Here's a little peak into MY life.  Everyday, it seems people ask me the same three questions:

1. Are you a champion of Civil Rights in baseball, or just a champion for Civil Rights?

2. Did you ever put Jeff Kent in a Special-Forces-like choke hold for sitting on your locker-room recliner? and

3. Have you been working out?

The answers to all these are, of course,"yes," and "what the FUCK do you think?"

Lately, I've been getting a new one. "Barry, are you pissed that the SF Wax Museum took your body down to the basement?" Hell, no!  I told those crackers to get rid of that abomination. Why?  I'll tell you why:

Yeah, I may look like like the huge-as-fuck, totally ripped Barry Bonds in this photo, but what the HELL is with the genitalia?  Mutha fuckas gave me twig and berries that look like twig and berries!  Who am I, Joe Buck? 

I didn't do 400,000 lat pulls per day just so some "artistic" hacks could give me ripped wax-statue muscles at the expense of hatcheting my manhood down to Ichiro levels. Nope. Take it down, assholes. And don't let the door hit my waxed ass on the way out.