can’t run the ball if you are over a certain weight, but instead you can’t pitch if you were hurling fastballs at 65 with a 10 to 8 movement on it before you were legally able to go see Godzilla without your parents). So it was tied up at 12 a piece in the top of the 9th with 2 outs and of course I’m up. They want to pinch hit some Alec Kerr wannabe because it’s “their team”, I look that sack of shit in the eye and say “chill the fuck out, I got this” and go dig into the box (not without blowing a kiss to some bitty, she was a solid 8. That’s not why I blew the kiss though, the pitcher’s girlfriend had been eye fucking me all day, just wanted to make her jealous). I get one up and away, my spot, I took it opposite field with what I would call a glorified check swing because that asshole tried to pitch around me. It was looking like a game winner and for those of you asking yourself how hard I can hit and did hit it, let’s just say I Benny The Jet Rodriguez’d it and knocked the cover off of the fucking ball. Of course I pimped the shit out of it too. A nasty bat toss, hit the other team with my patented nut grab and shocker with the other hand, and then pointed to all the biddies (game winner in the 9th? I’m pretty sure the only way that would end would be me drenching all the biddies with a Lazy K cloudburst). I was feeling good until some fuck that thought he was Jeff Bagwell told me it went foul. Pissed enough I was going to have to think of a line other than “I hit the game winner, so yeah, lets hit my dorm room” to take the pitcher’s girl and her friend to Pound Town later that night, that same Alec Kerr wannabe said “dude, I thought it was gone. Like it would have been like that Aaron Boone homer against the Red Sox dude”. If I wasn’t determined to throw a nut shot to Bagwell as I rounded first base, I would have thrown my bat at that douche. If you knew one thing about Lazy K, it’s that, other than Aaron Alvey, Boone represents all that is soulless and unholy. Being so worked up by this scene and that tool pitcher trying to pitch around me I pulled out a sacrifice fly that scored the game winner. No big deal.
A lot of you are saying 1 of 3 or maybe all 3 things to yourself right now. “This blog is sooooo long”, well get the fuck over it, you should have just read it in parts but you’re a dumbass, probably why you aren’t as legit as myself. “Why isn’t construction paper more socially acceptable?” Same thing I’ve been asking myself for years. Personally I love that shit and I can’t figure out why my teacher gives me the lemon face when I turn in a research paper and it is 8 pages of construction paper. Ever heard of creativity bitch? Or “your life is like a movie”. Exactly, I make every day shit look fucking mind blowing. My biography would be a whole lot more interesting than that fag Benjamin Button’s, my beard has experienced more than his digressing aged body. So it comes to the question, who would play Alec Kerr in the movie? I’ll tell you who, some good looking fuck like Leonardo DiCaprio….or Chris Meloni. Someone with balls. I can guarantee you that Die Hard, The Godfather: Part II, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, Do The Right Thing, E.T., Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle, Titanic, Friday Night Lights, Forrest Gump, and Top Gun all put together won’t be more American than my shit. Know why? Because I’m a Goddamn American icon.
"SURE I'VE BEEN CALLED A XENOPHOBE,BUT THE TRUTH IS I'M NOT. I HONESTLY JUST FEEL THAT AMERICA IS THE BEST COUNTRY AND ALL THE OTHER COUNTRIES AREN'T AS GOOD. THAT USED TO BE CALLED PATRIOTISM."
No comments:
Post a Comment