THE BAD, BAD, BALL GIRL

Tell me about yourself.

Oh. Okay. I enjoy receiving the gift of cunnilingus much more than enduring fellatio, but in any given situation, I am willing to negotiate.

Well that was straightforward.

Time limit. Your turn.

I can’t match that…I…

Time limit. Spill it! Do you like your balls fondled or not? Rough stuff or puffy?

I can’t. What is this? Are you serious?

I have five minutes…4:18…to help you get your shit together and half-way appeal to me!

Ah! I get it! So either I throw strikes or I’m out of your zone! How many pitches?

It’s a fairly simple game. You know the score.

Disagree. It’s a subtle, and sometimes complex, game. And, I am willing to bet you’re having a perfect night…

Hardly.

No. I’d be willing to bet you’re throwing a perfect no-hitter. How many batters have you faced? Eight? Nine?…

I lost count, but, so far, you’re at the bottom of the order.

Then why are guys volunteering to move down?

Fuck you. There are men I need to see, not some pussy mama’s boy.

The fleet could come in and they’d still sail by…

I could bring the fleet to their knees.

Yeah. That makes sense. But, since you offered the info, I gather you seldom assume that position.

AS I said ‘…depends on the situation.’

Negotiation. Sad. Such a simple gesture and it has to go into Negotiations. (tsk-tsk). Are litigators involved? …because, stating right up front - I’m a litigator, so if there’s a conflict  of interest I should know about it…

Is that what this is?

What’s that?

A conflict of interest…?

Oh. Are we conflicted?

I sense we are.

In what way?

In a conflicted way.

Thanks for clarifying…

You know what I mean. And…by the way? You’re moving up in the order. I got a call from upstairs. They want to see what you can do under pressure.

Piece of cake.

Whatever you want to call it.

Are we presently ‘negotiating’?

We’re ‘in discussion’.

How far up? Middle of the order?

You have to earn that spot.

You mean ‘Clean-up’ !? …really?

I’m the field general, I’ll decide.

You mixed your malaprops, missy…a ‘field general’ is a quarterback.

Not what my Pop used to say, and he coached his whole life. And don’t dare call me ‘missy’…

So you’re a jock sniffer.

Okay that’s it….Pulling you out of the game. Hit the bench.

Why don’t we just hit the bed and see how the ball bounces?

Just as I suspected…

What’s that?

You’re missing one.

Only one way to find out.

Not true.

I throw some nasty stuff. How we doing on time?

Huh? Oh. Twenty seconds…

Still benched?

Hate to say it, but…

Go ahead.

Your bench or mine.

Yours.

Alright, but I’ve gotta’ warn you - there’s peanut shells on the dugout floor…

Now you’re just talkin’ dirty…

…and, all this time I thought we were talkin’ ‘baseball’.