Monday, April 21, 2008

Of Eggs and Omlets

Ho Hum, another day, another victim.

Sure, everyone said the right things in the aftermath. But you know what really happened, don't you? You think I do anything "mutually?" I don't even know what "amicable" means. It is my way or the fuck you way. Publicly bad-mouthing me and the team? That sort of contempt is off the charts, and will be dealt with one way - harshly.

My job is to make the team better. A open sore in the clubhouse and a hole in the middle of our my lineup doesn't make anything better. I told him I wasn't going to play him everyday, and he didn't think that would work for him. Clearly he now knows who his daddy is, and what it means not to work. I save the bosses $10 million bucks next year, and every single motherfucker in the clubhouse knows who is the HNIC. Who knows how I'll spend that free money? You better believe that it will be some mind-blowing, next-level shit.

I know that Thomas will get his, but I don't care. I need production now. I've got this kid I DRAFTED murdering the ball, dying to get back to the show. I've had my talons into this kid since he was 21, so he knows the face of God and who makes the sun rise and fall. Pressure on the kid? Pressure?? This is the big fucking leagues, pressure doesn't mean a gotdammed thing. Real pressure is convincing some clown's wife that the foursome was her idea, and making my wife think it's no big deal.

What the fuck did you just say? Bonds? As in Barry Bonds? You think I want to bring that circus to town? There already is a ringmaster for this show, and there is only room in this organization for one massive, swollen head.

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