So I’m F’ing back. I don’t think that we need to go through any kind of pretend apology from me or anything – I seriously don’t give an F’ing shit about you losers complaining about me not posting. Here’s what I do between my posts – I K up douchers with my first round talent, fingerblast skanks with no future and convince them to do some seriously F’ing freaky Redtube shit that will scar them emotionally for the rest of their lives, and dip four pouches of Skoal at once because I’m an F’ing badass. Here’s what you whiny douchers do between posts – cry because I won’t be your F’ing friend, not kiss girls, get stuck reading Club Trillion, and use over $100 worth of Proactiv in the hopes that you won’t have to kill yourself from ugliness and acne. Pretty much, Gusalina has an F’ing life and doesn’t care that all you douchers’ lives suck when I don’t post about how awesome I am.
When I last gave you queers a glimpse of my first round life, I was getting sentenced to juvie for 1) being popular and drinking before I was 21, 2) kicking the shit out of multiple pussy cops, 3) refusing to compromise my swagger by taking out my dip in court, and 4) leaving my three-fingered autograph inside the judge’s daughter a few months earlier, but never calling her again because the day Gusalina gets tied down to one skank will be the day it’s F’ing Opposite Day.
After my sentence got handed down, I pretty much had to go straight to juvie. Since this would be my last chance to see Judge Wilson, I figured I’d get in a few more parting shots on my way out. As he was calling the next case to the stand, I kind-of-quietly-but-still-loud-enough-for-him-to-hear said under my breath “with an F’ing great father figure like you, no wonder your daughter fueled from the Gusaline Pump the first time we hung out.” When he said “Excuse me?” I said “You’re excused, doucher” and then gave him the SuFi. Then a moment of brilliance hit me, and I added my index finger to the SuFi and said “Actually, your daughter preferred three” while the bailiff led me out of the court before he could in a comeback. Gusalina - 92, Doucher Judge Wilson – Negative Gay.
So from court I had to get on the bus to take me to F’ing Scioto for all my juvie processing. It was seriously the worst F’ing ride of my life. I’m used to riding in buses a lot, because I’m always traveling for baseball given my first round talent, but none of my baseball trips ever required me to be so helpless around such F’ing losers. First, the entire bus was full of F’ing white trash kids who got arrested for stealing Sudafed for their mom’s meth lab or trying to get a BJ from their younger sister or something. And if the kids weren’t white trash, they were F’ing Mexicans who apparently never understood the F’ing translation from Spanish to English that Grand Theft Auto is only legal in video games, and not when they try and hotwire an ‘86 Chevy Corsica so their family of 14 can cruise around town. Seriously, an ‘86 Corsica? Dream F’ing big.
Besides being the only person on the bus that was keeping God from doing some serious natural selection by wrecking it and killing everybody on board, I was also not allowed to have an iPod, so I couldn’t team up with Chad Kroeger and zone out for the 2 hour ride. With no music allowed, I tried to close my eyes and fall asleep, which was a serious F’ing mistake, because when I closed my eyes my lack of sense of sight enhanced my other 5 senses (yeah I have 6 F’ing senses – sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing, and strikeout. I was born with it, sorry douchers.) and my nose was immediately filled with the collective smell of every unshowered failure on board with me. I seriously F’ing gagged. I guess I’m kind of lucky though, because there were no black people on the bus. If I had smelled cocoa butter I would have hurled all over the bus like I was one of those pussies from the Sandlot taking their first dip.
So I had to sit there the entire bus ride, stewing that any of this was happening, just getting ready to deliver a 92mph fistball to the temple of the first person who tries to share a cell with me when we got there. Finally, the bus pulled up to the juvie facility and we all got off to get checked in.
We got led down a hallway and there were these guards ready to search us for drugs and weapons. This guard asked me if I had any weapons on me, and I said “yeah, this one,” shook my pitching arm at him and said “but I don’t think you’ll be able to confiscate it, doucher.” I noticed a second guard wearing latex gloves and I’d narced on enough sketchy-looking Arabs at the airport to know what that meant. I needed to nip this situation in the F’ing bud right away, so I looked at the guard and said “I don’t even wear condoms, so if you and those F’ing gloves get anywhere near me trying to do the cavity search you plan on doing, I’ll end your F’ing life. I bet you don’t even need to do a cavity search, you just want to do it you homo doucher.” Luckily for him, he wisened up and walked away before he did something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
After that was over, we went down to a new room, where we were given the clothes we were required to wear everyday. Since there was no F’ing way I was going to look like a doucher in the beige t-shirt and pants that they gave us, I decided to modify it AKA make it F’ing x-treme and worthy of Gusalina to put on his body. The first thing I did was rip off the sleeves. I don’t do shoulder presses for nothing, so by ripping off my sleeves, all the other kids would see my F’ing jacked shoulders and know I’m a serious F’ing badass. The next thing I did was steal a Sharpie from a guard when they weren’t looking and write FIRST ROUND on the front of the shirt, and GUSALINA on the back with a giant 4 so it looked like it was a jersey. It still wasn’t looking badass enough, so I freehanded an Ed Hardy-style tiger on the front to let everyone know I’m popular and get a ton of F’ing ass on the outside. I didn’t do anything too F’ing x-treme with my pants, I just took the Sharpie and made a big mark about 2 inches above my knee so everybody would know just how far the F’ing Gusaline Pump hangs down.
Once I was changed into my uniform, I got led to where my cell was. It turns out that those pussy doucher cops who couldn’t take me in a fight called the juvie officers and told them that I was a threat to everyone’s safety and that I required a cell in the tighter security section of the prison. On the one hand, yeah, they’re right, because I dropped their asses while I was drunk and not even trying really hard, but on the other hand, seriously, what are those douchers thinking? You got your asses beaten by a first rounder, do you really want to keep messing with him now and feel his wrath when he gets out? No wonder you F’ing losers ended up being Ottoville cops with nothing good in your lives.
The more I thought about it, the better the maximum-security sounded, though. I would get to be in solitary confinement, which meant that I wouldn’t have to be stuck in a cell having to deal with the daily annoyances of some Mexican praying to the Virgin Mary or some white trash loser trying and failing to learn basic Algebra because he wanted to pass his GED when he was in. Instead, I would get to sit in my cell by myself every day, do an F’ing shit ton of pushups and get jacked, listen to the iPod that Wayne would sneak me in, and try to make as many F’ing weapons as I could so when I got caught the guards would get fired for being so F’ing shitty at their jobs. So imagine how F’ing pissed I was to discover that maximum security didn’t also mean solitary confinement and that I was going to have a cellmate.
As the cell opened, I immediately ball-tapped the kid in the cell with me, and said “don’t even F’ing look at me, doucher.” This setting of the tone was really not necessary, as I would later find out, because Chris, my cellmate, was easily the biggest F’ing pansy I’d ever met in my entire life. That I doubled that timid doucher over in testicular pain was only an added bonus. Despite my best efforts to let him know that I thought he was even gayer than Elton John and whoever that really gay-looking soccer player is smashing dongs together, he proceeded to tell me his entire F’ing life story like I was his best friend.
He was a sophomore in high school, and he was from some town about 45 minutes away that I didn’t bother to listen to the actual name of, and he was in juvie for stealing a cantaloupe. Yeah, that’s right, an F’ing cantaloupe. It turns out that this lonely doucher worked at a K-Mart that was in the same strip center as a grocery store. During his break, Chris went into the grocery store, and instead of dealing with the awkward questions as to why he would be buying only a cantaloupe, he decided to just steal it. Then he took the F’ing thing back to K-Mart, cut a hole in it, F’ing MICROWAVED IT, and then proceeded to do the most F’ing pathetic thing I’ve ever heard anyone do (and I’ve heard the things Pritchard’s dad does to afford Christmas presents). This F’ing doucher decided to start humping his warm cantaloupe while watching the F’ing Disney Channel in the break room! And to make it even better, he got caught doing it!
After laughing uncontrollably for no less than 75 straight minutes, I finally heard the rest of the story – he got fired on the spot, he was an F’ing moron and said he stole the cantaloupe when his manager asked him where he got it, and get got sentenced to 6 months in juvie because the people in his county don’t take kindly to fruit sodomy. Honestly, after hearing this, I was F’ing glad I was in juvie, because my life was better now that I’d heard about the dumb shit this doucher had done.
Still, it wasn’t very clear on one thing – why was this doucher in maximum security? Was there an F’ing kitchen with a fruit basket that is easily accessed in the normal cells or something? His answer would please me to no end. “They put me in here because all the other kids make fun of me too much and they want to protect me.” Clearly, he would be getting no mercy from me, as the rest of the time we were together I would call him “Cantaloser” “Melon Banger” and “The Virgin Who Put His Dong in Fruit”, among other degrading nicknames, as well as never passing up an opportunity to say something like “Hey, does that count as oral?” when he would eat the fruit that came with our meals. If we were allowed to have shoes with shoelaces, Rind Grinder would have definitely tried to hang himself from the emotional abuse I dished out.
After hearing the criminal exploits of a kid who’s so dumb that he tried getting off (while inside microwaved fruit) to a girl on the Disney channel that wasn’t Hannah Montana or that fine-ass Mexican one, it was time to go down to the common area for some of my only allowed time of the day.
At first they told me I was only going to get a half hour every day before I had to go back to the maximum security area, but I told those douchers hell F’ing no, because that didn’t give me nearly enough time to both throw a bullpen session and max out in the bench, so I’d be taking as long as I F’ing needed.
Anyways, as I made my way to where all the other juvie prisoners were located, I knew this was going to be my only chance to make a first impression. Eyes were already starting to turn and focus on me, because a) I was dressed like an F’ing badass x-treme 2damaxxx, and b) my heavily front-weighted Gusaline Pump and natural charisma cause my walk to be much different than most of the losers you encounter in life, so yeah, people turn and look when I walk into a room.
I scanned my surroundings to gauge who I’d be dealing with. I’d seen enough prison movies to know that if I was to exert my dominance over these douchers on day one, I’d need to take out the toughest guy there. Then nobody would try to mess with me, instead they’d all steal dip and porno magazines for me in order to try and win my favor (yeah right douchers, Gusalina’s a lone wolf).
A quick glance showed that most of the large common room was split up into different ethnic groups for the most part. All the Gaysian douchers there posed no threat, as their size and general faggy demeanor showed they were probably in here for hacking computers to get more Starcraft points or something of similar non-badass nature. Besides, if they knew how to fight, it would be karate, and if you’ve ever seen any UFC (and I’ve seen a shit ton of UFC because Wayne steals pay-per-view and we get drunk and watch them), you know that karate douchers either get knocked out or tap out, so yeah, I don’t think I needed to worry about the Gaysians.
All the Mexicans in there were just like the Latinos I face in summer AAU ball – they can’t hit a curveball, and they sure as shit wouldn’t be able to hit Gusalina. So there wasn’t a lot of worrying that they would be able to go Oscar de la Hoya on me if I tried to throw down. The white trash kids weren’t any better. I’d given Pritchard more than enough dead arms in my day to know that white trash douchers suck at fighting and are total pussies. I kind of didn’t want to start anything with one of them though. I mean, sure, I would have beat that ass, and there was no chance of me losing the fight, but white trash kids can take a beating. Most of them have years of practice from their alcoholic dads taking their shortcomings out on them via belt and closed fist, so the fight would have gone unnecessarily long due to their tolerance for pain. Gusalina wasn’t trying to have that.
That left only one group of people left – the F’ing black kids. I’m from Ottoville, and we don’t have any black kids (which probably explains why the cops are never busy enough to not get up in Wayne’s shit). Still, I’ve seen enough of them during summer ball to know that the majority of them are just total pussies who are trying to act hard. Seriously, from the first point of seeing them in juvie it was like 95% of them were trying to be Lil’ Wayne or some other lame ass rapper who goes to jail for a pussy charge like marijuana. Gusalina had a news flash for these douchers – he was about to turn into Weezy F’ing Baby and give them real teardrop tattoos when he delivered 92mph fistballs and made them all cry.
In the crowd there was one really big guy, and you could tell everybody thought he was the shit. He probably benched over 225, but seriously, big F’ing deal. I would have been able to do the same thing had I been in juvie for the last 3 years, being able to bench press twice a day and not having to deal with my nagging mom Donna all the F’ing time. Anyways, I decided right then and there I was going to drop this dude’s ass so everybody would see how F’ing x-treme Gusalina is.
I walked through the room, ignoring the jealous glances I was getting from everybody who could see how big the Gusaline Pump was (especially the Gaysians), and walked right up to the guy. He was talking with friends, but I wasn’t about to sit there and listen to their stupid argument about LeBron vs. Kobe, so I sent a 92mph fistball right into his temple without him looking. I don’t know if you read that, but I throw 92mph (with movement), so yeah, he hit the ground pretty much immediately. From there, I summoned my inner Brock Lesnar and dropped some serious F’ing hammer fists on the doucher’s skull until the guards ran from across the room to take me away.
As they were dragging me away, I looked at all the terrified faces, shouted out “There’s a new ace in town!” and then broke one of my arms free from the guard’s grip and gave everybody the SuFi as they brought me back to the maximum security area. So yeah, after that, nobody gave Gusalina any kind of shit.
From then on, I spent pretty much all the time I was allowed out of maximum security working out and getting F’ing swole. Every single day I was out there, doing things that were going to make me K up any doucher who dared challenge me. Bench press, biceps, triceps…you should have seen all the other kids there in F’ing awe of Gusalina’s natural strength and power. The glances got me a little F’ing worried, though. If they were looking at me like this now, imagine how they were going to react once they saw that combined with the Gusaline Pump in the showers. So I started to do some MMA training on top of the baseball training, just to make sure I would be able to protect myself. The losers in juvie are desperate, and I look good as F’ing shit, so yeah, they were probably going to try and rape me (and get their F’ing ass beat).
Between the serious tonnage I was putting up on my upper body and the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu I was doing, you would think I didn’t have time for actual baseball work. Well, that’s why I’m going first round and you’re an F’ing moron, because I did. Every day I made it a point to throw a bullpen session, because you never knew when a scout was going to stop by, and because everybody else seeing me throw 92 with movement was just another reminder that I could and would wreck their shit at a moment’s notice.
I wasn’t about to use one of the gloves that juvie provided, so I made Pritchard pay for Wayne to drive up so he could deliver me my personalized glove, some good F’ing baseballs, a couple Phitens, and other cool shit (more on this later). Now that I was geared out, I was ready to unleash death by velocity all over that prison yard.
Wayne was kind of F’ing busy and couldn’t come be my bullpen catcher everyday, so I made Cuntalope come catch for me. Since he got arrested for having sex with fruit, it should go without saying that he’s not good at sports and had never played baseball before in his life. He was a total puss, flinching every time I threw the ball at him. He even got hit by like half of the balls. It didn’t matter though, Gusalina was getting in some serious pitchwork.
One day, I was lighting into Fruitcock especially mean, because he was a terrible F’ing catcher. I said that if I wasn’t so F’ing naturally talented that his shittiness would be stunting my development, and that maybe he should just pretend like the baseball coming at him is a warm awful-tasting piece of fruit and he might be able to catch it better. I ended by telling him that he was truly the worst athlete I’d ever known (including F’ing Pritchard) and that I would give anything for a new bullpen catcher. It was at that time I saw the warden walking towards me.
Before he could even get a word out, I defended myself, saying “He put his dick in a cantaloupe, how do you expect me to not make fun of him for that?” The warden laughed, and said “it is pretty gay, isn’t it? That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about though. Why don’t you come on into my office, I have a proposal for you.” After repeatedly telling him that I’d been doing MMA all day, and that if he tried to touch my Gusaline Pump that I’d F’ing end him, I went inside with him, and the rest of my time at juvie changed completely.
Since the warden wasn’t trying to talk to me about making fun of the Fruit Banger, I thought I was about to get in deep F’ing shit for having my collection of shivs discovered in our cell or something. I immediately started prepping a story about how it they belonged to Melon Cock, but the meeting wasn’t about that. As it turned out, the warden was seriously F’ing impressed with my baseball skills, which should come as no surprise because I’m going first round and he spends every day surrounded by a bunch of no-talent douchers whose only skills in life are being poor members of society. He was so impressed that he wanted me to give his 16 year old son pitching lessons. He said that his son was a really good baseball player, and that all he needed was a little extra coaching to take his skills over the top.
I should have told him right then and there that you can’t teach the natural Hall of Fame skills that I have, but again, I’ve seen enough prison movies to know that you can use situations like this to your advantage. Instead, I told him that if I was going to coach the son, I wanted to be excused from cleaning and all that other bullshit the rest of the kids in juvie had to do, because it’s an F’ing disgrace that Gusalina should have to risk his first-round status by inhaling too much Wal-Mart brand ammonia mopping floors and shit. I also said that the doucher son has to be my new bullpen catcher, mainly because he had supposedly played baseball before, and to my knowledge he had never raped a piece of fruit. The warden agreed to all these conditions, and we set up the first practice session.
Now, I assumed that the warden was exaggerating about his son’s baseball skills. I’m F’ing used to it by now. “These are C-cups” (Sophomore girl who definitely was an A cup at best), “We’re not that poor” (Kyle Pritchard), “I’m sure I could take the whole Gusaline Pump” (every skank on Myspace ever). So I wasn’t expecting someone who would even be within 10% of my level in terms of baseball talent. Still, you would never believe how F’ing bad this kid was. I’m telling you, he was so bad that he made Kyle Pritchard look like an F’ing All-Star, and the only talent Kyle Pritchard has is staying slightly overweight while living on food stamps. I could not F’ing believe how much this kid sucks, but since I was getting out of doing a bunch of bitch work, I pretended like I was coaching him even though you can’t improve someone who sucks as bad as this kid did.
Eventually I got tired of him looking like a Down’s syndrome kid giving a high five every time he threw a pitch, and made him start catching for me instead. I explained to him that he should just watch and see how pure, perfect-formed 92 with movement looks when it explodes from your hand. This became my go-to coaching drill, because it meant I didn’t have to spend a bunch of extra F’ing time trying and failing to get this doucher to be a coordinated athlete and throw two strikes in a row, let alone three. When his dad came to supervise, I pretty much just half-assed a couple of critiques to the kid and made it look like he was making all these great improvements when in reality he still F’ing blew hardcore.
The more and more lessons I gave, the more I wanted to kill myself for being around someone who was so F’ing terrible yet thought they could be good someday. To make things tolerable, I started adding extra demands to the warden to keep me coaching his son. Since I had him convinced that his son was getting so much better, he was happy to oblige.
My first demand was that he bring me Taco Bell after each pitching lesson. While an XL Baja Blast would be good enough on its own to unwind in juvie, I was able to combine it with the Smirnoff and Gatorade that Wayne snuck in for me (again, more on this later) to make some sick nasty Wayne Blasters and get a solid buzz going, which was F’ing sweet.
Next, I convinced him that his dumbass son wasn’t going to be able to understand what he was doing wrong until he saw it on video, so I made him get us a video camera so we could film every session. I wasn’t about to F’ing sit there and break down video with this doucher, but pretending like I was gave us private access to a computer in his dad’s office. I made the doucher sit outside and stand guard (I told him it was helping develop the ability to follow coach’s instructions, which just sealed the deal for him sucking because if he had any talent he would understand that coaches don’t know shit) while I got on his dad’s laptop to browse YouJizz and watch videos of girls with massive racks get slammed. The Gusaline Pump had definitely accumulated some extra fuel since getting into juvie, and since I wasn’t about to beat off with the Melon Rapist in the room because he’d like it too much, I needed to use the YouJizz instead. When I left the room, I’d look at the kid and say “Baseball Quiz: Do you know who Jayden James is?” and since the kid is a loser who doesn’t even go to the homecoming dances, let alone get dates to them, he obviously answered no. So I replied “That’s why you’ll never be good at baseball, doucher. Learn to get some.” and then I gave him a dead arm in his pitching shoulder.
This charade of me trying to coach this kid continued for awhile, but I grew more and more annoyed that I had to do it as it became closer to my release. For the last two weeks before I got out, I told him that he needed to improve his fielding, which was really just me giving a good enough excuse to hit line drives at him on the pitcher’s mound as hard as I could in the hopes that I would drill him and leave permanent damage. It was, good, however, to have that little doucher as a catcher, because I was throwing serious heat every day in my bullpen sessions. He must have been seriously F’ing depressed after seeing me pump 92 with movement day after day and realizing that he’d never be able to do that himself.
Still, the private coaching allowed me to do pretty much whatever I F’ing wanted to the rest of my time. I had free reign to do anything, because the most they could threaten me with was sending me to the warden, and what was he going to do, make me coach his son more? That just meant I would get more Taco Bell and YouJizz, so it was pretty much rewarding me for being a badass who broke the rules. Case in point was my stance on education in juvie.
Now, anyone who has half an F’ing clue knows that I hate reading anything other than my own newspaper stories. So when they came around with the book cart and I took as many as I was allowed, I’m sure a lot of people thought I was trying to get reformed. F’ING WRONG. I would take each and every book that I got off the cart, and rip all the pages out of them so nobody could read them again. Again, reading is for lame ass Gaysians. I was doing everybody a favor.
There was another time where we all had to listen to some middle-aged lesbian looking lady give us a speech about how we all needed to work toward getting our high school diploma and keep up on our school work and shit. I decided to loudly fake yawn about twice a minute to let the skank know just how boring her speech was, and I even said “Wheeeeennnnn is this going to eeeeeeennnnnndddddd????” really drawn out so she would hate her F’ing life. She stupidly decided to confront me, telling me to sit down and start doing my school work. I responded by giving her a SuFi. By now, she was half-crying because she was so embarrassed/angry/scared/lonely-in-her-outside-life so she kind of stammered out a “Mr. Trotter, you need to get your diploma!” I wasn’t going to tolerate her bullshit anymore, so I grabbed the Gusaline Pump over my pants, yanked it around a little bit to show I meant business, and said “I’ve got your diploma right here lady!” I followed that with “I’m going first round, I don’t need an F’ing diploma you dumb skank.” It’s pretty hard to get more badass x-treme than that, so yeah, she didn’t nag me about my school work after that.
By now you’re probably saying “Gusalina there’s no way you’d be able to go 3 months without splashing Gusaline Fuel all over some skank,” to which you are absolutely right. First, I need to clarify something. After you spend a month or two seeing a bunch of fat Mexican dongs in the shower, the sight of any girl is good. This is why it should be F’ing understandable as to why I banged out someone of obvious lesser attractiveness than me while I was in juvie. Let me explain.
Every day there was this female guard who escorted me to and from my pitching lesson. She was a drunk 5 at best, and her rack was only okay, but again, after 6 weeks you begin to talk yourself into it. Well, one day I was putting some pine tar on my bat while watching Phoenix Marie get crushed, when the warden’s loser son came in and decided to interrupt like a total doucher. This meant that I didn’t get to finish, and it also meant that the Gusaline Pump had some fuel in it when the female guard was escorting me back to my cell. She was obviously in awe of the Gusaline Pump, so she offered me some assistance. Normally I would laugh, say “yeah F’ing right” and then point out her many physical flaws before calling up a girl from Myspace to take care of the job, but I was trapped with no other options so I decided to go below my standards and settle for a single when I would have normally hit a home run. I’m not going to give you lonely Star Wars fags any details for you to beat off to, but rest assured that Gusalina got his.
Still, above all else, the best times when I was in juvie were when my badass older brother Wayne came to visit. Wayne knew that I was in juvie because I had covered for him and not let him get arrested, so he would not only come see me a lot but he also wouldn’t let our annoying ass mom Donna come visit either so I didn’t have to be bothered by her coming to nag my head off all the time.
Since Pritchard was also partially responsible for me getting arrested, Wayne made him fork over gas money so the Cumaro could make the two hour drive. But Pritchard wasn’t allowed to ocme with Wayne, because Wayne wouldn’t be able to tolerate Pritchard for that long, let alone be able to put up with the permanent smell of white trash and generic laundry detergent that Pritchard would leave behind. Instead, Wayne made the drive by himself, and always made sure to bring essentials.
The first time, he started off basic, just to see what he’d be able to sneak in in the future. He brought me the newest copies of Eastbay and Baseball Express so I’d be able to see the sickest new gear that was coming out.
The next time, he brought me 15 cans of Skoal so I would be able to dip and not lose my F’ing mind after waking up and realizing I was in a cell with a doucher who went balls deep in a piece of fruit. From there Wayne just started sneaking in more and more badass things for me. Sometimes a couple handles of Smirnoff and a gallon or two of Gatorade. Once a Fleshlight that he made Pritchard shoplift from a porn shop. By the time I was giving pitching lessons, I could pretty much have whatever I wanted snuck in and not get in trouble for it. Wayne snuck in some pepper spray and one time when my cellmate was sleeping, I yelled out “CANTALOUPE JUICE!” and sprayed him in the face with it. When the guards came and asked what was going on, I told them that his face was red and he was crying because he was remorseful that he didn’t bone a honeydew instead. They believed me because he was seriously that F’ing pathetic.
Probably the coolest thing Wayne ever did when he came to visit was sneak in a recorder so we could make freestyles about my time on the inside. Wayne would make beats with his mouth, and I would channel all my inner emotions and pain and go all Mike Shinoda on the tracks. Wayne would take the recorder home and load the songs onto my Myspace so all the skanks could stay wet while Gusalina was away.
Eventually, my three months were up and it was time to leave. You should have seen the looks on everybody’s faces there. You could tell that they were sad to see me go since I was so F’ing badass, but at the same time they were relieved because I was no longer going to be around as a threat to cave in their F’ing skull with a fistball for looking at me the wrong way.
My doucher cellmate tried to give me his e-mail address and a bunch of other contact information on this piece of paper, but I threw it away right in front of his face and told him that he was a creepy loser that I would never talk to for the rest of my life, let alone hang out with. He got all teary-eyed so I told him that there was probably a watermelon around here somewhere that wouldn’t be able to say no, and then I walked away.
Unfortunately for me, my escort to the warden’s office was the female guard again, and you could tell that she was really F’ing upset that I was leaving. She tried pulling me into an empty room so she could fuel from the Gusaline Pump one last time, but I pushed her off of me, looked her in the face, and said “Do you understand how much high quality ass a first rounder like me is about to get on the outside? No F’ing way.” Then I told her that she was a busted 30-something year old lady that I only banged so I had something to say during “Never Have I Ever.” She started crying, so I just walked away towards the warden’s office by myself.
I went through all the formalities of the warden asking me if I was ready to change my life and all this bullshit, to which I was honest and said my life was really F’ing awesome and I planned on changing nothing about it. He still signed all the necessary papers and cleared me for release, probably because he still hoped one day his son could have the first round talent that I have. As I was walking out of his office, the warden told me he was going to try and have his son added to my AAU team for the summer. I matter-of-factly told him that his son sucks F’ing dick at baseball, and would never be able to play on JV, let alone the same summer team as a first rounder. This pissed him off but he’d already released me so there was nothing he could do about it.
I walked outside just as Wayne was pulling up. He was blasting Akon’s “Konvict Music” as an audio F.U. to the juvie system. They thought they could keep Gusalina locked up, but now I was out and even more x-treme than ever. Wayne burned out for a second in the parking lot before peeling away. We switched the radio to Limp Bizkit as we went over 100 all the way home. I was F’ing free.
There’s going to be more to come soon, and I’m F’ing serious this time. In the meantime, comment on this F’ing blog and tell all your friends about it so everybody knows just how much of a badass I am and so you don’t seem like a doucher.
Never been on JV, but been in Juvie,