You can count me out. You really think I'm going to use that thing? that dangerous, weapon-like thing? You really think I'm going to lug around four pounds of dead animal flesh? Think again. Don't even get me started on the sphere of death as I like to call it. Have you noticed how it comes toward its victim, hurling itself through space at a hundred and seventy-five miles per hour, no conscious, just aim and fire. It's not for me. I'm not saying I'm a wimp, I'm not saying you're crazy. I'm saying I have no wish to die. And even if I'm not being melodramatic (which I have a tendency to be let's face it), at the best it's an exercise in exquisite boredom, so dull the brain is at risk of turning to lime Jello, the appendages might shrivel and atrophy while we're standing here. No, this is all I have to say: Count me out. Baseball is not for me.


Want to comment? Login or Join

Login Sign up

anikawriter (joined about 13 years ago)

1 favorites

Story information


Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0


We like you. Say "Hi."