And I Don't Like Having to Pay for Asian Prostitutes

In a note from wishful fantasy land, Juan Pierre wants to play every day for the Dodgers next year. You might remember Fivel as an adorable animated character, or as the luckiest fucking human being in the history of the world (after signing a five-year, $45 million deal with the Dodgers a couple seasons ago). His appeal to children the world over and this unmerited financial windfall are sadly not enough to keep the little rodent happy. He also wants to add "everyday MLB player" to his list of unearned credentials (everyone knows that "An American Tale" was all script and he just lucked into that great part).

In response, I give you Mr. Falcon's curt, but insightful reply posted on another site:

Juan Pierre is terrible at playing professional baseball matches.

Speed is his only marketable skill. However, this skill is largely neutralized by his complete inability to get on base. There is no colorable argument that can get around this basic fact.

I would only add: Are you out of your fucking mind? Here's an idea Fivel, maybe if you didn't suck donkey dick at playing baseball, you would get more PT. Pierre's bat makes Roberto Alomar look healthy. His throwing arm is about as useless as Jason Schmidt's has been the last couple seasons. My favorite part, is that Pierre claims he kept quiet last year for "the good of the team." Suck my fat black cock, Fivel! You kept your mouth shut because everybody knows you are a terrible ballplayer. Here's a newsflash for you: If you are worse than everyone else on your team that can play your position (Ethier, Manny, Kemp, Repko, Mr. Falcon, one of my used rubbers, etc.), then you don't get to be a starter. Pierre thinks a trade may be a solution to this outfield logjam. That would be great if anybody wanted your sorry ass, Fivel. Newsflash #2: there isn't a huge market in this economic climate for $9 million outfielders who play like they have sickle cell. I would be happy if the Dodgers could trade you for a few Wilson Betemit throwback jerseys, but nobody is willing to make that deal (especially not at your hyper-inflated contract).

My advice to you, Fivel: Shut the fuck up and be happy having hit the jackpot. Cash your giant checks and be sure to pee sitting down if I ever walk in the room while you're on the john.

Oh and by the way, just kidding, you know I don't wear rubbers. Booyah!