Dear Roger Clemens...

C'mon...this is funny stuff:

Dear Roger Clemens,

Let me offer my hearty congratulations on starting the All-Star Game. Wow, that is really terrific. I'd like to note, however, that I hate you.

Also: You are fat. They say you've got this hard-core training regimen, with calisthenics and whatnot. I'm not seeing it. You're wicked fat.

Oh, perhaps that was uncalled for. You know what else was uncalled for? Sucking, every time it mattered. You ruined my childhood, fatty. Because the trauma you put me through as a young, impressionable Red Sox fan has stunted my emotional growth, I revert to a juvenile mind-set whenever I see you. Like repeatedly calling you fat...

I'd like to add that it's not just me. Nobody likes you. It's just a matter of degree -- of how much we hate you. Personally, I measure my hate in terms of how severely I want you to be injured. Like, I guess I wouldn't want to see you crippled for life, so you couldn't walk anymore. But I really wouldn't mind if you pulled your groin and missed five starts. That's the over-under on my hate...

Hey, don't think I'm done with you, Clemens. What about this: Not only do you have no fans, you have no team. You don't travel with the Astros unless you have to, and then you go all by yourself. What's with that? If you could, I'm certain you'd hire yourself out, start by start, to the highest bidder. You baseball whore. Maybe we should just play the All-Star Game at your house, in your backyard. Would that be more convenient, chump?

In conclusion, I really, really hate you.

Sincerely,
A Baseball Fan

Conspiarcy theory

The big conspiracy of the day: Mike Piazza tipped batters off to Clemens's pitches last night in an act of sweet revenge, thus letting Clemens get battered in the All Star game, in front of his hometown crowd. Rumor also has it that Piazza was smiling widly underneath his catcher's mask.

Now, I don't really believe this theory. But, if true, I can't help but want to buy Piazza a beer.

However, I tend to believe that Clemens did himself in the old-fashioned way. By choking.

Ask, and I shall answer

A recent IM exchange:

K: What type of muffin would you be and how would you escape if someone tried to eat you?

Me: I would be an English muffin because no one would try to eat me since they'd know I would fight valiantly, unlike a limp piece of French toast.