Hello, Dean? You're a stupid head!

Since we remain tangentially on the subject of den Vinteren død,

that black streak bisecting the screen? A clear road. Je sais, je sais, low-hanging seed pods, but I don't host the most thought-provoking site 'round town.

Now, onto vastly more important things.

Let's pretend the season stopped there.

& that the last dozen never started? Anyway, a quarter of a century ago, & I still have my ticket stub. Hibernating in the past doesn't bother me save when it comes to this bloody arena. 5-11s & 4-12s should be rendered unto McKay. 

New Orleans @ San Francisco: The most brick-meet-head bit about these irresistibles vs. immovables is the reheated rehash browns (the other kind, though that might explain some things), of defense + running = victory parades from too many talking hairpieces. Even Phil Anselmo knows NOLA is Barcelona, pass, pass, pass, ZOMG Nawlins only nabs 27/game on the road contra 41/dome. That's still a prorated 436 points, you dumb fucks. Saints 27-20.

The Fucking Broncos @ The Fucking Patriots: 20/20 isn't always hindsight. Safeties sprinting into the box & sprinting back out @snap had more than one pal cranial scratching, if I had any pals. Sure, Tebowmania makes Zombie Al Davis proud, but mad bomber redux won't be enough 'cause Champ-no-more & The Chopped Livers will be joining Ike Taylor on the march to Madame Le Guillotine. The Fucking Patriots 38-24.

Planet Hooston @ The Fucking Ravens: If, if, if. Not you, Columbus. If Schaub, Then Win. Rowdy Yates isn't Clint, nor very rowdy, but doesn't need to be. What needs to be for the home side is the hope that the Good Fu Manchu shows up. I hope not, but know better. The Fucking Ravens 20-13.

The Fucking Giants @ Green Bay: Number 4 has retired from retiring, so stow away your oh-seven delusions, you arrogant fucking burg, there won't be any ill-timed wounded ducks littering the winter Wisconsin skies. Packers 31-19.

Who is driving? Oh my God, bear is driving! How can that be? A Play In One-Half Act

Characters
Miss Prunella Vulgaris, The Duchess of Hammer-on-Dulcimer, esteemed member of the Peonage
Juan, The Earl of Valdez, less esteemed member of the Peonage
Bear, bait and loveable ursine scamp
Snowpocalypse, noted archfiend

Library, interior, nighttime. SNOWPOCALYPSE's Artificial Contraption of Contrapuntal Precipitation has trapped DUCHESS and EARL in a Doppler Spiral of Infernal Immobility.

EARL: What a gaff. I feel like I'm in a bad episode of Placeholder Place.

DUCHESS: But you repeat yourself.

EARL: 'tis another snow job, 'tis.

SNOWPOCALYPSE:  I snow what you mean.

DUCHESS and EARL: Snowpocalypse! You hold a candle to the devil!

SNOWPOCALYPSE: I know you are. But what am I.

Snow continues to fall.

EARL: You won't get away with th -- hey!

DUCHESS: Are you two alright?

EARL: Where's the fucking stage manager? Fake snow, dumbass, fake! It's hot as fuck in here, this is gonna melt and now I smudged my makeup. Wardrobe!

SNOWPOCALYPSE: Erm, should I stay in character?

DUCHESS: Shhh! The audience can hear you!

SNOWPOCALYPSE: What audience?

DUCHESS: Good point. Anyway, to wrap this up, Bear stopped toking long enough to drive his super off-road dayglo horse-drawn carriage through the drifts to save the Peonage, keeping the world safe for the noble pursuit of book learning. Bravo.

SNOWPOCALYPSE: We're still getting paid, right?

DUCHESS rolls her eyes as SNOWPOCALYPSE shakes his fist towards the heavens in a combination of haughty hubris and ash-in-mouth defeat like all supervillains do after finding out there's no cold cut tray backstage.

fin

You stuperous funker

 



Not pictured: the university pretzeldent.

Dear university pretzeldent,

Thank you for waiting until public transportationistas such as yours truly were on the public transportationista wheelie bus literally halfway to work in a raging Blizzard of Perpetual Torment when you decided in your infinite housing voucher to pull the plug for it gave me time to fortify myself with a second bowl of Wheaties in order to successfully shovel the eight inches of snow on my driveway uphill in my bare feet.

With kindest unregards,

Randal

P.S. I wouldn't have done any work anyway & if one couples that with my propensity to nein-smile, why not just permit me to slack at home whilst still collecting a paycheck, not all that different from you in fact I think I'm going to go after your job. Any tips on where to pick up one of those plastic spouse dolls, I want to really look the part.

Winter what-the-fuck-land

Such a fimbulvetr* that even we closed yesterday & we never close, & during finals week of all epochs -- Invasion of the Thought Snatchers! Pod people say the worstest is that the sequel to Customer Service Training Day was missed! Gasp! -- & now those poor shlubs gotta schlep on down next week to get their makeup on.

Squirrel, you have got the brass.

Kitchen window art.

Imagine how pretty that would look in the hands of a real photographer.

*it wasn't that bad, but apparently, certain people are currently shocked that it gets cold & snowy & icy in Cleveland in December. With that said, if you've got a job that won't can your ass for being late -- comical these days, I know -- make sure you're late. Don't leave an hour early, an hour of your time, for the sole benefit of The Man.