Whatd'up you bags of hits? This your coach, and I'm here to do what I do best - complain about shit that doesn't matter and waste your time. So, shut off your brains and stick your eyenuts on this.
Brands Park, an Ode:
Fuck you, Brands
Your grass is grey
Your lumps are many
It's hard to play.
Your lights are dim
and patchy at best,
You must be possesed
like the Exor-sessed
Myself I think
you are the worst,
homerun balls
need only dribble past first.
A fine bathroom floor you would make,
or maybe a dump,
That anyone has to endure you
is bullshit.
I hate you Brands, I hate you so much,
go fuck yourself San Diego
get a make-over from the Pennsylvania Dutch.
'cuase those folks can fucking garden bitch!
Co-Ed team, let's bounce back and run amok all over whatever poor saps have the displeasure of facing the meanest, toughest, masterbattingest bringers of thunderclapped-ringed fury begot from the hellfire spawn of poorly maintained and engineered public recreational facilities upon which players of kickball interfere with the superior intellect, physical prowess and attractiveness of we who hurl the leather-bound orb of destiny about with such high efficiency that Hephaestus himself appeals to our knowledge so that he may design and forge a weapon capable of being wielded by, a Masterbatter.
*takes deep breath**mops brow**doffs straw hat in appreciation**passes out**totally makes a pass at hot EMS lady**gets shot down**hits the titty bar*
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