Monday, June 2, 2008

Dave Bush Is Killing My Rock n' Roll.

I don't want any Brewers player to not succeed. Really, I don't. If Rickie Weeks hit .400 for the next three weeks, I wouldn't be upset. I wouldn't back down from my stance that he's one of the most disappointing draft picks in Brewer history (though even if he went on a three-state killing spree tomorrow that ended with him torching Miller Park, he still wouldn't qualify as the most disappointing draft pick ever -- congrats, Antone Williamson, you steaming piece of shit!), but I wouldn't start rooting for him to start taking 3-2 fastballs again either.

That said, I have so many good Dave Bush jokes. It's like I'm sitting in a bunker stockpiled with ammo, but there aren't any hostiles in the area. (Note: this may have been the poorest analogy I've ever made. I'm terrified of combat, hand-to-hand, gun-to-gun, sword-to-sword or otherwise. I would never be in a bunker. And even if I was, I would have no idea what to do with the ammo.)

And now that's two solid outings in a row for Dave Bush. You are killing my funny, Dave Bush.

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