It will be easy for me to boycott the All-Star game because I've already boycotted the season. The Dodgers were very helpful in this regard. Even if it was being played at some other monument to thieving corporate cunts in another failing city, it would still be just as hard to watch Matt Kemp, Andre Ethier and Clayton Kershaw have the time of their lives inside a dark and empty season that already necessitates amnesia, dementia, any available form of escapism. That said, I hope they have a good time. Curtains drawn tight at the Comfort Inn in Glendale, they gotta stick around to face the D-Backs in a few days anyway, throw an empty bottle of Ten High whiskey at the TV screen, fuck that stupid cunt on Sportscenter, "You don't know me,you don't know shit!" ...All cokesweat and teardrops, "I'm an All-Star you stupid bitch! I am an All....Star...."
Enjoy it boys. Enjoy the mother fuck out of it.
All I can do to keep from thinking about those luxury suites at Chase Field in Phoenix as those wealthy bags of shitscum sit around and stuff themselves with piles of your money dressed in Ranch and Buffalo sauce while a deliberately manufactured plague of racism and ignorance perpetuates outside, is smoke a mountain of grass dipped in PCP and tears and listen to Z-Ro records. Like many great MCs from Houston still holding it down, he can rap about being sad and lonely and hard as fuck better than anyone. Better than Bon Iver or whatever shit people are listening to. Normally, I'd be partial to some L.A. shit, especially for this blog but this song is more appropriate than ever. The Astros do have the worst record in the league. They suck. And they beat the Dodgers. Chop and screw my mind. Anyhow, fuck the explanation. And this blog. And the All-Star Game.