So now there's 15 motherfucking charges in my indictment? 

Why doesn't anyone ever fill me the hell in on this shit occasionally?  Do I get a call from my lawyer?  No.  Do I get a note from the prosecutor?  The ball-bustin', motherfuckin' judge?  Nah.  I read it in one of the 27 different cutout articles about me that I have delivered to my house every Tuesday. First one I picked up. There it is in big, bold letters on the front page: "Fuck you, Barry Bonds."

It wasn't even a "fuck you" for today!  This shit was news on May 14th.  May motherfuckin' 14th??? 

And what's this "superseding indictment"?  The fuck is "superseding," man?  Those cockeating shit stains are making up new words just for my trial.  I'm the first motherfucker in criminal prosecution history that convinced motherfuckers to add words to Black's Law Dictionary.  This is some shit. 

...okay, okay. The article says I wouldn't get any extra jail time for the superseding bullshit.  Okay.  I'll just breathe a little here.  It's cool, Barry.  Everything's cool and the gang.  Sorry for the alarms, people. 

I know all my blog readers were soiling themselves at the same time as me....or at least back on May 14th they were. That's because their personal assistants probably deliver them articles about me in a timely fucking manner.

Phew!  I almost had to sell my dignity on my web page, along with all my memorabilia.  By the way, this cool-ass autographed shit is only $400, people:

Start bidding.  Enthusiastically.  I think I figured out why I didn't get a call on the 14th.  I might owe my lawyer some money.