 Mustachio lova da stickball by Mustachio Orlando, Syndicated Columnist
Halooooo! It is Mustachio for da another time again! It has been months since he spoke witchoo! I have been so so busy because, did ju know, Mustachio is da athlete in more ways than being sexy and a brisk biker. Ô sunte'leia! I have da big dreams in sports, for da stickball tryouts are among me! Tomorrow is da big day and dis year Mustachio will not be unimpressed to da coaches. Sa-wing and a hit!
Mustachio luva da every ting about stickball. Da babes in da bleachers and da smell of roasted peanuts stuck in da ‘stache. It is da national pastime of my home country and makes da fútbol look like da cheeseball—tasty but no good as da entrée and too boring to put on da sandwich. Lis’somai Zênos’ Olumpi’ou, so stretch out jor lips and put in da big league chewy tobacco-shaped shredded pink gum because yours honestly is hoping to get walked but not beaned. Ball four, take my base!
Da day after today, every man wit da arms in my country appears to tryout da ball-playing skills. Da competition is rougher than if there were a buncha fat kids in a pork-eating contest. In Mustachio’s case, however, da chances are slim, get it?! Pow! It is da belief of me dat da upperhand is in my favor, because as you know, Prosphilôs’ moi e'khe, I spend most of da free time on second and third base! Boobs and vagina!
But in fairness, I have been waiting da whole life for dis moment, nine years in da row. I have undergone da bloopers in my time, believe me. I will recount dese for ju. ‘96: Da grounder hit da peepee and Mustachio fell asleep. Keep eyes on da balls! ‘97: Instead of hitting da cutoff man who was open, I hit on his wife whose legs were dat too. Needles to say, I took it to da hole in different sport. Ding! ‘98: Ate da bad seafood and spent da day in different base number 2, a portable toilet. Pôs? Squirt! ‘99: Misread coaches hand signalizing and ended up nakey, plucking chickens in da left field. Papai’! ‘00: Got in fistfight wit father, also ump, which threw Mustachio out. Es Hai'dou bas'ke! ‘01: Inhaled da David’s sunflower seeds and spent da afternoon coughing up salty hurting tings. It’s burn! ‘02: Pitcher ignored da my signs to throw da changeup, so when I tried to bunt, he threw da fastball in my kidney. Youch-a-reno! ‘03: When Mustachio got under da pop-up fly ball, it missed his glove and hit my mouth! They had to shave me off to put a stitch in da lip where teeth protruded. Ê ou soi dokei’? Emoi’ge.
So, in da conclusion, Mustachio has da game-face on for da bright and early tryouts. My second-hand Wade Boggs signature glove cannot fail me in da time of testing da strength on da field. I have practiced da fundamentals of stickball which include sliding, rounding first, scratching sack, ducking from scary pitches, trash talk, bench sitting, drinking beers, and not picking daisies in da outfield! You probably can’t see Mustachio when he wins da world series of stickball, for they don’t use da cameras in da minor leagues! Tês tu’khês!
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