Celebrating the Birth of Our Nation
Tthe cubs lost in 12 innings today. take. is it stranger that they keep shitting the bed, or that i keep thinking that they won't?
-i had on my awesome mark prior team usa jersey. prior wore 26 as an amateur, but when he was drafted by the cubs, he changed to 22 because hall-of-famer billy williams was 26. so...
i stopped at a convenience store on the way over to bill's, (i was already overserved by that point, but what else is new?)
I turned down bill's street, and a girl and three guys were standing at the corner. one of the dudes says, "hey, cool jersey! but, wait! mark prior's 22, idiot, not 26! you fucked up!" and i said, "he was 26 before he got drafted by the cubs, and then he changed to 22, because of williams." and the guy guffaws and says, "oh yeah? well, you'd be good on the jim rome show! ha ha ha!" then i fired back, "oh yeah? well, you'd be good on a G.M. assembly line." i prepped myself for a punch to the back of the head, but the morons weren't going to try anything. On one hand, it's probably true that they were some menially employed cockbreath, who performs tasks that their companies were either on their way to, or otherwise blocked by unions, performing functions more easily executed by robots. on the other hand, they might not have actually understood what i meant by words i said to them, which actually categorizes them in a category below "about to be supplanted by a few cuts of steel."a If it weren't for labor unions, some work might get done around this country.
i met bill sarkof's son, liam, today. too bad i was too drunk to hold him. (i was all for keeping the kid the fuck away--i wanted to hold him, but i thought it most important to minimize potential danger.) was meeing a peer's offspring a maximum reality check? oh yeah it was, big time. as the sun was setting in the early evening sky on a pleasant sunday afternoon, bill found himeself holding a freakin' baby. Meanwhile, at that exact same moment, I found myself staring blankly at three cups of old style light, trying to form some sort of plan for chugging them in the five minutes before they lock up the stadium. chew on the difference between the thought processes driving those two alternate realities, and you'll understand the abyss into which i stared at this barbeque. though bill is now responsible for the life of a defenseless person, he sure as fuck can't drink a lick anymore, so i guess that i should be ready and will to pick up his slack now that he's dropped the torch.
I think (though i'll never be sure) that i drank a cigarette butt out of a beer bottle in front of bill and kate's place. i have yet to puke; i take this as a good sign considering how crappy i feel. i;d prefer to blame my current state of incoherence is the result of an innocent (and, possibly even imagined) cigarette butt, rather than the twenty to thrirty units of alcohol i consumed at a the cubs game and the barbeque around the corner. what the hell does that say of my current state?
I need a big change, in a hurry. I either need a girlfriend, a new apartment, or to move far away for a while. I need space from the things that are close to me--I know that sounds like crazy-talk, but I'm serious. I'm desperate for a change.
And, I'm sick of the girls here. They ALL have pretty faces and nice boobs, but a three-ton tank-ass. Inform me as to what's going on between March 1 and June 1 that's preventing them from getting their butts into desirable form before it's practically too hot to wear clothes? I love the girls who, on a 90-degree day, will wear blue jeans AND a sweater tied around her waist. The ass-skirt makes thing a whole lot easier from a guy's point of view, let me tell you. They make it infinitely easy to immediately write off a large ass.
-i had on my awesome mark prior team usa jersey. prior wore 26 as an amateur, but when he was drafted by the cubs, he changed to 22 because hall-of-famer billy williams was 26. so...
i stopped at a convenience store on the way over to bill's, (i was already overserved by that point, but what else is new?)
I turned down bill's street, and a girl and three guys were standing at the corner. one of the dudes says, "hey, cool jersey! but, wait! mark prior's 22, idiot, not 26! you fucked up!" and i said, "he was 26 before he got drafted by the cubs, and then he changed to 22, because of williams." and the guy guffaws and says, "oh yeah? well, you'd be good on the jim rome show! ha ha ha!" then i fired back, "oh yeah? well, you'd be good on a G.M. assembly line." i prepped myself for a punch to the back of the head, but the morons weren't going to try anything. On one hand, it's probably true that they were some menially employed cockbreath, who performs tasks that their companies were either on their way to, or otherwise blocked by unions, performing functions more easily executed by robots. on the other hand, they might not have actually understood what i meant by words i said to them, which actually categorizes them in a category below "about to be supplanted by a few cuts of steel."a If it weren't for labor unions, some work might get done around this country.
i met bill sarkof's son, liam, today. too bad i was too drunk to hold him. (i was all for keeping the kid the fuck away--i wanted to hold him, but i thought it most important to minimize potential danger.) was meeing a peer's offspring a maximum reality check? oh yeah it was, big time. as the sun was setting in the early evening sky on a pleasant sunday afternoon, bill found himeself holding a freakin' baby. Meanwhile, at that exact same moment, I found myself staring blankly at three cups of old style light, trying to form some sort of plan for chugging them in the five minutes before they lock up the stadium. chew on the difference between the thought processes driving those two alternate realities, and you'll understand the abyss into which i stared at this barbeque. though bill is now responsible for the life of a defenseless person, he sure as fuck can't drink a lick anymore, so i guess that i should be ready and will to pick up his slack now that he's dropped the torch.
I think (though i'll never be sure) that i drank a cigarette butt out of a beer bottle in front of bill and kate's place. i have yet to puke; i take this as a good sign considering how crappy i feel. i;d prefer to blame my current state of incoherence is the result of an innocent (and, possibly even imagined) cigarette butt, rather than the twenty to thrirty units of alcohol i consumed at a the cubs game and the barbeque around the corner. what the hell does that say of my current state?
I need a big change, in a hurry. I either need a girlfriend, a new apartment, or to move far away for a while. I need space from the things that are close to me--I know that sounds like crazy-talk, but I'm serious. I'm desperate for a change.
And, I'm sick of the girls here. They ALL have pretty faces and nice boobs, but a three-ton tank-ass. Inform me as to what's going on between March 1 and June 1 that's preventing them from getting their butts into desirable form before it's practically too hot to wear clothes? I love the girls who, on a 90-degree day, will wear blue jeans AND a sweater tied around her waist. The ass-skirt makes thing a whole lot easier from a guy's point of view, let me tell you. They make it infinitely easy to immediately write off a large ass.
posted by Pat at 2:10 AM
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