How Is Gusalina So F’ing Awesome?

Just a note for you whiny douchers out there – this blog is going to be F’ing long, like most of the Gusalina’s things if you know what I mean. If you can’t handle it, read it in F’ing parts and don’t be a whiny doucher about it. If you’ve still got a problem, I’ve got a fistball that goes 92 with movement with your name on it. –G#4

Okay Gusaholics Anonymous, I’m back. I’m sure you’ve been checking ESPN.com ten times a day to make sure that Gusalina didn’t die or get arrested for F’ing too many girls I met on Myspace. Rest assured, I didn’t die, but I can’t say that I haven’t been splashing Gusalina over a bunch of Ottoville and the surrounding area’s finest. Luckily for me, that’s not a crime.

The real reason I haven’t posted in awhile is pretty simple – that white trash, on welfare, poor, ugly, pervert doucher Kyle F’ing Pritchard. If you don’t know by now, every redeeming quality of Kyle Pritchard is dried up and caked on the corner booth at the Waffle House where his parents met. He was a dishwasher, she was a waitress, they were both F’ing morons that thought it would be a good idea to have sex in a Waffle House after work. It’s really the All-American story. Nine months later that fetal alcohol unathletic idiot Kyle Pritchard was born, and he has been an embarrassment to the human race ever since.

Even though you already knew all of this, it’s necessary to bring it up again. A couple days after I posted my last blog, my idiot mom Donna thought it would be a great idea to ask Pritchard to stay for dinner after he brought me a Baja Blast that he paid for with a food stamp. Before I could protest, Pritchard got excited about eating something other than Salisbury Steak for the first time in weeks and said yes. I can’t wait until I go first round so I never have to see Donna again. The only reason I don’t go live with my sweet older brother Wayne right now is because he doesn’t have an extra bedroom.

But anyways, there’s some extra time before dinner’s going to be ready because my mom takes forever, so I ignored the fact that Pritchard was there and went to my computer to listen to an awesome Good Charlotte video playlist on YouTube. I had just got done blasting “The Anthem,” yelling “ANOTHER LOSER ANTHEM WHOOOOOOOAAAAAAA” in Pritchard’s face as loud as I could in the hopes that he would go home, when he told me that he knew this F’ing sweet porn site. Since I’m not some queer that turns down free porn, I went to what he claimed was the site. I completely forgot that Pritchard has the mental capacity of a 9 year old because his mom had nightly threeways with his dad and Jack Daniels when she was pregnant, and that Pritchard can’t spell for shit. Anyways, I hit enter on the address he gave me, and the next thing I know, my computer going F’ing haywire. Five seconds later, my computer is broken. Pritchard gave my computer an F’ing virus.

Pritchard lost me my entire music collection. He obviously has no idea how long it took me to download all the sweet Papa Roach, Green Day, 3 Doors Down, and Hinder tracks that I rock out to. It was really selfish on Pritchard’s part. For almost two weeks, I had almost no way to read the emails that the major league scouts were sending me at gusalina4@hotmail.com or check my Myspace. When I finally got some Gusalina groupie to come over and fix my computer, I signed onto my Hotmail and saw this email from this doucher Billy Hillyard (hillyard33@yahoo.com):

I want you and the Waynemaster to fight me. You sit here and run your mouth about how you can pitch 92 mph well guess what i won a state title in baseball my senior year. I batted 404 with 12 homeruns and 67 RBI's. You need to back your shit up before you start running your fat fucking mouth. You dont have a camaro you probably couldnt throw a baseball if you had roger clemens arm you fat fuck. Oh ya and you need to treat you mom with some respect you fucking punk. Your nothing but a piece of shit and don't deserve to live if your going to treat you rmom and girls like that. If i ever see you on the street your ass is mine because you have no respect. Your never getting to the bg leagues because that involves talent something you dont have. So keep dreaming while I am living the dream playing for the Cubs triple A system and unlike you i will make it to the big leagues. I wouldnt care if you were serious about making it to the big leagues but your not your just making a joke of it. Some of us are actually trying to pursue dreams. So keep your mouth shut about the big leagues bitch!

Where do I even start? First, who is the Waynemaster? I know you aren’t talking about my F’ing sweet older brother Wayne, because nobody calls him the “Waynemaster.” That’s the stupidest F’ing nickname I’ve ever heard. And you want to fight him? I know you’re a doucher, but I didn’t know you’re also the world’s biggest idiot too. Do you know how many people the Waynemaker has destroyed in bar fights? It’s F’ing brutal. He’s on probation right now for one of the fights (and for providing alcohol to a minor, but that girl was smoking hot so you can’t even get mad at him) so yeah, I don’t think you want to fight my older brother Wayne.

You won a state title? Well that is awesome. I didn’t know winning a state title would help you go first round. Oh wait, it F’ing doesn’t. Gusalina would win state championships too if he didn’t have shitty white trash teammates like Kyle Pritchard. And your stats would be awesome if you were a freshman playing F’ing varsity in your first 20 games but you were probably some JV doucher as a senior. You probably had to have your parents make the principal let you play JV when you were 18 F’ing years old and you probably still got struck out every time you were up at bat by some cross-eyed retard who only gets to pitch because he’s left-handed.

I’m not even going to address the Camaro because I can give you about 50 Myspace links to girls who have spent a lot of time pinch hitting in my Camaro if you know what I mean. And they can tell you just how F’ing sweet of a car it is too you jealous doucher. As far as my mom goes, Donna deserves everything she gets. She doesn’t have a job, so it shouldn’t be hard for her to cook for Gusalina and give him some money for a Baja Blast every day, but she still somehow finds a way to screw it up.

Let me pause for a second while I laugh at you saying that you’re “living the dream” by playing in Triple A. Are you F’ing kidding me? I’m two years away from going first round because I throw 92 with movement. The agents and scouts that I’ve talked to have already said I’m one of the most polished pitching prospects to come out of high school in years. They differ on some things when it comes to Gusalina, but they all agree on one – I’m not going to spend one F’ing week in the minors. Congratulations on being not good enough to make the majors you doucher.

[GUSALINA UPDATE: Some Gusalina groupies have tipped me off that this doucher Billy Hillyard isn’t even in the minor leagues! You’re an F’ing doucher x-treme! If you don’t believe me, check out this link to his Facebook. I would have checked myself but Gusalina operates strictly on Myspace. But seriously Billy Hillyard, you are an F’ing doucher who doesn’t even have any friends. Here is how Gusalina knows this. First, you have to take pictures of yourself because nobody wants to be friends with you. Second, you F’ing suck at baseball. Who wants to be friends with a guy like that? Third, you have nobody in your F’ing life to tell you that your shirt is so tight that if a dude was desperate enough (probably doucher Pritchard) that they would try and motorboat those man cans of yours.

Pictured: An F’ing Doucher X-Treme with a lame Hollister shirt

My Gusalina sources also tell me that this doucher is friends with another doucher who commented on my last blog named Jarrod, who wrote such F’ing stupid things as:

You're a bitch Gusafag. I'd hit your 92+ w/movement out of the F'n park, and I'll take that fistball and shove it up your ass. Then I'll beat Wayne's ass just to laugh! You're nothing Gusafag

and

And btw, I was lifting 170 when I was 15 you douche cock. When I was 16 I was lifting 230, and I weigh 150 pounds. Suck on that one you fat bitch

This Jarrod kid is obviously jealous of Gusalina and the fact that he’s going first round, and he from the way he types he might even want to fuel from the Gusaline Pump for all I know. Gusalina doesn’t roll like that you doucher. This Jarrod kid wants to be Gusalina so much that he even started writing a blog, which I’m not going to link to because it honestly might be the stupidest F’ing thing on the internet, it’s that awful. So to you two douchers making your iron-on Gusalina shirts and shaving 4s into the back of your heads trying to be like me, just give it up, wait for Wayne’s roommate to finish making the official Gusalina shirts, and maybe I’ll autograph them for you if you pay me enough. Douchers.]

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But enough about these swordfighting douchers, you Gusalina fans read this blog so you can learn how to be more like Gusalina, not how to how to be a doucher who doesn’t even wear M-Frames. Seriously doucher, the only thing you should be buying from the gas station is Skoal, not sunglasses. I know you’re all practically showering yourself in Gusaline trying to figure out what I did for Valentine’s Day, but we need to get a couple of other things out of the way first.

So the first week that I didn’t have a computer because of that white trash doucher Kyle Pritchard, we had to drive all the way to F’ing Zanesville for my grandma’s birthday. At first my parents tried to make me ride with them, but I told them no F’ing way and hopped in the Cumaro with my sweet older brother Wayne. 3 1/2 hours in the car listening to Donna bitch? Yeah F’ing right. She won’t even let me play my Trapt CDs in the car, so yeah, Gusalina isn’t going to be riding with her. The Waynemaker more than anyone knows what it’s like to be headstrong to take on anyone because he’s on probation.

So my dad tells Wayne not to drive fast so we don’t get separated, but Wayne drives a Cumaro, and that thing doesn’t do under 70 unless it has to. What does my dad F’ing think is going to happen when you’re dealing with a Cumaro, Jesus? So anyways we took off for Zanesville with “Last Resort” playing as loud as it could on Wayne’s stereo. We hit Columbus in nearly no time, and as we passed by the Ohio State area, we both threw up SuFis at that doucher x-treme Mark Titus, and then Wayne made a gun with his fingers so Titus knows what is going to happen to him if he doesn’t send me my F’ing cards.

By the time we got to Zanesville we were almost an hour ahead of my parents, probably because Donna wouldn’t stop bitching and made my dad go under the speed limit the entire time. Since we sure as hell weren’t going to go inside and spend more time with my grandma than we had to, Wayne drove to the liquor store a couple streets over from her house and picked up a sixer of MGD. We drove back to my grandma’s house and parked across the street. Wayne has a sweet burned CD that was pretty much all Creed, so we started blaring it as loud as we could. Since Wayne is on probation and can’t get caught drinking outside, we decided the best thing to do would be to shotgun the beers. You probably don’t know this, but Wayne is kind of a badass at shotgunning beers. He does it so much that he even knows that MGD shotguns better than every other beer, which I bet you douchers didn’t know. Wayne let me shotgun the first beer, and I don’t mean to brag, but I drank it pretty F’ing fast. Or so I thought. The Waynemaker went next, and I counted while he was finishing it, and he did it in 7 F’ing seconds. That’s not a typo you douchers. Gusalina throws 92 with movement, Wayne shotguns beers in 7 seconds, the Trotters are just that F’ing good.

So we finish the entire 6 pack, and our parents still haven’t made it yet. Since there were still like 8 more songs left on the CD, we decided to throw in some hog dips and rock the F out. We made sure to keep our backs to our grandma’s house. We could hear her yelling for us to come inside and say hi to her from her front porch, but we pretended like we couldn’t hear her and didn’t turn around. Just because it’s her F’ing birthday doesn’t mean that I’m going to spend extra time with her. That’s just an open invitation for her to ask for money once I go first round.

Finally, my parents showed up, so we had to go inside. We said hi to our grandma, stood there while she opened the birthday card, and pretended to actually care that she liked the Ottoville sweatshirt that my family got her. My idiot mom insisted that we sing “Happy Birthday” to her, so Wayne and I stood there and pretended to sing along with my mom and dad when we were really just mouthing the lyrics to Sugar Ray’s “Fly.”

After awhile, I was seriously about to F’ing kill myself from the boredom, but Wayne had a sweet idea. We pretended to be allergic to our grandma’s cats (she has them because our grandpa died and nobody wants to marry her again because she has an F’ing old lady mustache). I started itching my arms and Wayne started sneezing obnoxiously loud because he’s a badass, and we told our parents we needed to leave before the allergies killed us. Those idiots actually believed us.

We left without even saying goodbye to our grandma. I think the birthday card was enough for her, and if she doesn’t like it, then she sure isn’t going to like it when I never talk to her again after going first round. I thought that was the end of thinking about my grandma until her funeral, but as usual I underestimated the Wayneman. As we were driving out, he whipped out what I thought was a credit card. After a closer inspection, it was my grandma’s gift certificate we got her to the mall for Christmas. There was seriously like $250 F’ing dollars on that thing, and Wayne stole it from her. That can only mean one thing – the Waynemaker and Gusalina were going on a shopping spree.

We decided it was probably best not to go to the malls near Ottoville because Wayne has fingerblasted just about every female Abercrombie employee who has worked there in the past 5 years, which could lead to some awkwardness, so we decided to go to a mall in Columbus instead.

Our first instinct was to go hit up the Dick’s Sporting Goods, but since I’m sponsored by pretty much every baseball company in America, not to mention Phiten, it didn’t really make sense to buy something I could get for free. Since we were in the mall, it left us with one store and one store only. Spencer F’ing Gifts.

We quickly found out that having $250 in Spencer Gifts meant that we could own pretty much the entire F’ing store, which was good because there were so many sweet things we could buy in there. Getting a sweet neon lamp for Wayne’s apartment was our first mission, and we had a serious “Mission: Accomplished” when we got both a “Live Nudes” neon sign and a Playboy lamp.

After that Wayne picked up some stuff for some girl who works at the bowling alley that he’s been giving Wayneshowers to. He grabbed two or three Playboy thongs that he’s going to make her wear while she dances to Jock Jams as he pounds Wayne Blasters. He also got a chocolate pen and said he was going to write “Property of Wayne” on her forehead with an arrow going all the way from her forehead to her vagina. So yeah, he’s an F’ing badass.

They had this 24” inflatable penis that Wayne asked if he could take out of the box and blow up. They normally don’t allow it, but I assured them that I was going first round so they let us. Wayne took the giant dong and started hitting all the girls in the store with it. A couple of them were with their boyfriends, and when they said something to Wayne he got in their face and asked them if they had an F’ing problem. They were seriously lucky that he was on probation, that’s for sure.

Since the penis was pretty F’ing gay, we weren’t going to buy it. Wayne gave it to the guy behind the counter and told him we were going to come by and buy it when we left the mall later. Of course, we had no intention of doing so, but the dude was an F’ing idiot, which was probably why he was working at Spencer Gifts in the first place.

After Wayne stocked up on all that sweet stuff, we made them add everything up so we could see how much we had left on the gift card. There was about $50 remaining, and there was only one logical way to spend it – on t-shirts with sweet F’ing sayings on them. It sucked that we only had $50 left, because there were so many that I wanted to get. I ended up picking one this one and this one, while Wayne got this one. We aren’t supposed to wear shirts like that to school, but I’m going first round so I don’t F’ing care.

We finished paying for all our Spencer’s stuff (Thanks Grandma) and we decided to hit the food court. We were pretty F’ing hungry, and we saw a Taco Bell, so it seemed like a natural fit. We passed by these lonely looking Asian douchers giving out free samples of whatever dog meat they were trying to sell on these little toothpicks. Since Wayne has always said “you can never trust food cooked by an Asian not wearing a black belt,” he took the sample and shook the food off the toothpick onto the floor just to watch the Chinaman’s eyes tear up. Wayne was still holding the toothpick and, noticing the obvious similarity, asked the Asian kid which was bigger – the toothpick, or his Asian dong. The kid paused for a second trying to form a response, which for Wayne was a good enough admission of being hung like a toothpick, because he shouted “your silence gives you away, tiny dick!”, flicked the toothpick at his face, and started walking to the Taco Bell.

It’s always hit or miss with a food court Taco Bell in terms of what the food selection is going to be, but if you read this blog you would know that it wasn’t the soft tacos that we were interested in. When we stopped at the liquor store back at my grandma’s, Wayne also grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff. So here at the mall, all we had to do were order a couple Baja Blasts and grab some Gatorade when we stopped for gas and we would have some road Wayne Blasters. So Wayne orders some bullshit food like quesadillas or something, just so we won’t be hungry anymore, and then asks for 2 extra large Bajas. At any normal Taco Bell this wouldn’t have been a problem, but the Taco Bell we were at didn’t have any F’ing Baja Blast. The doucher behind the counter was lucky that Wayne already hit that Asian with the toothpick, because if he still had it, he probably would have stabbed that 14 year old Mexican behind the counter right in his dirty mustache.

Since we were had already paid, we were forced to settle for regular Mountain Dew, which is pretty much the drink for second day draft picks. Gusalina is going first round, not second day, so yeah, it was pretty F’ing awful having to drink something other than Baja with my tacos. Seriously, I could taste the nasty aftertaste of failure with every drink of the Mountain Dew. Since you can’t make a Wayne Blaster without Baja Blast, we were now stuck with two half full cups of Mountain Dew. A normal doucher would just throw the cups away, but that’s the reason they aren’t as badass as me and the Waynestorm. I took the lid off of my cup, and then “accidentally” knocked it on the floor so some janitor who was probably related to Pritchard had to clean it up. One down, one to go. Wayne took his cup with him, just biding his time for the right moment.

We passed by a sports memorabilia store that had a bunch of shitty autographed cards from douchers like Randy Johnson and Dante Bichette. Yeah F’ing right, like anyone is going to want to buy anything with those douchers on them. I decided to be a good guy and help drive the store’s sales, so while Wayne distracted the dude working the cash register, I took out my Sharpie (if you’re going first round, you carry one on you at all times, doucher) and signed “Gusalina #4” to an entire row of framed baseball cards, along with a game worn Bernie Kosar Browns jersey. Maybe, just maybe, now they will actually be able to sell them.

At that point we were finally ready to take off from the mall. Wayne was still carrying his drink, and it was beginning to look like he was going to have to just throw it away in the trash. But as we were reaching the exit of the mall, a beacon of hope appeared in a mass of black t-shirts and F’ing Dickies. Looking into the store, it was like someone designated it as the gathering spot to be an emo doucher extra for the F’ing Twilight sequel. That’s right, I’m talking about Hot Topic. I didn’t even have time to point out the store before Wayne was popping off the lid to his Dew. Wayne deliberately slowed down his pace as the Hot Topic approached on our right, and in one swift motion as we passed the front of the store, threw the open drink into a crowd of homo douchers wearing eyeliner and yelled “Write some poetry and slit your wrists over how you just got an F’ing Wayne Shower you douchers!” then ran for the exit since we were probably going to get kicked out if we stayed.

I have such a sweet older brother.

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I know by now most of you douchers are curious about what Gusalina thinks in regards to the A-Rod situation. It’s no mystery that many scouts have compared my hitting ability to that of a young A-Rod, because my old trainer said that scouts told him and I told you douchers.

So obviously, if Alex Rodriguez says he took steroids, all of you jealous douchers are going to come Gusalina’s way assuming that I had to take them too in order to get the power that I have in the batter’s box. That’s simply false you douchers.

Gusalina is naturally fueled. The only things I will put in my body are Wayne Blasters, regular Baja Blast, Skoal, MySpace poon, EAS Myoplex, NO Xplode, and sometimes I make my stupid mom sprinkle creatine and Muscle Milk on my cereal in the morning. Nowhere does Gusalina take steroids you F’ing idiots!

Yes, there are some things that might make Gusalina look suspicious. First and most obviously, 92 with movement. So many of you douchers email gusalina4@hotmail.com and say I have to be on something just because my fastball moves more than most of you douchers’ curveballs and I strike the batter out pretty much every time I face them. It’s not Gusalina’s problem that he has a live arm. You point out that I don’t need to ice up after I toss in the bullpen, well, again it’s not my F’ing fault that my body heals so quickly that I can fire off splitter after splitter after slider and not be sore or in pain afterwards. It’s why I’m going first round and you’re not douchers.

Even when I escape the accusations about my pitching, though, they just go right to the power that I have with the bat in my hands. Yes, it’s true that I average one opposite field blast pretty much every other game and I pimp those blasts like it’s my F’ing job, but I’ve just got good bat speed and the other pitchers are practically pissing themselves when they face Gusalina, so I make them pay for throwing me stupid pitches. Yes, there was the time in summer ball that I took some doucher on what was pretty much a glorified check swing, but like I said before, if everybody had the talent that Gusalina has, then they’d be going first round too. But they aren’t, and instead are a bunch of jealous douchers who want to be Gusalina, and I just have one thing for them. Yeah, that’s right, an F’ing SuFi.

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I’m finally going to address what all you douchers have been whining about wanting to know for F’ing days now – my Valentine’s Day. I assume it’s because none of you lonely gaywads could get a date for yourself so you want to live through Gusalina. I mean, I can’t blame you, but life must be pretty empty without a fastball that goes 92, a sweet older brother Wayne, first round guarantees, or Myspace poon. Seriously, if I were you I’d probably just F’ing kill myself because you’re one small doucher step away from being Mark Titus. All you need is a blog that nobody reads and an inability to put autographed cards in the mail.

Anyways, after that queerbait doucher Kyle Pritchard broke my computer by telling me to go to a porn website that his dad didn’t pay for with his $350 a week paycheck (that will be the last time I make that mistake) I thought that I might end up not being able to find a girl on MySpace who was looking to fuel from the Gusaline Pump. Luckily for me and even more luckily for Pritchard, I got my computer fixed on the Thursday, which was plenty of time for Gusallina to find some skank looking to get fueled up by a first rounder. I had about 100 Myspace messages from girls all around the greater Ottoville area straight up clamoring to let Gusalina take them out, so it was pretty hard choosing one. I mean, even Zack F’ing Morris didn’t have this many girls trying to get on him at one time. I know we’re in a recession, but it was a little ridiculous how many of these Myspace skanks were trying to get some free Gusaline in their tanks.

So I had got black and white mirror pics of the finest girls in the finest bathrooms from the 419 area code, and was just about to randomly pick one when I saw this girl from Continental that I heard had nipple rings, so yeah, she was my girl. I mean, you put two big targets like that in centerfield like that and Gusalina is going to go after them. Before you douchers start asking, no I’m not going to tell you her F’ing name or her MySpace you perverts. Gusalina has a little thing called class, maybe you should try having it yourself sometime.

Anyways, even though this girl has sent me like 3 different pictures on MySpace, and almost certainly wanted to get sprayed with some Gusaline, I realized that since this was Valentine’s Day I needed to do something romantic. I don’t mean to brag to all you douchers, because you already know how F’ing awesome I am, but Gusalina is a pretty romantic guy. Knowing that, you should be thoroughly impressed when you hear that I saved all of her MySpace pictures to my computer, and then made a slideshow video of them. Since every slideshow video needs music, I set it to Plain White T’s “Hey There Delilah” and put “Want to go first round in Gusalina’s Valentine Draft?” at the end. I know, I know, “But Gusalina you rock so hard to bands like Creed and Nickelback and 3 Doors Down all the time, how could you use Plain White T’s?” Well, when you’re as romantic as I am, you just know when the time is right to slow things down a little.

Needless to say, this skank eats the video up. I mean, in the picture she sent me afterwards (her in the bathroom mirror holding up a piece of paper that says “YES!” except the F’ing idiot didn’t write it backwards so in the mirror it looked like “!SEY.” She’s seriously lucky she’s got a nice rack) her nipples were so hard at the prospect of Gusalina that she had to have been dangerously close to popping her nipple rings off with her THO. That would have been a dealbreaker, so she’s lucky that it didn’t happen.

So anyways, I tell her I’m going to give her a signing bonus (if you know what I mean) on Valentine’s Day and that she should be ready to go at 6:30 if she doesn’t want me to go pickup my backup skank instead. She asks where we’re going and by now I’m annoyed at talking to her and say that we’re going somewhere F’ing nice and that she needs to stop asking stupid questions. She messaged me a few times between then and the date but I pretended like I wasn’t on MySpace. I mean, seriously, Gusalina isn’t trying to get F’ing married here.

A couple days before the date I was going to make Pritchard come over and clean out all the old Baja cups from my sweet Camaro for the date and then make him vaccuum the floor and wash and wax it for messing up my computer and being a general white trash F’ing doucher, but Wayne came over and told me that I could borrow his Cumaro if I wanted.

Before you douchers go doing the only thing in life that you’re good at – jumping to conclusions – no, Wayne was not dateless on Valentine’s Day you morons. Wayne has been giving Wayneshowers to this skank over at the bowling alley for a couple of months now, and she had to work on Valentine’s Day, which was good for Wayne because he could go bowl for free for 4 hours and not have to pay for some skank’s Valentine’s dinner. It’s really a win-win situation. She doesn’t even make him wear bowling shoes, that’s how F’ing sweet my older brother Wayne is. That still doesn’t explain why Wayne wouldn’t need his Cumaro, so let me clue you douchers in. This bowling alley chick is seriously DTF 24/7, she’s that big of a skank And since Wayne can just take her out back behind the bowling alley and get some, he doesn’t want to have to deal with that skank trying to come home with him.

Wayne has that problem a lot, so he did what any sensible man would do for these situations – he bought an F’ing Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle. That way, when these groupies are all “Wayne, can I spend the night?” he just looks at them and says “How are you supposed to fit on the back of my Kawasaki Ninja, you idiot?” and then rides it home at 100mph+ without that skank.

Even though it’s not like Gusalina was going to come home empty-handed on Valentine’s Day, having the Cumaro was like having Gusalina on the mound in the 9th inning with a lead – Game F’ing Over. My stupid mom Donna asked me if I was going to get this girl flowers, and I gave her the SuFi and told her that a) I’m buying this skank dinner, b) that alone is more than I usually pay to defuel the Gusaline Pump, so I’m definitely not going to be buying flowers too, and c) this skank forfeited the right to receive flowers when she forged her parent’s signature and got nipple rings at the age of 17. These are words of wisdom, I hope you douchers are taking notes.

Since it’s still a romantic evening, I decided I would dress up for this skank. So I threw on my best Affliction shirt (a sweet-ass Josh Barnett one, douchers), matched it with a flat-billed 5950 White Sox hat and triple-layer Phiten combo, and walked out the door. I fired up the Cumaro, and the purring engine foreshadowed what was in store for the night.

So I drive for a little bit and finally get to this skank’s house. Her directions were really F’ing confusing which seriously pissed me off. Since Gusalina only deals with adults if they are scouts or agents, I wasn’t about to go knock on the door to let her know I was here. Instead, I laid on the horn for like 5 seconds straight. Except, I had forgot that Wayne had the horn sound replaced with the sound of some skank having an orgasm. I would have been embarrassed if I wasn’t going first round.

She eventually comes outside, but pisses me off yet again when I notice she’s wearing an F’ing sweatshirt. She get’s in the car and I pretend to be super mad at her for what she’s wearing - when I’m only a little mad because I already know she’s going to take it off in the backseat later - because I know that she’s going to try really hard to make it up to Gusalina the rest of the night.

We drive for a little bit and she’s obviously impressed with the Cumaro. Since Gusalina knows how to treat a lady, I decided to go pretty fancy for the evening and treat this skank to some Golden Corral. We get to Golden Corral at around 6:55, but I don’t let her get out of the car right away. Instead, we stay inside the Cumaro in the parking lot doing donuts like an F’ing badass would. At like 7:10 we finally make it inside, only to have my night instantly ruined.

One by one, my senses were dropping me clues to what I was about to discover. I smelled the distinct combo of oatmeal and motor oil. I could hear an adult voice forming words that a 6th grader would use in a twang that can only be explained by some form of inbreeding. I felt my fingers instinctively making the SuFi and I tasted a slight hint of imitation Axe body spray on my tongue. Finally, my eyes completed the picture. Staring me straight in the face, no more than 15 feet away, was the entire F’ing Pritchard family having dinner.

Being the upstanding citizen that I am, I ignored Kyle saying “Hey Gusalina!” and immediately walked to the manager and informed them of the family’s inability to pay for their meal, seeing as how they are on welfare and can’t even afford to buy Kyle the real Axe to cover his BO. Even though my suspicion was correct, and the Pritchards couldn’t afford the meal, the manager informed me that they got a discount because the heavyset woman who was waiting on the tables was none other than Mrs. Pritchard herself. I thought that she was working at the China Buffet, but she must have got fired for stealing fortune cookies to delude her children into thinking their fortunes will be anything but miserable.

Needless to say, I demanded to be waited on by someone other than Mrs. Pritchard, because any person who directly contributed to Kyle Pritchard’s life cannot be trusted to serve Gusalina and his date any food. Our new waiter was a man with a wispy mustache and no upward mobility, which, in comparison to my guaranteed future as a first rounder made me look even better to Little Miss Nipple Rings.

Since Gusalina knows how to treat a lady, I told her that she could have anything that she wanted at Golden Corral. Is it Gusalina’s fault that he looks like a generous pimp when she doesn’t realize that Golden Corral is an F’ing buffet? Of course not. So she starts going to town on everything from chicken fingers to corn on the cob, so I did what any gentleman would do – I told the pierced nipple piglet to slow down on the food before she made Gusalina puke in disgust. She got the memo and slowed down, but got a serious staredown from me when she went and got dessert. Seriously, whoever ends up marrying this girl is in for a rude awakening when the slutty girl whose only redeeming quality is her pierced nipples turns into the nasty fat girl whose only redeeming quality is her pierced nipples. Luckily for Gusalina, I don’t have to worry about that.

I’m not going to give you lonely douchers any chance to practice throwing your knuckleball to the thought of Gusalina and this girl in the backseat of the Cumaro so I’ll keep the details brief. Yes, the nipples were pierced. No, she didn’t have pepperoni nipples. I would have kicked her out of the Cumaro right then and there if she did. If you want to know all the things that this Continental skank was willing to do, I’m not going to tell you. All I will tell you is that the only thing I couldn’t convince her to do was an F’ing Menudo Handshake. Look it up douchers.

So after I got done draining the Gusaline Pump of about 3 days worth of fuel all over her sweatshirt (serves her right for F’ing wearing it in the first place), I decided the night was over and I took the skank home. As I pulled into her driveway, it was clear she was looking for a goodnight kiss or something. Sucked to be her. Right after I got done with her in the back seat I had thrown in a MONSTER pinch of Skoal (citrus, you douchers) so I wouldn’t have to give her a goodnight kiss. Gusalina is always a step ahead, can’t let them get attached.

Once I dropped Nipples off I drove past Wayne’s to see if he was home. His F’ing sweet Kawasaki Ninja was in the driveway so I stopped in to see how many times he banged the skank from the bowling alley. According to Wayne, he set up a system where he would bowl a game and if he rolled over 150 then he would go outside and bang the girl. What she didn’t realize was that Wayne is in a bowling league, so yeah, he was getting some tonight. He said that he bowled 5 games and 4 of them were over 150, so you do the math. One of the times he took her outside, when he finished he made her stay outside with her top off to see if his Waynedrops turned into Waynecicles. Yeah, my brother Wayne is kind of a badass.

Since he rode his Kawasaki Ninja home, there was nobody else there. We weren’t really feeling like having Wayne Blasters so we decided to drink Wayne’s newest creation – The Wayne Bomb. For all you douchers who want to know what a Wayne Bomb is, it’s simple. Mix Jaeger and vodka in a double shot, light the top on fire, drop it in a Taco Bell cup 3/4 full of Baja Blast, and chug it. The result is F’ing delicious. If I was the one who came up with it, I would have named it the Flamethrower, since I throw 92 with movement, but quick thinking like is the reason why Wayne is such a badass.

We pound like 3 of those apiece and I’ve got a pretty strong buzz going on. It’s like 2am by now, and we had just got done watching a live Limp Bizkit DVD when Wayne got a phone call. Turns out some stripper has become addicted to Wayneshowers and she wanted to give herself a little Valentine’s present from the Waynemaker now that she had got off her shift. That’s the thing about my sweet older brother Wayne, just when you think he’s done, he brings another girl home, takes her in his bedroom, and blasts Jock Jams. Since I was buzzed, Wayne wouldn’t let me drive his Cumaro home, so I had to sit in the living room listening to Wayne blast “No Limit” while he blasts this stripper. She didn’t even bring a friend home for Gusalina, which in my opinion is straight F’ing bullshit, but if Wayne was getting some you really can’t be upset.

The next couple of days that girl kept trying to MySpace message me, but I ignored them. When the messages persisted, I deleted her as a friend. I think that was a good reminder that she was just this year’s Valentine’s Day conquest for Gusalina.

Stealing Home on 15 Year Old Girls All Across Ohio,
Gusalina #4