::on phone:: Yeah, so I’m feeling pretty good, Terry, and I figure I’ll be back any day now to–
::knock at door::
Hold on a sec. Who is it?
Dude. Open up.
Youk. What are you doing here?
Merry Christmas ::holds out wrapped package::
It’s August.
I mean happy birthday. Just open it up. I got it for you.
::examines box:: “Rocket Boots”?
Yeah. They’re big in Japan, apparently. You put ’em on and, I dunno, fly around I guess.
Looks dangerous.
Dangerous? F@#kin’ kids use these things in Japan. Now come on and put ’em on. I wanna see you do some flyin’. Over that pile of broken glass on your front walkway.
Aye carumba! Where did all that glass come from?
::Hides behind tree, sack of beer bottles at his feet::
Here, I’ll help you put ’em on. Gimme your f@#kin’ feet, you little rat bastard.
Wait a minute. I’m not–
::pulls up in monster truck:: Julian! The wife and kids are away so I figured you might want to hang.
It’s Julio.
Whatevs. Let’s go huntin’.
Hunting? With guns?
Of course with guns. I got one for you, chief. Oh, and I also brought you this special cap.
::inspects cap:: This cap has antlers.
Yeah? And if your aunt had balls she’d be your uncle. What’s yer point?
Why would I want to be strolling around the hunter-infested woods wearing a hat with antlers on it?
You gonna question my methods, shitbird*? It’s all about understanding your prey. Seeing the world through his eyes. Oh, and you’ll need to hold this dynamite…
No, no. Please, I–
::flies in erractically on jetpack:: Yo, Loogs! Check it. Two for one jetpack night at Bukowski’s Pub. Let’s get liquored up and give ’em a go.
Guys–
Dig it! ::flies low and slams into side of house:: Unnnf.
Listen. I don’t want to go hunting or wear Rocket Boots or fly around with a jetpack.
Agreed! Let’s just stay here and kick this large sack filled with bricks and fire.
Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you guys were trying to make sure I remained on the DL so that Jed Lowrie can keep playing shortstop.
Lowrie? Who the f@#k is Lowrie?
You mean Jed “22 RBIs in three weeks” Lowrie? Guy’s a bum. C’mon, let’s do some Drano shots!
Look, Lowrie might be the shortstop of the future, but I’m the shortstop of today. You know Tito won’t let me sit once I’m ready. I think you all need to take a deep breath and acknowledge that we’re still in the Lugo Era.
Aw, balls. I hate it when he makes sense.
We could still take him by force. Stick a lightning rod up his ass and leave him in an open field during a thunder storm. That shit happens all the time.
But is that the right thing to do?
I suppose not.
Frankly, I think you should all be ashamed of yourselves. Julio helped us win a World Series. He’s earned his stripes and we gotta respect that.
Thank you, Jacoby.
No prob. Now come on. Sit down and relax. I made you some dinner.
::pokes at food on plate:: Eh… it smells good. What is it?
Oh, just some ground beef mixed with a mild sedative that causes a slow onset of paralysis that lasts anywhere from eight to nine weeks and is virtually untraceable in blood.
Say what?
Er, I mean… steak.
*First known use of this term by a Red Sox player since Gary Allenson referred to teammate Sam Bowen as “that shitbird” in 1980.
