Since it’s still baseball season, we figured you’d want to see what the future of such a sport might hold for us if misogyny and drug abuse were to go unchecked. Enjoy.

MUFFBALL MORVA AND THE ULTRAVIOLENT STEROIDS LEAGUE

The one-eyed pitcher Morva Gagglegulch smiles and sticks her hand down her pants. She pulls it out and raises a wad of blood and muck. The crowd—forty thousand deadbeats, dirtbags, and sociopaths strong—chants “MUFF-BALL, MUFF-BALL.” At least one-third of them shakes the flowering branches of the morva redcoil tree. 

Kaboom Thorncock, his sleeveless jersey displaying a steroids-enhanced arm with more crags and valleys than Paul Bunyan’s first poop of the morning, holds his bat by his crotch and thrusts his hips forward. His voice grinds through the speakers in Juiced Park. “You know what a socket-cockit is, Morva Gagonmyjunk? It’s when a guy fucks a blind bitch’s eye socket. That’s what I’m gonna do to you.”

One of few Penetrators fans shouts “kaaa-BOOOM!” and squirts glowing gel from a tube he holds by his groin. 

Morva smothers her cooter soup over the ball and pushes a knuckle into the patch that covers her missing left eye—the work of Thorncock.

One fan sees himself on the scoreboard screen. He shows his ballbag, which bears a tattoo of the Venging Butchers logo, then bites off the breasts and vagina of a PenetrateWhore doll. The scoreboard also shows that Morva’s Butchers are up two-one over the Penetrators with two out in the bottom of the ninth. The Penetrators have a man on first and the Ultraviolent Steroids League’s most feared slugger at the plate.

Morva feels her back pocket for the Bluemby, a candy whose blue dye causes a severe allergic reaction when she eats it.

Thorncock snorts and kicks dirt with cleats that say “BITCH BLINDERS.” The spikes on his batting gloves glimmer as he jabs his index and middle fingers toward his left eye. “Why you smiling, Morevadge Gagglegulch? Throw it, or I’m gonna come over there and bury my foot in your mound.”

The crowd responds with vulgarities and expulsions. One guy takes off his sock, wipes his butt with it, and yells “Thorncock, eat my sock” before hurling it toward the field.
Morva winds up, then performs her trademark shriek as she releases the ball. Hundreds of cameras flash as the ball, spitting Morva’s crotch sauce, speeds toward Thorncock and drops drastically.

Thorncock yells his patented “kaaa-BOOOM!” and swings for the stadium’s farthest home run torment target—the one that crushes twelve people and sprays their blood on the fans. He misses the pitch by a mile. The Butchers fans go elephant-balls and the morva redcoil flowers jounce in a spasm of scarlet.

But Thorncock does something unexpected: he holds up four fingers and points them at Morva. When most players in the Ultraviolent Steroids League strike out, that’s it. But Thorncock takes beanball option four.

That puts revenge in Muffball Morva’s grasp. So she does what she always does on the diamond: she smiles.

“Muffball Morva and the Ultraviolent Steroids League” is one of twelve short stories available in I WILL CHANGE THE WORLD . . . ONE INESTINE AT A TIME by Douglas J. Ogurek.

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