Rantoul is a Hellhole





It could be any year since Jesus fucking Christ…but after the industrial revolution…yet it just so happens, it could be 2011 A.D and that is what it is.  What a fucking futuristic year, on paper.  Who would have thought that games of basedballs would still be played the same way they were in the ancient past even though they really aren't, maybe. My oh my how time flies these days….a decade is a year, an era is a day and a millisecond hasn't happened yet.  Paradigm shifts happen so fast you can't fucking notice them or better yet they happen so fast that they never happened in the first place because time doesn't exist anymore since we are outside of history now because we don't print the books anymore, the paper is from South America and the ink isn't ink.

If you had asked me in the mid-80's, how many stolen bases would lead the league in 2011 I would have said 1000 or 0…it would have all depended on if bionic-cyborg legs were of higher quality composite nanotechery than the carbon graphite circuital robo-arms of the catcher players.  Did Easton make a better flesh-slingshot than Rawling's did its baserunner gyro swivels?  Which OEM had better ball bearings for the ceramic pivot rotors?  Surely you could not suggest with any seriousness that Lockheed Martin's gridview retina robotics would surpass the merits of Wilson's augmented existence gogglery!  Instead of having artificial intelligence mannequins playing the game we know and enjoy; "they" "force" "us" to ogle human beings no human would even know existed or would even be possibly to care about if "they" hadn't invented baseball to make money off of us in the future, in the past.  Now I know why I didn't make it to the Major Leagues, its because I'm not a fucking dimwitted mental fuckstick…but "they" made me want to be a braindead shitfucker in pinstriped tight pants when I was a kid and the whole rigamorale of practicing, caring and competing distracted me just long enough to take any chance away from me to be able to cure cancer or manifest world peace.  Good job "they"!  Now you can still make money off of legal drugs and placate our elderly away from their innate fear of death and the retribution they want to enact on the young that you still need to make capital.  Now you cans still wage wars against boogiemen.






Here we are in the future but it seems like baseball bats have been uninvented or deinvented or misvented.  I can't tell if Comcast photoshops bats into Gordon Beckham's hand and then they control the ball magnetically from their towers in Alaska to make it appear as if we was fouling off round baked goods with macadamia nuts and shit or if they are all just an optical illusion or a hologram.  Holograms are so passé, you could have bought them at Sharper Image or Brooks Brothers in the 80's and put them on your shelf and looked at them and marveled over their futuristic novelty.  Look how they float ominously, just take another look at how useless they are in their non-existence.  Now they probably might make bats out of them?  You could have been asking yourself, if Rhubarb actually meant shit cookie two sentences up and yes I mean a cookie made out shit and macadamia because that is what a cookie looks like when it explodes into tiny bits as it careens off Beckhams bat into the ether.  I apologize for diverting away from original point but what I was trying to say was, the invention of invisible bats has ruined the game.  I wish I knew what they made them out of so I could just make money out it, instead of going to White Sox baseball games and using actual currency   


Who put a pox on our concrete pillbox?  Hitler probably could have commit suicide at the Cell if the Allies were knocking on the door.  It would have been bleak enough to blow his brains out in the bullpen bar while nursing a Miller Lite guardedly in his cradle.  Some people I know don't like getting too drunk when they go to baseball games because they actually want to pay attention to the game and remember it.  Those people are fucking idiots.  I haven't been sober at a game since the 2005 playoffs.  How the fuck else is anyone supposed to want to remember basedballs played with invisible bats and brainwashed zombies with negative Drake3's and IQ's.   God forbid you don't take a perfectly outside ball as it sweeps into the dirt, no…please swing at it to counteract the elation and amazement I have that there are actually people on the based paths.  I don't remember how they got there in the first place, kind of like I don't remember being the sperm AND the egg.  Fucking gross all of it.  These social nitwit pariahs are punishing us by doing the exact opposite of what someone is supposed to do.  It is as if their involuntary nervous system all of the sudden became voluntary, it is as if the two options they have had millions of conscious and voluntary steps to take to get to the two possible outcomes.  So they end up doing nothing or just doing it very poorly.  Swing the fucking bat and when you do, swing to make fucking contact already.  I could have helped them out this season but I am not stupid enough to get the chance.  I should have worshipped Christ and read Harry Potter maybe the scouts would have looked at me then but they would have known I was trying to game their evaluation systems, it would have come up as a red flag.





Since all essays MUST be five paragraphs, I suppose I will continue.  Everyone loves how unique the game of baseball is right?  Each player has their own fucking stance but as long as their hands get in the right fucking position they can get the plane of the bat through the zone correct enough to get hits.  Watching half our team in the box before the pitch is like being forced to watch that homeless fuck with the great voice that everyone was gaga over last summer win the Nobel Peace prize and a mansion on the moon filled with Martian whores with Ph.D.'s in Blowjobology from the University of Multiverse.  You all are so hellbent and prideful of your horrible fucking batting stances that get you no fucking results.  Look at Konerko, he keeps it fucking simple and hits the shit out of the ball consistently.  Quentin looks like a fucking ape with scoliosis, Rios looks like a cross dressing virgin ballarina sitting on his first penis and Dunn  looks like he is trying to wipe drool of his dribbling chin while exposing his cock to a elementary school bus.  Eat a dick White Sox of 2011 and eat it up good with tabasco sauce.  You better fucking make it less interesting because God knows I can't keep my eyes off of it.  I haven't felt this way since I watched the first tanks cross into Iraq in 2003.  I was frightened yet compelled but of course I did not know how long it would last and all the casualties along the way.

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