why am i out mcstallen!...?

I don got alot to sae to ju McStallen.
Ju keepen me in dark an mostly of your plans

an i sorry i bumpen ju arm in sudan- i sweare i don do that en purpose. and that was that. but now i'm out. for that- why am i out?

Ju say ju alwas taken me care of McStallen but ju ever thinken about that? ju ever juance thinken about that? sending juan off to do this!
senden juan off to do that. senden juan to bomb micky mouses' night club
or send juan pick uping sr. roberto at the airport.

i your writing handman and i got passover for carlos mcgelboim

this no is the way I wanted it. i handle thins- i smart- no like everyone sayen- no dumb- i smart and i wan respecten!



my pleasure,
Juan Boca

The 4th of July Comes to St. Louis, Missouri (US) a Bit Early

I don't like working in the United States. Things get pretty hairy there- lots of police and government forces, and us foreign nationals really have to watch our backs now that they have this blasted Patriot Act. What a bunch of shit that is. Three Super Bowl championships, now that's a Patriot Act. Nevertheless, every once in a while if the price is right, I end up somewhere in America, and usually destroy something or someone and take in a professional baseball game or two.

Anyway an old nemesis of mine, Otis Carson, is getting married in America in a few weeks. Carson and I traded a few AK-47 bursts in a refugee camp in Sierra Leone in '98, and he "rescued" an OPEC executive I was holding for ransom in Yemen in '02, which cost me millions. As revenge, I swore I'd ruin his wedding. But this bastard is pretty crafty, and he has been engaged eight times and staged a half-dozen mock weddings, all just to confuse me and draw me out. But I never took the bait and waited for the real one.

My American liason, the callous Evan Belgium, confirmed that Carson was planning to get married for real this August. Carson and Belgium served together in the American military in Vietnam, and they have a long-standing rivalry stemming from an argument they had when deciding which villagers to excute after they raided a South Vietnamese strategic hamlet suspected of harboring Viet Cong subversives. In the 1990s I frequently played Carson and Belgium off each other to further my own business interests. Carson and Belgium live in the decrepit, plague-infested midwestern town of St. Louis, Missouri (US) where everyone wants to know where you went to high school and the girl who dies with the tallest boyfriend wins. And what a mess it is driving in this town-it reminds me of Saigon '75, except without all those bloody North Vietnamese tanks.

So I devised a two-man mission for me and my new right-hand man, Carlos "The Jackal" McGelboim. Carlos is a former Mosad interrogator but the Israelis let him go because he cut off the wrong Arab's tongue. I left Juan Boca at home in my training camp in Tunis. Things could get rough here, and Juan's not really a war-time right-hand man. Even though Boca is a US citizen, I can't take the chance he would screw something up- not after the flame-thrower debacle last week in Sudan.

Carlos and I posed as American telephone repairman and drove to Carson's neighborhood. Carlos and I strung up about 1500 pounds of plastic explosives in the telephone poles around Carson's compund and we detonated them when we were a few miles away. I guess we used more explosives than we needed to, because the whole neighborhood started going up- very reminiscent of last week's fun in Sudan.



I'm not sure if we caught Carson with the blast. For now I am living in a small spider hole with a rustic pistol and my laptop in Evan Belgium's backyard, waiting to see what becomes of Mr. Carson and his treacherous wedding plans. Fortunatley SouthwesternBell does an outstanding job as a wireless internet provider, and I get hi-speed internet access from the spider hole.


National guardsmen scurry children along in the predominantly Asian St. Louis neighborhood that was devastated by the blast


And for more photos of the explosion, be sure and check out these copy-written snapshots here taken from the McStallen attack helicopter. I am trying to market a scaled down version of the McStallen attack helicopter as a children's toy. E-mail me at my hotmail account if you are interested in helping me finance the project.

Oh and I will close with the latest Placido Polanco news...Here's what Ken Rosenthal of the Sporting New wrote today, "The Phillies' trade of second baseman Placido Polanco for reliever Ugueth Urbina seemed like a good idea at the time, but the deal already looks like a loser. Urbina allowed five homers in his first 5 1/3 innings at hitter-friendly Citizens Bank Park. Polanco not only has given the Tigers a major offensive boost at second base, but also has emerged as a leader. ..."

A Night Raid in West Africa

I just got back from the port city of Dakar where I was fortunate enough to participate in a search-and-destroy mission that was one of the best damned commando missions I have ever been on. It was completed about 10 hours ago and I am still a bit wired from the whole thing.

We raided a Senagalese military compound and really blew the hell out of it. We had a 14-man attack squad, and I provided covering fire with a .50 caliber machine gun from a secluded spot. I can't run like I used to, so they put me on the machine gun and told me to open up once the fireworks started. They also asked if I wanted a .30 caliber, but I told them to give me the big .50. A .30 caliber is pussy as far as I'm concerned. Anyway I took out a guard tower and shot up the mess hall- even caught a few dumb bastards while they were still eating. So I haven't lost my touch with the .50 cal. The guy feeding me the amo was amazed at all the damage I did. Young punk must have been half my age -if that. After the shooting was over we torched the place and took back a few prisoners. They didn't know what hit them. Or who. They know now.


One of the more maniacal commandos in our squad prepares to set off a small explosive with a bar-b-q lighter. I never did catch the fellow's name. I think he was Ukranian

I'd love to have another go at the Senegalese, but they'll be on high-alert after tonight's show, so it's a good thing that we're leaving. And you'll have to excuse my profanity in this post- as I said I am a bit wired, and all the blood-letting brought tears of joy to this lonely old mercenary's aging heart. I still got it.

A Beltran Too Far

Yesterday I settled all my business with Ricky Beltran. I tracked him back to his Sudanese hide-out, a sprawling urban bunker near one of Khartoum's many bridges. I checked out his place with my binoculars and could see dozens of sandbags, a .50, some other light ordinance, and a few guards- probably just old men and children. Peace of cake. Juan and I drove down the street in my tank and I figured we could just take Beltran right out. But when we got with-in 50 meters, an anti-tank round whizzed from the bunker and blew off our tread. Our tank was disabled and it was time for Plan B.

Juan and I waited for nightfall and then approached the bunker on foot. We brought a flame thrower with us and we were going to burn up the whole place. But we had to make sure we got him with the first burst; as soon as we fired we would give away our position, and Beltran and his guards could put alot of heat our way. We crept behind a dumpster across the street and got ready to fire. I aimed into the bunker and pulled the trigger on the flame-thrower, but Juan bumped my arm, causing the flames to miss the target by about 5 meters. We hit the deck.
I yelled, "You clumsy idiot! You bumped my arm!"
Juan yelled back, "Ju was moven!"
Then suddenly the whole bunker went up like a Roman candle. Hot rounds, claymores, missiles, everything went up.
"We hit the ammunition dump!" I screamed. Ordinance continued to go off and the whole street burned like Osage Avenue. Juan and I snuck out of there, but there's no way Ricky Beltran did. No one could have survived that. When I got down the street I blew my trumpet, because I wanted everyone in Khartoum to know who did this.


Children played on my tank in the outskirts of Khartoum only hours before I assaulted Ricky Beltran's urban bunker


While I was really happy that Ricky Beltran and his cronies burned like dogs, perhaps the best news I have is that Placido Polanco
hit a two-run walk-off dong as the Detroit Tigers beat the San Fransisco Giants 10-8 in extra innings today. Keep up the good work, Placido. Only god can judge you.

The Peace is Broken! ... Amateur & Semi-Professional Baseball Review

Friends, I have terrible news vis-a-vis the insideous wounding of Juan Boca yesterday afternoon. Juan was returning home from a pet store in his native Trenton, New Jersey (USA), carrying several bags of tropical fish that he bought for his long-time girlfriend, Marisol.
Juan saw a neighbor and said, "Lookit these fish I got for my girlfren!"
The neighbor responded, "Nice trade!"

Then Juan began to open his screen door when several of the fish suddenly detonated. Apparently the fish had been rigged with tiny plastic explosives, and when they went off they blew Juan ten meters into the air. Fortunately, the portly Boca is insulated with several layers of baby fat, and much of the shrapnel was unable to penetrate his vital organs. Nevertheless he was taken to a local hospital and received dozens of stitches. Exploding tropical fish are a calling card of the loathed and despised Ricky Beltran, the two-bit mercenary who has now drawn the full breadth of my wrath. The peace is over- This assassination attempt on Boca is an act of war, and Ricky Beltran is a dead man walking as far as I'm concerned. You want a war Beltran? You got a war.

Juan scribbled wrote me a note that he wanted me to publish on this blog to let everyone know he is alive and healing. Here goes:

Frens
i was an injury by an exploden fish
but i gon to recommend myself in hospital and wil be soon
don ju worry!
-Juan

I honestly don't know what the hell he is trying to say, but anyway on to sports...As many of you know I spend alot of time covering professional American baseball. But what of the often-overlooked world of amateur and semi-professional American baseball? Today I am going to focus on three promising squads and some of their elite players in this often under-appreciated strata of American athletics:

1) The Sacramento Trojans -Baseball in the Pacific Northwest doesn't get any more hardcore than this. Check out a night-game in hitter-friendly San Juan High School and you'll see what I mean. Jim Miramontes and Tony "CoCo" Khoury highlight this squad of ballas that work hard and play hard, making The Dirty Dozen look like a merry band of choir boys. Tony Khoury once beat a fan to death with a rosin bag just for heckling him. The Trojan post-game celebrations often lead to violent blood-lettings, and several promising Trojan middle-relievers, including bare-chested impressionist painter/left-handed set-up man Georges St. Pierre, were actually shot at the last team party, prompting the aptly-named Coach Sage to renew his search for middle relief pitchers.

2) St. Louis Golden Spikes- St. Louis, where the girl who dies with the tallest boyfriend wins, is also home to this interesting band of renegade hoosiers who throw 90-MPH heat and host wicked trivia nights. Last week starting pitcher Christopher Crooks actually won both games of a double-header and convicted a janitor of wreckless driving in night-court in Chesterfield. Rumor has it they have recently added Ed Lynch's nephew to provide a much needed big lefthanded bat to the lineup

3) Freida's Boss- RooRoo McGelboim, Two-Putz O'Brien, Pete Heath, and Byron "The Pig" Emerson lead this rag-tag band of misfits as they do battle for glory in an elite Chicago softball league. Except this league doesn't use the 16-inch Chicago softballs. So it's more like a non-Chicago softball league, although they play all their games in Chicago and all the teams and all the players are from Chicago.
Founder and player-manager Emerson is well-known as a stern disciplinarian; it is rumored he sodomizes any player that doesn't run out a pop-up. It is also rumored that he sodomizes players that run out pop-ups, so it's sort of tough to get on his good side. Rightfielder McGelboim, deported from Canada last April on charges of felony voyeurism, gets his kicks stealing balls hit to other outfielders. Mike Matos, who suffers from occassional bouts with leprosy, swings roled up semen-stained copies of the Federalist Papers when he's on deck.


And here's a little update on our friend Placido Polanco. Placido has hit .500 (10-20) since he was traded to the Detroit Tigers.

Well that's all I have for now. If anyone has located any more promising North American baseball talent, holler at your boy and I will check it out. I'll give Juan all your best. Beltran you better fill out your will now if you have not done so already. I'm out of this bitch.

McStallen Back! Polanco Freed

Hello everyone, this is McStallen, and What a fine day it is! I am recovering from my wounds and slowly readjusting to life. This latest shooting was probably the worst I endured, and I lost most of my lower intestine and one of my nipples was blown right off. I recognize now that I am older and don't have the strength I once used to possess. I will still write this blog periodically but I have decided to become semi-retired. Many e-mailers have asked what I intend to do with this Ricky Beltran, the two-bit mercenary and failed tropical fish salesman who perpetrated the unsuccessful assassination attempt on my life in the Balkans.

We often talk about vengeance in this business-- is vengeance going to bring my lower intestine back? Or my nipple back? No. I will forgo vengeance on Mr. Beltran. But I have selfish reasons for this. My protege, Juan Boca, will be assuming the lion share of blog-writing and mercenary duties that I onced used to perform. And I'm a superstitious man -- and if some unlucky accident should befall him -- if he should get shot in the head by a police officer -- or if he -- should hang himself by the keyboard-- or if he's struck by a bolt of lightning -- then I'm going to blame Mr. Beltran. And that, I do not forgive.
But -- that aside -- let me say that I swear -- on the souls of all those I have killed-- that I will not be the one to break the peace that I have made on this blog today...


Turning to the world of major league baseball, I am pleased to report that Placido Polanco has been freed from the shackles of reserve middle-infield purgatory in Philadelphia and will be given a chance for a new life. Philadelphia's fiendish baseball warden, Ed Wade, has decided to let Placido lead the good life he deserves, dealing him to the Detroit Tigers for Ugie Urbina. An accomplished and versatile player with a knack for moving runners, Mr. Polanco will be able to use the vast expanses of Comerica Park to smack line drives and produce runs. He will also not have to worry about competing with Chase Utley or David Bell, and gets a fresh start with a different fan base. Bravo Placido! Bravo!


Placido Polanco is heading to Detroit!

New Bedside INtreview

Frends alike,
I haf an good news. McStallen haf speaken for first time with public intreviewen on June 7 and i gon publsih transcripten en these pages. Here goe notting:


Scott Wilson: My name is Scott Wilson and I am a fantasy sports writer. I am here live in a secret hospital room in Belgrade where notorious global mercenary and fantasy sports expert McStallen is healing from his wounds. McStallen, How are you?

McStallen: Fine, but the fact I am in this hospital is supposed to be secret. Don't print anything about Belgrade in your article.

Scott Wilson: OK don't worry I'll redact that part. I'd like to wish you a Happy Birthday too. Here's a pint of imported breast milk.

McStallen: Why's it green?

Scott Wilson: Oh don't worry about that. Anyway on to fantasy sports... McStallen I am a big fan and would like to be your personal fantasy assistant.

McStallen: So you say Scott Wilson...You're the guy who has tried to meet with me 57 different times- there ought to be a picture of you in the dictionary under "persistent." So What've you got?

Scott Wilson: I know you had Clint Barmes on alot of your teams, and he fell down the stairs when he was tripping on some pills, and then lied saying he was taking some of Todd Helton's deer meat home. Anyway now you'll have to replace Barmes in your line-up while he spends the next 3 months on the DL. I think you should replace him with Neifi Perez. Nomar is out for a while, and Neifi is batting near the top of the Cubs order and producing an impressive run total coupled with a fine OPS, plus he has an 11-game hitting streak.

McStallen: Perez is a dog, what else you got, sport?

Scott Wilson: Umm...Geoff Blum ...fantasy analysts don't like him. I do. He's filled in well for Mark Loretta and is scoring runs and quite versatile.

McStallen: Not bad for a spot-starter, but a dog with different fleas. Come on, tell me something I don't know. It's my birthday...

Scott Wilson: uh..Orlando Cabrera- lots of potential but many owners got disgusted with his poor play early this season and cut him. He's worth taking a chance on...

McStallen: The public is out there throwing darts at a board, sport. I don't throw darts at a board. I only bet on sure things. Read Sun Tzu's "The Art of War." 'Every battle is won before it is ever fought.' Think about it.

Scott Wilson: Umm...Damion Easley...everyone gave up on him 7-8 years ago, but he has found himself again in Florida and hit 6 homers in the last 30 days. He can play every position in the infield except catcher!

McStallen: You're not as smart as I thought you were, sport. Listen hard --
Ever wonder why those fantasy writers can't even win their own leagues? Because they're sheep -- and sheep get slaughtered. I've been doing fantasy baseball since '83, back when names like Ben Oglivie, Butt-Pumper Smith and Gorman Thomas meant something. Most of these high paid Ivy League fantasy writers don't amount to dog shit. Give me poor, smart and hungry- And no feelings. You don't win 'em all, but you keep on fighting, and if you need a friend, get a dog. It's trench warfare out here buddy boy. I got twenty other fantasy assistants, analyzing charts. I don't need another one. Get out of my sight before I whack you with my cane.

Scott Wilson: Andy Marte!

McStallen: What? Andy Marte- I've heard the name from somewhere...

Scott Wilson: Top thirdbase prospect for the Braves.

McStallen: I don't like Braves prospects...lousy recent history. And I don't need another third baseman, I have Adrian Beltre and Dallas McPherson. And the Braves will probably convert Marte to outfielder anyway.

Scott Wilson: No Mr. McStallen- Marte will play a little middle infield when Jones gets off the DL. Even Giles, Betemit and Furcal don't know that.

McStallen: Well, How do you know?

Scott Wilson: I just...I just know.

McStallen: Interesting...Scott Wilson do you have a number?

Scott Wilson: Here's my card. You could also just page Edgar.

McStallen: Well Scott Wilson I consider 100 free agent transactions a day, and I choose one. I may be in touch, and thanks for the green breast milk.

Scott Wilson: OK Mr. McStallen. Thanks for not shooting at me. I'll see you later.



clint barnes hurten down the stares

my pleasure,
Juan Boca

LAtes updike

Frends an readers alike,

congraulations on readen my lates updike an the good news it cuntanes. firstly, i haf ridden of the robber donut and i can sitten on ground nowadays. on the second, mcstallen is walken without the crcuh an he says he will rite the nex post but that eye can keep riten sumtimes becawse my englis is geten more better.

mcstallen is goen to molly to be honoured at a mercenary convenshun. he thinks he will get award for accomplished acheevements. he come back froum chad and then do the righten agains. hoap fully we haf pictures of convenshun in next posten

rodrigo has to starten wrestlnig camp in poconose mountain an i am tren to go an vizit when i can find the poconose on the map . i wantes go to camp an cheer rodrigo on buy the yellen go rodrigo go rodrigo go rodrigo go vamanos

as for the work to be doen myself, wel i can esplain them work to ju. i am trabbled to alergies to meet with alergian guvernmen about security trainen for forces in north africa. this is pritty safe job becawse they don have to much troubl in alergies times in the recent anyway. the frenches was en troubl in 1960s after they had to leaf indochina [veeyetnom now] becawse in dienbienfu in 1954 agains vietmin they losen and then they allergies kicked them outwen right in the 60s. an now the frenches don have nothing, not even french economys is good becawse all french's worken 30 howres a week and taken 15 weeks of vacashun a year so not alot of work geting done by them lazy frenches. but don tell them that becawse tay are prowd and deloushunal an haf lossed the tuch with realitor. an now sr. chicekn comes home to ruest becawse thay make euro but now no can compeat wit chepe labor in easern uripe like the checks an the slobs. ah the free markut is the bad four the frenchen. an i say theay can shuv the aerobus up the butt. this is family blog. i shudn have said that. lo siento. but ju get my driff
oh an now other man (se llama Marc) rite blog hisself and i lincoln it as a favour

my pleasure,
Juan Boca