Letters To Lady Brett Ashley

As I await my Pulitzer for writing the Definitive Guide to the Life and Times of Pedro Martinez the praise keeps pouring in.

It’s always some variation of “You’re so great, Brian! You’re so smart and funny and handsome! Why don’t you write for Barstool?”

First, let me say thank you for your kindness. I’m truly blessed.

Second, why don’t I write for Barstool?

Really?

That’s a tough one, but I’ll take a shot:

So I was (obviously) sitting front row behind the Sox dugout when they retired Pedro’s number last week.

El Pres was at the game, too.

He was sitting two rows behind me, but I’m sure he still had an all right view.

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(That’s me in the bottom left corner waving back to my boyhood idol after he turned around, made eye contact, waved, told me he loved me, and thanked me for everything.

If you look closely you can see Portnoy–two rows back and to my right.

How I got better tickets to this game than an Internet mogul explains how unexplainable the world is.)

Then, just a week later, we had El Pres in studio at EEI.

Clearly cosmic forces are doing everything they can to bring us together.

However, while I’ve had every opportunity to talk to him, I haven’t so much as made eye contact with the guy.

Why?

Because I don’t have what it takes to be a smut peddler.

NOW, I don’t say that to take some moral high road.

They’re easy targets given their very nature, but there’s a shitload of talent over at Barstool.

It’s a particular skill set and they execute it better than anyone in the game, and while I don’t have their skills it’s pretty to think so.

With that in mind, here’s to what is and what should never be–my take on one of my favorite Barstool features written in classic Stoolie style:

Marry Fuck Kill – Maple Syrup

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Mrs.-Butterworths-Syrup

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I’m hesitant on the marriage because the Vermont Maid could easily be 12 years old. She’d have to produce some papers, but at the end of the day I’ve had nothing but good experiences with Vermont girls. They’re an underrated, genuine, down to earth lot–pretty much the exact opposite of every girl you’ve ever met from Connecticut.

I’ll defer to Lupe when it comes to why I’d fuck Mrs. Butterworth:

Let’s slow it down like we’re on the syrup / Bottle shaped body like Mrs. Butterworth

That right there says more than I ever could.

Killing Aunt Jemima wouldn’t be easy because the woman makes a tasty syrup.

However, while this is the syrup edition of MFK, I can’t get past her pancake mix.

It’s capricious and arbitrary.

Aunt Jemima has a lot to learn about pancakes, and I can’t be with someone if I don’t respect what they do.

Marry – The Vermont Maid

Fuck – Mrs. Butterworth

Kill – Aunt Jemima

P.S.

Does this make me racist?

P.P.S.

Don’t answer that.

 

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