In Apricot's Killfile

In Apricot's Killfile

You'll find me in the game threads or
Perhaps the DLD
I'm shooting for a certain kind
Of notoriety.

It's not that I'm a bad guy, see,
Just look at my chill smile
It's only that I want to be
In Apricot's killfile.

In inning one, the A's are down
It's time to shout, "GAME OVER!"
I hardly need statistics, guys,
To prove it. Hear that, grover!?

And though you all are seeing red
It's not just my ill style.
I simply want to make my bed
In Apricot's killfile.

And in the third, the A's ahead
By just a run, you schmucks,
We yield a two-out single
And I let you know "THIS SUCKS!"

Although sometimes it's hit or miss
When spewing my shrill bile,
I'm merely searching for the bliss
Of Apricot's killfile.

It's now the sixth, we blow the lead
I'm screaming, "Haren! How?!
We shoulda pulled the pitcher!"
Time to "FIRE GEREN NOW!!!!!!"

I know there's one amenity
In comments that will rile--
That certain sweet serenity
Of Apricot's killfile.

If I insult throughout the game
It's not with acrimony.
The place I seek is loftier
The digs I want are tony.

I'll don my Yankee getup and
Spout expletives still vile
'Cause I want the swanky setup
In Apricot's killfile.

The final frame we tie; then win
And AN runs amok!
And I'm the only one who posts
A disappointed "F*%&!"

'Cause though we might've been the best
I'll turn up the swill dial
Still hoping that I'll get some rest
In Apricot's killfile.

Now you know the situation so
No need for enmity.
Here's an open invitation:
Be a game thread jerk like me.

Let's think up something nasty
That together we'll revile,
And all of you can join me then
In Apricot's killfile.
In Apricot's killfile.