J.P. Ricciardi, Toronto’s Pencil-Pushing Party
By Stuart Shea
I.
J.P. Ricciardi, Toronto’s pencil-pushing party,
has a big, big, big, big, mouth.
Adam Dunn’s a hitter (tho J.P. sez he’s a quitter)
And he’s happy hacking homers in the south.
When Ricciardi, on the radio, dissed Dunn to Blue Jay nation,
It came without a thorough explanation.
Canadian guys, from B.C. to P.E.I,
Said, “J.P. must have skipped his medication!”
II.
Now J.P. says the two have talked it all over–
But Dunn says it just isn’t so.
The Jays fired their skipper, but look out, J. The Ripper–
You might be the next one to go.
Posted 6/30/08
Roger Clemens’ Emotional Distress
by James Finn Garner
Brian McNamee slimed my name,
Slandered my game,
Handed me shame.
I never did the things he said.
He hurt my cred.
**sniff**
Wish I were dead.
Can’t sleep at night, I have bad dreams,
Hear crazy screams,
‘Bout clears and creams.
Next time the two of us cross paths,
I’ll rip him in half
And gnaw on his lats.
Whatever’s left, I’ll chop in bits
And mail t’ his kids,
Mis’rable shits.
I’m warning you, judge, don’t forget:
I was a meek pet
Ere he and I met.
Posted June 3, 2008
The White Sox’ Rubber Soul
by James Finn Garner
You say your batters can’t swing it?
Their whiffing gives you chills?
I got an old-school remedy for
Fixin’ all your ills.
Take all your Louisville Sluggers,
Arrange ‘em in a stack,
Then get set for a mighty hoodoo
(There ain’t no turnin’ back).
Now get yourself some love dolls–
You know the kind I mean,
Those cuties made of polymerized
Isobutylene.
Inflate them gals and set them ’round
Your mighty pile of sticks
And pray for their blow-up blessings
And soon you’ll get your licks.
You’ll feel your eyeballs quicken
And your pencil fill with lead,
And by August your White Sox will be
Twenty games ahead.
But don’t blaspheme the rubber gods
Or disrespect their medicine,
Or they’ll do to you just what they did
To Brian Anderson.
Posted 5/12/08
