I only know two things in this world: Garbage is delicious and Ruben Amaro Jr. is the worst

Snickers the possum.

Snickers the possum.

Hey! Yes, it’s me, Snickers the possum. Ridiculous name for a possum, I know, but my mother was a touch rabid when I was born and she started to name us after pieces of trash she found on the ground in a virus laden haze. I don’t know for certain why she named me this, but if there is one thing I do know for certain, it is that Ruben Amaro Jr. is the worst general manager the Phillies have ever seen.

I’m currently living in a garbage can on Maple Avenue and life is good. I’m less parasite ridden than I have been in years, the Smiths have been throwing out some fantastic garbage lately and my tail is nice and shiny. Things are really going my way, unlike the Phillies, who have been led down a pig sty by that joke of an owner Amaro Jr.

Did I mention I’m a possum? I know literally nothing about this world other than eating, screwing and sleeping, but somehow even I know Ruben Amaro Jr. should never have signed Ryan Howard to a $150 million contract. I don’t even know who Ryan Howard is, but I know that was a terrible idea.

It’s instinct I suppose. Can I explain to you how I use my tail to hang from a tree? I can’t. Can I explain to you why he kept trying to win with an aging roster and ruined any and all trade value for Cole Hamels? I just can’t, but I know it’s true.

I’m a possum. I do only a few things well. I play dead with the best of them, my teeth are sharp little razors and I know a loser when I see one, and let me tell you, Ruben Amaro Jr. is a big fat loser.

I don’t like the daytime, I don’t like cars, and I have no idea why the dog down the street keeps chasing me when I come out at night for a little feast of old baby diapers…but I do know the Phillies are terrible and Ruben Amaro Jr. should have been fired years ago.

You know I’m right. So instead of swatting at me with an old broom when I try to crawl through your open window at night to explore that strange place you live in, perhaps welcome me in with open arms instead. You’d rather a possum lived in your home than have to spend one more day alive in a world where Ruben Amaro Jr. is in charge of your favorite baseball team.

Now if you excuse me, I need to go hiss menacingly at a cute little girl getting too close to my garbage can.

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