PLAY BALL

    I love baseball.
    So much in fact I carry a bat with me everywhere I go.
      Why?
    Because if you want to be a good ball player you have to practice.  Lots and lots of practice.  Besides I like the sound it makes when I whack some snot nosed kid in the head.
    Not the aluminum.  No they tend to make too much of a clink or a clank.  I prefer the old fashioned Louisville Slugger making the quiet ……
    Thump.
    Thud or a splat.
    I would shoot’em but guns are loud and cause panic in the neighborhood.  Lets face it there’s just too many crazies out there these days. 
    Loud mouth little brats.
    There’s a group of them that stand on the corner .  They mock and make fun for whatever reason they can think of.  Mostly the burn scars on my face.
    No respect.
    Absolutely none.
    Shouldn’t be tolerated.
    One kid called me names that I dare not even repeat.  It goes against my Christianity.  Oh I pray for them… I do.  Every night I pray for their lost souls and ask God to forgive them for their sins.
    So I went over and spoke with the parent about the little brats situation and not much to my surprise a woman answers the door.  She was dressed in a short mini skirt, bags under her eyes and her nose was red.  She looked happy to see me when she smiled her big crack smoking teeth rotting smile as her wrinkled rotting breast practically hung out of her holey shirt.
    I waved my hand in the air.  “I give it up.  Talk about white trash.
    It was no wonder the kids act the way they do.  And all this going on right in my own neighborhood.
    I’m sick of it.
    The disgusting little tramps.
    On my way back up the drive the snot nose crack baby called me another  name.
    I shouldered my Louisville slugger and walked right up to him and as if his head was sitting on a tee ball.
    “Hey batter batter batter….. Hey batter batter batter….. Swiiiiiing!”
    Whack.
    His eyes didn’t even get a chance to see what was coming.
    Blood on my bat.
    Lots of blood.
    His blood.
    The kid fell to the ground with a thud.
    I whacked him three more times to make sure he was a goner then I licked the bat clean.
    The blood tasted sweet on my tongue sending me into a feeding frenzy.
    No smarting off for this chump.
    “Who’s the wise guy now?”
    Sure ain’t you.
    I walked back up to the house and closed the door leaving the snot nosed kid alone to  bleed to death on the street.
    Of course no one came.
    Why?
    Cause no one cared that’s why.  The neighbors were probably glad I did it.
    The little brat.
    Let someone else give me another shot.  I’ll give’em a what for.
    This was the same kid that gave me a hard time during Halloween throwing a bag of dog crap on my front porch.
    Oh he thinks I didn’t know it was he.
    Oh I knew all right.
    I looked out the window and the boy was still laying on the ground. I watched as some kid, another snot faced brat came along on his bicycle. He got down and looked the boy over.  First he nudged him with the toe of his shoe and when he saw he was dead he reached in the kid’s pocket and dug out a small stack of bills.  Probably drug money.
    Like he deserved that.
    The boy kicked him again and picked up his bicycle. 
    I ran out and chased the kid down.
    “Come back here kid I need to talk to ya”
    “Yeah right,” he said.
      “I said get your butt back here.”
    “Over my dead body,” and he gave me the finger.  Rude little brat.
    See what I mean? No respect.
    I chased after him. His little legs could not pedal as fast as I could run.
    Then he took out his gun.
    Shot at me.
    Missed.
    “Hey batter batter batter.  Hey batter batter batter…… Swiiiiiing!”
    My bat connected with the back of his head and it exploded into a fiery bloody mist.
    I took the money from the boy and left him alone.
    no I didn’t feel bad not one bit.  He didn’t deserve it.
    Kids.
    I hate kids.
    The little rats.
    Always sitting around outside my house causing trouble and making noise when they should be home doing their homework or reading a book or something.
    What’s wrong with these people?
    What’s wrong with their parents?  Do they want their kids to grow up to be some kind of sicko?
    Some of these kids just need a little discipline. A little straightening out.
    Somebody has to do it.
    Over out in the common area by my development I saw a group playing baseball..
    My favorite game.
    I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same group of kids that stole that my neighbor’s purse out of her car.
    Most likely.
    My bat dripping with blood I approached them grinning from ear to ear. 
    A players paradise.
    Hey kids. “Mind if I play?”