I know it can be hard on the older child when the family welcomes a new addition. So in order to make The Buffet feel less neglected, here's a little tale that is certain to brighten spirits around here:
So Mrs. Reid's sister and her husband just got back from a trip to Arizona. They were there for a wedding (which was lovely I'm told). After the wedding they venture to a local watering hole across the street from the hotel. This bar, like a lot of bars located by hotels, was not an overly crowded joint, so when they walk in they can't help but notice a large, Venezuelan gentleman sitting at the bar with a couple of buddies (read: cronies). They examined him, and could it be... maybe... yes, yes it is.... it's Carlos Zambrano. So my brother-in-law and his buddy decide they are going to approach "El Toro" and say hello. The walk up to the bar and say something to the effect of "Hey Carlos, congrats on throwing that no-hitter. That was awesome." Short, sweet, respectful. That's probably not what I would've gone with, but to each his own. Zambrano, the stand up guy that he's known to be, shakes their hands says "Thanks guys" and then says "Here have a beer on me," and hands them a beer.
Pretty cool, for a guy that's supposedly a total douchefuck. The guys return to the table, and my bro-in-law takes a swig of the beer that Zambrano had just hooked him up with. Something is not right about this beer. It's warm, and it has a peculiar flavor to it. It doesn't quite register at first, but after a few moments of mental processing it becomes apparent that, while there is beer in there, this isn't just beer -- it's also Carlos Zambrano's SPITTER!!! That's right, that odd flavor was fucking chew and the now noticed flakes in the bottom are NOT extra hops. So in a matter of one swig Big Z goes from being perhaps not as huge a dickhole as everyone says, to being the biggest fuckstick to ever walk the Earth! Way to take care of your fans there Z!!!
So, once this whole scene fully registers in the brains of these gentlemen, the question becomes "What the fuck do we do now?" The answer: Go have words with Big Z. So they head back over to the bar to give Zambrano a piece of their minds. They return to find Big Z and his entourage heading out the door. At this point discretion is the better part of valor and they opt against chasing the douche-nozzle into Arizona night.
So, this year I will be hoping for every pitch that Big Z throws gets lined right back off his person in some way, shape, or form. Not that I didn't want in previous seasons, but this year I'm going to be rooting extra hard. So feel free in joining me in ripping this fucking cock smoker (as if anyone around these parts needed any extra encouragement). Needless to say, I think we have a leader in the clubhouse for the 2010 Biggest Douche in the Universe award.