Everybody knows him, but no one knows his name. He is known only as the kid. His face has shown up on countless blogs and messages boards for over four years. Ladies and gentleman, Hugging Harold Reynolds presents and exclusive interview with....the middle finger kid.
HHR: So, first question. You are somewhat of a celebrity on the Internet. How has this.....
KID: OK HOLD ON. I gotta say something first.
HHR: oh sorry, I didn't...well go ahead...
KID: FIRST AND FOREMOST, I AM A YANKEES FAN...I ain't no Sox fan, no Ohio State fan. My mom paid GOOD FUCKING MONEY for that jacket and you Internet assholes with your photoshop went and screwed with my jacket.
HHR: Ok, fair enough. So, back to the question. How has this picture changed your life.
KID: It's been terrible. Everywhere I go it's 'hey, its the middle finger kid' or 'hey, give us the finger little guy.' And they all think they are the first one to ask me or recognize me.
HHR: Yeah, thats got to get to you a little. So, take us back to that day, what was happening at that moment.
KID: It was a beautiful day at the Stadium. The sun was shining. The subways were all running on time. Sox and Yankees. My dad was only 2 beers deep so he hadn't passed out or called me a mistake yet. We got to the ballpark early to get into Monument Park but the line was a friggin mile long from all those douche-bag Jersey wanna-be New Yorkers taking their sweet ass time and snapping 18 digital pictures of Babe Ruth's fat head...
HHR: Vivid picture, continue....
KID: We made our way to the third base side to sit down because when the game started some prick was gonna come and take our seats away and explain our seats were in the 400 section. We are on the visitors side and those homo Sox come out for warm-up. I am not really paying attention because this little broad with a tight ass Hannah Montana cut-off shimmies into the row next to us. She came from money, I could smell it. So I am staring at her, throwing her the vibe, and I don't even notice that chooch Man-Ram come trotting out into left field to warm up his arm worse than my sisters. My father notices I ain't paying attention and he tattoos a fresh one on the side of my face that I still feel every time I take a warm shower.
HHR: That's not face paint?
KID: Face paint? I wish. Then at least it would be the same shade as my ass for not getting him a free Jeter t-shirt at that outside stand while he got the guys attention.
KID: Anyway, after I come to, I see Manny and I am like 'Fuck you you fucking douche bag no talent prick. Go fake an injury you dumb homo.'
HHR: And where did you learn all this talk from? Your parents?
KID: Are you half an idiot? School of course. My parents. Thats funny.
HHR: Ok, well we've discussed the past, let's talk future. What's in store in 2008 for middle-finger kid.
KID: Well, I have a big spelling test this week, and then spring training starts in a couple weeks. My dad made some cash off a fake injury claim at work so we might be hitting a couple more games this season.
HHR: Well, that's great. That should wrap it up for us. Anything you want to say to all the readers.
KID: Yeah, ugh, LET'S GO YANKEES, RED SOX SUCK, 18-1 you shitheads. See you in April.