Sweet Uncle Lou’s Friday Roundup: The “Ahh! Cicadas!” Edition

The other night, I thought I was Hancock-drunk, because the ground wouldn’t stop moving. Turns out there are f@#$ing cicadas everywhere? What the hell is that all about? I’ve been catching them and giving them names like Eckstein, Giles, Izturis, and Rothschild’s Penis.

• So, yesterday I plugged some of our statistics into my computer and my computer came up with the answer to all of our problems: We suck!
• God, the Tribune is stupid. They must have followed Rick Morrissey into the bathroom, ducked into the stall after he left, grabbed the toilet paper he just used, and printed it. He thinks that I’m naive for thinking I could win here, and he thinks the franchise is cursed. I think his head looks like a thumb. I win.
• In case you were worried that the cicadas were a sign of the apocalypse, don’t worry. Commissioner Gordon is still a moron. This time, he thinks that the reason I said Dempster might move to the rotation was to “prepare for life after Zambrano.” He didn’t realize it was to “get dipshits like him off my back about the bullpen for three days.”
• Speaking of the bullpen, it’s possible that Wuertz may eventually be the guy closing out games. He’s been my best reliever all year, if you can get past the fact that he’s also been the ugliest reliever I have ever seen.
• Speaking of people who make babies cry, Sean Marshall made the rotation, giving us three left-handed starters. I’m trying to teach Zambrano to throw lefty, too, which would give us four. God knows throwing with his right hand isn’t working out.
• Have you been named yet in the lawsuit started by the father of the Greatest American Hero since Barbaro? If you haven’t, you will. It seems that the father of Booze-o the Clown is suing everyone and their mothers because his son isn’t coordinated enough to operate a car drunk while smoking a joint and getting phone sex. He learned it by watching you, mother f@#$er! This douchekeg (thanks, Brandon) is actually suing the guy whose car broke down on the highway. If I were that guy, and I was served with that suit, I would wipe my ass with it and submit it to the Tribune for publishing.
• The Muskrat checked in the other day to let us know that we need to find consistency. No shit. The only headline that could have been more obvious would have been “Muskat Needs to Find Sensitive Man with Schoolmarm Fetish.”
• Zambrano’s hurt! Or so Commissioner Gordon would have you believe. Zambrano’s a hotheaded idiot who lets his emotions break his concentration! Or so I would have you believe. Who are you going to trust?
• Fay Vincent to Barry Bonds: “F@#$ you, cheater!” Not really, but pretty close. Vincent told Bud Selig that Bud shouldn’t honor Bonds by following him around once he gets close to the home run record. Little does Vincent know that the gravitational pull from Barroid’s massive f@#$ing head will draw Selig in, anyhow.
• If we don’t catch the soap-opera acting homos in front of us, I am going to start hunting my own roster for sport. I create enough soap operas in the clubhouse, thank you very much.
• Oh, you know how we sent Cotts down to Iowa? Well, we’re stretching him out to be a starter. If my plan goes well with Zambrano, that would be FIVE lefties in the rotation. We’ll send Marquis somewhere else for the sake of his mental health.
• Someone not on the White Sox failed a methamphetamine test? Really? It’s only too bad they can’t test for “stupid asshole who keeps getting chances to redeem himself and continues to f@#$ up.”

Well, I gotta go. I’ve been eating cicadas for the last few days, and I’m more than a little nervous about the way my last shit looked.

God bless all those who have fought and died for this country, and all you young men and women still doing so (even you, Tom, JD, and TEC, and any of our other regular readers who are currently serving or who have previously served in our military). You folks are braver than Rothschild was when we made him do a “power sit-up” under Quade. Happy Memorial Day weekend.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

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