Dear Orlando,
I went to the Chicago White Sox baseball game at 35th and Shields on the south side of the city on Sunday. It was cold out, and I was hung over from too many Jack and Cokes the night before. I was excited to go my first game of the year and see you and Swisher out in the field. The opening song came on with all the highlights through the year which gave me goosebumps as usual (the shaking part I attribute to booze). Anyways, I was pretty sure before you came up to the plate you might go with a little salsa music like Jose Valentin used to do. Who knows. Then you hit with me it. You had to go and choose this song as your at bat introduction:
Absolutely fucking awful. The McDonalds of rock bands. Fucking Canadians. I'm no longer you buddy, guy. You've been fucking up my fantasy team too, which makes me even more upset. Outside a homerun that put the Sox up for a win over the Tigers, you're dead to me. Change your music and start hitting. Then we'll talk.
No longer yours truly,
Dr. C
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