Post number one hundred, bitches!
Anyways, it turns out
Neifi Perez is on the muscle sauce. Not only that, he wants you to know he's not stupid, or in his words, "I say to my fans I am not stupid." Come on, Neifi, let's be serious. You have no fans. Not only are you bad, you're not quite bad enough for you to have ironic fans like this man (note: Hideki Irabu fans most likely limited to me and me. I once purchased a XXL Irabu Rangers T-shirt jersey at the Ballpark in Arlington. Sadly, I wear a medium. It was not meant to be). Anyways, what I'm driving at in the same way that a drunk man drives down the highway, which is to say, through a couple of frontyards and over a few literary guardrails, is that anyone batting below the Mendoza line should be allowed to take all the goddamn 'roids they want. Do you really want to see what Neifi is capable of when he's not on the juice? What if he's so atrocious his average dips into the negative? Then we're not talking baseball problem, we're talking astro-physical space-time mathematical conundrum.

NEIFI PEREZ IS SO FUCKING UNTALENTED THAT GIVEN THE RIGHT CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE OPPURTUNITY, HE COULD UNMAKE THE VERY FABRIC OF OUR REALITY.

If we continue to let Bud Selig handle this situation, we're triple-jumping towards the dead walking the earth, craving the sweer succor of human flesh, and frankly, I don't think any city outside of Pittsburgh is equipped to handle a zombie and/or ghoul infestation.

Nevertheless, I bought some new shoes today, so when the Neifopalyse comes a callin, at least I'll be lookin spiffy. Or rolling large, quite large, if you will. If you won't, then you can fuck yourself. Just let the man take all the performance enhancers he wants, laughably small testicles be damned.