Hey, peeeeps. Sorry if I have a few more typos than usual in this article. I’m recovering and I ain’t quite right yet.
What are you recovering from, Duane?
Good question. I got my ass kicked by a trucker after I viideoed him getting a blow job from a Mexican whore at the truck stop where I used to work, up till last week. I was washing dishes in the restaurant at the Pilot Travel Center — where I could eat for free, which was nice. Their country fried steak ain’t bad. I would say go try it but now, to hell with em after they fired me for pretty much no reason.
Anyhoo, speaking of ass whuppins, the Braves are 1-2 and first chance they get to make a statement against their arch rivalry, the Nats, what happens? You got it. They lost.
I don’t like where this is headed to, folks. No Heyward, no Gattis, no Justin. No guts. No glory. No i phone for Duane any more and no health insurance. My best friend Hal, who as you might recall is married to my ex-wife, Brenda, came and got me out of the emergency room, and let me spend the night in his man cave where he mostly plays video games. Don’t tell Brenda. She don’t know he’s still helping me, or that I still owe Hal about $3,000.
Back to the Braves. Now that Minor’s going to have his arm amputated, and we already under .500, I don’t know what the hell’s gonna happen. I got no job, no wife, no money, though Hal’s gonna talk to his cousin, who’s manager at the new apartments out by the interstate near West Point about letting me dress up in a clown suit with a sign to try to get people to come in and look at the apartments.
Ah, shitfire. It’ll work out. I always manage to land on my feet. The Bravos? Well, if the Hawks can do it, maybe our Braves can do it, too. Congratulations, Nique for your statue and Nique Week. I hear that statue’s already taken 28 shots. Ha!
Kiss my ass, Liberty Media. Kiss my ass, cobb County. Kiss my ass, Josh McKoon. Kiss my ass, Bryce Harper.