THe FReCKLeD FINGeR

I'm so goddamn lucky to have won the 'Born In A Normal Country' lottery and slid out of a vagina within the borders of the good ol' US of A.

So why are you trying so hard for me to hate you, America?  Do you want me to hate you?  Because I will, if that's what you want. Is that what you want?  Is it? Huh?

Why do we, as a whole, care about our athletes and where or in who they decide to place their penises?  I know the universal response to this answer, 'Well, why shouldn't we care?' is '...because', but I think I have a better explanation.

I know for a fact that most webcartoonists, and the majority of you who have landed here in search of a webcartoon, could not have beat Terri Schiavo in a foot race.  It's just science.  I've been to a few Comic Cons and those that attend, collectively, might be some of the most unathletic bags of shit I've ever laid my eyes on... so just bear with me while I talk athletics for a moment.

Becoming a professional athlete is one of the hardest, if not the hardest, thing to accomplish when it comes to this country.  It's pretty damn impossible, if you ask me.  As most little kids once did, I had plans to be a pro jock myself and was fortunate and talented enough to work my way all the up to playing Division I college baseball.  Obviously, considering you are now reading this on my website and my wrists are bandaged, I did not make it... but from that journey I gained the credibility to say this next phrase:

Athletes can fuck whoever they want and we, as Americans, should not stick our obese, autistic noses in their business.

If you are the 1 of 57,043 aspiring athletes that does make a living from a sport, you have worked your ass to the colon to get there.  You completely missed your childhood, your teenage years and your college experience to reach that goal. 

No thrill of underage drinking.

No high school pregnancy scare and subsequent and useless drive to the Woman's Clinic.

No drug experimentation.

No.  They are training constantly to reach their potential in a sport.  Day and night, night and day, morning and afternoon.  These athletes have sacrificed a quarter of their lives in a brutal dog fight to land a membership in the most exclusive club in the world:  A professional athlete.

You could also think of it this way:  it's an additional lottery system.  OK, say a male athlete sleeps around with numerous women in various cities.  One night, he slips up and doesn't wear a condom and from that mistake a baby is born.  BOOM!  $50,000 a month in support or a 7-figure 'shut your mouth and I'll never be this kid's father' money. 

So leave 'em alone goddammnit.  Let 'em screw whoever and wherever they want.  They've earned it.  Sleeping around and keeping a rolodex of numbers in all the away cities you visit is part of the glamour of the job.  If we take away all the vaginas and penises from these heroes, their game may suffer... and who wants that?

Just as long as one of these athletes don't bang my mother, play ball!