Tennis teams -- Pendejos


Just when I thought it was impossible for people to change, the biggest Pussy I have known, jumps off the list, and a whole new crew may be headed for pussification.

I started this mess when I sent a serious note to my USTA tennis team. My job trains health coaches, and our new coaches needed practice. The most fucked up (but barely functional) people I know play tennis — setting up a match is like watching 8 monkeys fucking a football — That’s them. So I email an invite.

Despite a perfectly clear and serious invitation that started off with a little humor, most of them treated the whole thing like a joke.

“I just didn’t understand it,” says the one in charge of teaching our youth how to read and write… But he wasn’t alone on the maybe-this-is -a joke train. There was a whole car full of idiots with the same kind of dumbshit questions.

But not everyone was riding in the idiot car.

First one to volunteer and fill out the forms is Tamal. He doesn’t pester me with a 1000 questions, he doesn’t demand a free lunch or beer, or that I show up (like Larry Ward, for fuck’s sakes).

Tamal just shows up. So a big thank you to Tamal. He is off the Pussy list (for now — mixed season is coming up and I’m sure you will find your way back to pussydom.)

Terry, the penis pump king, also pops up and gets “coached.” Terry didn’t bother to read the full official invite and missed the free breakfast, but that was a hell of a lot better than the rest of you shitheads.

Angry Ed called and emailed, but picked USTA tennis match over coaching. I can respect that.

Despite numerous invites and promises of “I’d like to do that,” Marco was a no show for the 3rd year in a row. No tennis excuses, no communication. You might just be a pussy, Marco.

And that goes for a bunch of you who said “sounds good” to my face, but did nothing.

If I’m ever going to learn how to abuse the miniscule power that typing out this bullshit gives me over my 5 readers (I’m up 2 this week), it will be to drag your sorry asses out of the third world racquet club and into the human race.

Don Quixote had his windmills, and I’ve got the FUSTAs.

Next I’m going to tilt at the pendejos on the WhatsApp list. You want to talk about fucked up — I don’t have the time or energy to take on that group in this rant.

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