Julio Lugo, I wrote you a poem, you piece of crap

Julio Lugo stinks
He makes me want to drink
A bottle of ink...
Or a beer

Or six
Or, one for every error
He's a terror on my liver
And probably yours too!

He's number twenty-three
That's one for every E
He'll make in April, May and June

And July through October
I'd like to have him over
To ask him what he's swinging at
(That thing you have? It's a BAT!
Use it! Hit the freaking ball!)

I think I speak for all
Including our pal Ben
When I say "Good riddance!"
But he's signed through twenty ten!

What the F to do?
Ah, who am I kidding?
I can't complain
But since I've gone this far
I might as well say it:

Bring back Nomar!