As you know, my 21st birthday was last Saturday. I’m praying to the mascot gods those Marlins Crocs I received in the mail weren’t my present. TWENTY ONE YEARS and this is what I get?
I know you’re cheap. I know you’re a weasel. But CROCS! Just when I thought a man couldn’t sink any lower… Today may finally be the day I legally drink myself to death. As if I haven’t been pounding whiskey since you got here…
Did you know Micky Arison got Bernie a yacht for his birthday? A friggin boat, you shmuck! I’m in mascot hell. If we didn’t have lifetime contracts, I would’ve taken my talents to a little place called ANYWHERE BUT HERE.
These last 11 years under your ownership have been the worst 11 years of my life. I don’t care that we won in ’03. I don’t care about the new (stolen) digs in 2012. You do realize your logo resembles fruit loops — after passing through my abused bowels, right?
Oh the irony. How I’m supposed to be the team’s biggest fan, but in actuality there is no greater hater. Also ironic is the smile permanently emblazoned on my pathetic face. I’m weeping inside, Jeffrey. The sun don’t shine on Billy the Marlin.
If not for Betty the Marlin and her world famous matzah ball soup, I would’ve offed myself back in ’04. This is no way to live. Do you have any idea what regularly happens to me in public? Everytime I go out to dinner, albeit usually Wendy’s since I make seven measly dollars an hour, you cheap prick, there’s always an incident.
Last night at Monty’s — affordable only because I robbed a gas station — I was punched in what’s left of my Marlin balls by three different people. This happens all the time and Betty can’t get pregnant because of it. I hate you. You have your big ass house to go home to filled with your IKEA furniture. I have a hut in Little Havana where Betty can’t even earn some extra cash by playing the “No Blockie” parking shtick because NOBODY GOES TO THE F—ING GAMES. She works at Bowl Bar, probably turning tricks for all I know.
Life has become lifeless. My wife hates me. I haven’t gotten my little Marlins penis up in years. YEARS. What started out as a hate letter has officially become a suicide note. Don’t worry though, I’ll have Bernie cover the funeral costs, you cheap bastard.
Billy the Marlin
Original Photo: Carmen Zuniga