Jeff Johnson's Fun with Old Sportscards 2011 Baseball Season Edition

Nope. Wrong again. This IS a communication device, and yep, I am definitely hearing something. It’s your mom. She’s down in the laundry room and she says from the looks of it none of your tube socks got pregnant, but she somehow suspects you’re gonna keep going for it. Right? Right or wrong? You tell me.

What I’m saying is how do I know if I throw you the ball--this ball--you’re going to give it back? What guarantee do I have? I’ve been burned on this shit too many times before. Some jackass in protective gear just gets out of their crouch and runs off with my property. I don’t care if we’re wearing matching jerseys. That means nothing to me. Now, I’m gonna ask you again. Do you see the face I’m making? Well surprise, I’m not “making” a face. This is my real face and does this not look like a business face? I’m waiting for your answer.

I am not joking. I deserve some fucking answers. This. is. my. baseball. will. you. give. it. back. or. not? I need to know this before I agree to play catch.

He’s fuckin’ serious, bud. I know we all love to gimp out together, but picture it if your feet were in his. And then consider that. And then see. And then answer, like, his question about your intentions. OK?

No. I’m good. I know the stands are empty and there’s no one else here and it’s my turn but I’m just gonna leave this shit on, OK? Take the picture. Take the picture.

You sure we should be playin’ today? I think it’s starting to sprinkle. It was definitely going to rain over by Lancaster. I’m all for it, though. I am ready to kick some ass. Rain or shine. Oh, wait. I forgot my shoulder pads. Now I totally for sure can’t play. Yeah, I don’t think those will fit. I’m pretty sure they won’t. You don’t have to keep looking. No, that’s cool. Don’t ask the coach. He looks real busy. I kind of have a stomach ache, anyway. Really wish I could play. I think I ate something last night. Shrimp. Feelin’ a little weird. Next week will be awesome though. I’m gonna hurt people.

He’s not a pussy! He just doesn’t want to do it, OK? He legitimately forgot his shit for like the third week in a row. Plus the rain. Look at it. Jesus. I mean it hasn’t started yet. But it’s coming. Probably. Lay off.

OK, sandwich time. Outta my way. Chop chop. Have you seen, like, any of my mustard, dipfuck?

Well, then they had to pump my stomach. At least that’s what Gary told me. He was like crying and shit in the ambulance. That’s all I remember. Personally, I think it was fucking funny. If you ask me. And I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again. Deal with it. I told you that before anyone wanted to be friends. I am a real Jack-a-napes. I quote myself. And then I said look it up.