Go Big or Go 20th Round

It's not like I even needed another reason for you douchers to feel like I'm a bigger F'ing badass than you, but I'll give you another anyways. I got F'ing suspended for 3 F'ing days.

It all happened in gym class. We were playing dodgeball and I was seriously F'ing close to murdering people I was throwing the ball so hard. I didn't even care if I was throwing at girls. I mean, when I make it to the big leagues, am I really going to have to worry about gender when I'm hurling brushbacks? I even hit white trash Kyle Pritchard in his ribs again. He cried like an F'ing bitch. Seriously Pritchard, that is why you don't fingerbang skanks like I do.

But anyways, I'm hitting these freshman girls so hard that they'd be having F'ing miscarriages if they were pregnant (just one less Gusalina Jr. trying to profit off my Hall of Fame status is what I say), when all of a sudden I get nicked by a dodgeball. Since there was no F'ing way I was going to leave the game, I told everyone that this douche-ass freshman got hit first and then the ball touched me. For anyone asking me who this F'ing freshtard was - I don't know and I don't F'ing care. I don't learn the names of any freshman guys and I only learn the names of freshman girls when they change their F'ing Myspace names too much. Seriously, how am I supposed to coordinate a fingerbanging when you change your F'ing name from <3jessica<3 Jonas Brothers song lyric? So this freshman doucher, the one I didn't see get hit with the dodgeball, but I was pretty F'ing sure since I'm the best athlete in the school and it would be hard to hit me, not only doesn't go out, he decided to sign an F'ing death certificate for the remaining days of Gusalina's life at Ottoville High School. This doucher decided to go tell the substitute teacher on Gusalina for having a dip in. At first I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Hell yeah I have a dip in at all times! I'm going to play F'ing professional baseball, so yeah, I'm kind of allowed to. For some reason, my teacher didn't find this to be the case, mostly because she's just some jealous skank who wants to fuel from the Gusaline pump but I won't let her. She was all like "You need to go see whoever's in charge of this school so they can punish you" and I was like "You must be an F'ing idiot lady. I'm Gusalina - 92mph with movement, first round, ring an F'ing bell? - I'm in charge of this F'ing school." She just mumbled some lesbian bullshit after that and made me go to the office. Since the principal of this gay ass school couldn't hit my 92mph fastball, he's totally jealous of Gusalina and tries to take out the fact that he has a 3 inch dong on me. He said something like "Normally, this would just be detention, but since I don't like your attitude or the fact that you're going to go first round and make the Hall of Fame, I'm going to give you three days suspension." What a dummy. Suspended? He might as well have given me day passes to Cedar F'ing Point, because three days with no school is three days for Gusalina to F'ing party. This all happened on Tuesday. Naturally, I did what any person would have done in my situation - I called my F'ing badass older brother Wayne.

Wayne thought it was F'ing sweet that I didn't have school. He said I could come crash at his place just outside Ottoville. When I told him what had happened, he was like "Yeah, you should have seen that F'ing coming from a mile away. I went to school with that substitute teacher and she was a total softball bulldyke. She might have spent every waking second of her life trying to get Wayned on by the Waynemaker." Yeah, Wayne's nickname is Waynemaker because he hit so many F'ing home runs in high school that people started to think that he was making it rain, or should I say making it Wayne. So Wayne comes back to our house while I grab a hooded sweatshirt, F'ing sweet flat-billed hat, M Frames, and a pair of jeans with a sweet rip on my thigh that makes girls think that they can see the Gusaline pump hanging out of but really they can just see my gym shorts because people that don't wear gym shorts underneath their jeans are F'ing homos. I tell my mom that I got suspended from school and she starts to run her F'ing mouth like a psycho so I'm forced to tell her that I won't get suspended for dipping at the All-Star game so she needs to take an F'ing chill pill and get that through her thick skull. The whole time she was yelling, Wayne was behind her and he kept mocking everything she said. He's such a badass.

So Wayne and I start heading for his house. I was all like "Wayne, we should stop at Taco Bell so we can pick up some F'ing Baja Blast before we get to your house" and he looked me square in the face and said "Gusalina you're an F'ing idiot, I have Baja Blast at my house." Being something of a Baja Blast expert I immediately called bullshit on Wayne since you can only get Baja Blast from Taco Bell. That's when Wayne told me something that proves once and for all that he's an F'ing badass and could kick the shit out of your older brother. He goes, "Gusalina, do you remember that total butterface I was making Wayne showers on a couple months ago? It sure as hell wasn't because I thought she was a good person. I met her at Taco Bell, and I used her to steal me a couple cases of Baja Blast syrup." Holy F'ing damn. Besides being probably the only person on the planet who might be able to make contact with my fastball, Wayne is also probably the smartest guy in Ohio. Now he doesn't even have to go to Taco Bell to get a Baja whenever he wants one, he just has to go to his F'ing kitchen!

Since I didn't have school the next day, you should know the next step by now. We drove to F'ing Kroger, where Wayne picked up a bottle of Smirnoff and three cans of dip - for each of us. So yeah, we kind of know how to party. We go back to Wayne's house and I'm all like "Do you want me to make you a Baja and Smirnoff?" and he was like "No, dummy, make me an F'ing Wayne Blaster." I felt really stupid at that moment because I didn't know what a Wayne Blaster is, but then I didn't feel too bad anymore because you guys don't either and I'm going first round, so yeah, not feeling that bad anymore. A Wayne Blaster is - get this - Baja Blast, Smirnoff, and some F'ing Lemon-Lime Gatorade, because we are F'ing athletes and we need to stay fueled like athletes you douchers. After about 5 or 6 Wayne Blasters I'm feeling a pretty decent buzz while at the same time feeling like I can run a sub-6:00 mile because of the F'ing Gatorade, so Wayne and I decide to do what any man would do - go find some F'ing chicks. Wayne doesn't have a computer, so I couldn't get on my Myspace, which meant that we had to do the next best thing - go to the movie theater, and DDR the poon into submission.

I started to get into my Camaro when I saw the look on Wayne's face. It was telling me that if we wanted to guarantee ourselves some sweet vag tonight, we would ride in his Cumaro instead. Duh. So we get in there, and Wayne isn't even drunk because he can drink about 10 Wayne Blasters and not even feel it. So he's driving to the theater and has to be going at least 125 (he took the governor off of his Cumaro you F'ing retard). We get to the theater and its just swarming with ladies craving for some Gusaline. Obviously, since I'm wearing a sweet hoodie and hat combo so I kind of draw some attention, but once my feet touched those DDR arrows, they might as well have shut down the movie theater, because everybody was there to see the premier of "Gusalina and the Waynemaker Dancing" and we were about to win some Academy F'ing Awards. I don't mean to brag, but I'm kind of good at DDR. Like, really good. So I'm moving my feet to the beat, and I'm dominating expert even though I'm buzzing from the Wayne Blasters and the fat dip I have in my mouth. Even Wayne stopped playing because he didn't want to get shown up by Gusalina, and he has won two different DDR tournaments at the mall, so yeah, I'm kind of good. All of these girls are just F'ing losing their mind over how good I'm doing. Like seriously, they're reaching out and touching me and shit when I'm dancing, which in my opinion is just short of charging the mound on my list of Gusalina No-No's. One girl touched me while I was dancing and she made me mess up and end my game. I freaked out on her and told her that I was defriending her on Myspace. I might as well have been her stepfather molesting her because she started bawling her eyes out about it. I don't care though, I'm F'ing big league, and if you want to be around me, you need to know your F'ing place. There were these two girls there that seriously wanted to add "-Trotter" to their last name because they were giving looks to me and Wayne that said "We want to F'ing dome up both of you guys, tonight." Wayne is kind of an expert in that look so he went over and started talking to them while I added my initials to the DDR high score. He came back to me and said "These girls are both 17, let's go to the Cumaro." And like that, we were off to Wayne's house.

Wayne's Cumaro has leather seats, which I always used to hate sitting in when it got hot in the summer, but tonight I figured out it's easier to clean them off when you have two 17 year olds who are seriously F'ing wet at the thought of doming up a first rounder. I'm thinking about changing my Camaro seats to leather now too. Even though these girls were a done deal in my opinion, totally wanting Gusaline, Wayne decided to go in for the kill. When he emerged from the bedroom with his acoustic guitar, I knew what time it was. It was "Butterfly" time. Wayne played the acoustic guitar while I laid down a hybring singing/rapping flow that would have made Shifty Shellshock jealous. At the end of the song, Wayne told the girl that he was a weatherman and definitely saw a Waynestorm in the forecast. Like that, it was on. He took her to his room, and then the stereo started blasting "No Limit," which meant that Wayne was pounding this girl to Jock Jams, Vol 2. Wayne might have softened her up with the acoustic guitar, but he was F'ing getting after it in the bedroom. And what better way to do that than with the true music of an athlete, Jock Jams?

The other girl was still in the living room with me, so I made two more Wayne Blasters and did the two F'ing things Gusalina does best - talking about how good I am at baseball, and fingerblasting. In no time she was begging for the Gusaline pump, and who was I to tell her no? One thing led to another and Gusalina was in need of a refuel so I stepped outside to take a dip. While I was outside, Jock Jams played it's last track, which meant that the girls were F'ing out of luck. Wayne came out of his bedroom and told them it was time to go, because they sure as hell couldn't spend the night. He was nice enough to offer to take them home, but he made me let him drive my Camaro because, as he's said before, his Cumaro is used for three things - going to work, getting poon, and beer runs - and we were doing none of the three. The skank who I just pitched a no-hitter to (would have been a perfect game but I had trouble finishing up the ninth inning because of the Wayne Blasters, if you know what I mean) had Gusaline stains all over her sweatshirt (I had to use something to clean up with or Wayne would have beat my ass for making a mess on his couch) so she asked if she could have mine. Yeah F'ing right! That sweatshirt would be all over eBay by tomorrow, there was no way I was letting her have it. You can freeze for all Gusalina cares, it serves as punishment anyways for not growing bigger boobs in the first place to keep yourself warm you surfboard.

Wayne dropped his girl off at her house and I made her get out at that house too. She can tell her parents she was with Gusalina. I bet they won't even be mad. In fact, it will probably be the only time in her entire life that her dad loves her. Once we got rid of those two sluts, Wayne and I decided to get back at the school for being such dip Nazis. We drove down to the high school, and put the fattest chews in our F'ing mouths. We spit every last drop into the snow, and then we took that snow, made snowballs, and threw them at the F'ing school. Obviously it wasn't going 92 because there weren't any seams, but I can almost guarantee they were going over 80. They were going so fast that I tried to get Wayne to film me throwing them for scouts but he ball-tapped me instead. I guess that's why he's the F'ing master. I accidentally threw one of the snowballs through one of the windows, and I was worried for a second, but then I remembered that the sheriff and my dad played baseball together back in the day so yeah, I don't think I'll be getting in trouble for that one.

The next day Wayne made me drink two Wayne Blasters at breakfast and then he tied a sled to the back of my Camaro and started doing donuts with it. I fell off and was a little dizzy at first and I couldn't tell if it was from the Wayne Blaster or hitting my head on the ice. Maybe that was what Wayne F'ing intended. Before you ask, no I wasn't wearing a helmet. I don't wear them in the batting cages, I sure as hell am not going to wear one outside of baseball.

That's about it in terms of what I've done while suspended. I still have tomorrow too, so hopefully tonight me and Wayne go out and snag two more girls looking to get a little first round and first round older brother in them.

You guys might be wondering why I didn't talk much about baseball this blog. Well, I've been experiencing some elbow soreness. After I hit Kyle "I'm on Welfare" Pritchard in his ribs, he tried to apologize to me for not realizing how much my fastball moved and ruining my radar baseball by giving me his dad's password to Naughty America. I was like "Pritchard, you're poor but your dad still pays for porn every month? Figures" and then I totally went home to check it out. Since this was before I had the Waynemaker as my wingman, I definitely pumped some ched to multiple scenes, and then I did what any man would do. I changed the password to the account so Pritchard's dad can't get on it anymore. That's how Gusalina rolls.

I wasn't going to say anything to Mark Titus, because actions speak louder than words, but then I saw this. Now, I know this wasn't you Titus, because you're too much of a sissy to even respond to Gusalina, but you need to tell whichever one of your little fanboys that thinks they can mess with Gusalina and not get their face pounded in by a hand that throws 92 and his brother the Waynemaker that they can't, and if they were smart (which they aren't), they would just back down. I know you've backed down more than once Titus. I'm still not going to let up on you until you send me the cards, but I'm at least going to show you mercy for the time being. You'd still better send me my F'ing cards, because now you have to deal with me, and Wayne. And Wayne's never lost a fight in his entire life. Wayne doesn't rhyme with "pain" for no reason you dummy. You decide - send the cards, or lose your life.

Pimping my three-run blasts,
Gusalina #4