Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Naval lint

The oceans are full of sailed ships.

You, 61° in Cleveland on January 30th, I hope you die of heat stroke.

Doing the right thing can be incredibly unfulfilling.

Each time I think I might want to make an actual friend, I thankfully remember that people are terribly overrated.

Responsibility [and X-Files reruns] keeps me from being a woodland hermit.

This post was paragraph after paragraph, surprisingly poetic -- not grandiloquent and moving, more easy flow rhyme-ish shit never there during actual tries.

Ergo, should turn discards into verse, or chuck this writing gig altogether.

Hey look, a shiny thing.

Monday, January 28, 2013



Friday, January 18, 2013

You sunk my battleship

Why do I do this to myself?  

San Francisco @ Atlanta: Kaepernick is Dutch for wizard. In other observations, Dom Capers (51 points allowed in 2009, 37 in 2011, and 45 in 2012) is a master hypnotist, and the over/under is two years before Young Colin becomes friends with Dr. James Andrews. Because Mike Nolan won't simply squeak "go get 'im, boys" like an aforementioned doofus, Niners 34-31.

The Fucking Ravens @ The Fucking Patriots: Browns fans, might as well jump -- no, the other kind -- 'cause corporate naming rights will pay for a new executive suite coach in three years. As concerns this game, [SPOILER ALERT] since The Fucking Giants won't be in the bowl, well, you see where I'm going with this but, more importantly, for the first time in ages [read: February 2011], I'll have at least a mild rooting interest in two weeks. The Fucking Patriots 31-23.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Hell is other semesters

No fucking wall so the stupid public can stare while I sit at my desk is one very annoying gig, but a fucking presentation, too? The third thing is icing on the poison cake. Eat it, eat it, don't you make me repeat it.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Going through the illegal motions

Obligatory 25 Years Ago We Didn't Suck gig.

The Fucking Ravens @ The Fucking Broncos: I hate you both. I'm going for a walk. The better team, the better Manning 31-17.

Green Bay @ San Francisco: Smith's less Justin and more Granny thanks to trench arm, which affects everyone. As for thee, cheesy grasshoppers, balance. The game's best downfield chucker will appreciate it. Packers 31-27.

Seattle @ Atlanta: Curious to see if the Falcons become the latest team to lose to the eventual Shiny Thing champs for a third straight year; Buffy researching tells me it's happened more than ye think. After confabbing with a bunch of scienticians, grunge is better than crunk, Beast Mode outgains Ole' Washed-Up Turner, and a third thing. Seahawks 26-24.

Planet Hooston @ The Fucking Patriots: Via the auncient art of castling, channel this to your teammates, Meister Watt, and mayhap thou can keep it within a touchdown. Bonne chance. The Fucking Patriots 34-20.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Friday, January 4, 2013

Mo' better blues

Of course I'm going to bring up that once upon a time we didn't suck. 

Exhibit A: lost 4 of their last 6, by counts of 39-27, 48-20, 35-14, and 47-7.

Exhibit B: lost their last three, two of them at home.

Exhibit A is the 2008 Cardinals, coming within a Roethlisberger bullseye or a The Fucking Harrison pick-sixer [reader's choice] of hoisting a shiny thing. Exhibit B is the the 2009 Saints before they hoisted a shiny thing. Momentum, like running to set up the pass, is as worthless as Joe Morgan's brain. Have more talent than the other chumps, don't turf the ball, and roll eight the hard way. 'tis a simple game.

The Fucking Bengals @ Planet Hooston: Cincinnati's won 7 of 8 whilst the Oilers Texans [damn, I miss Tecmo Super Bowl run n' shoot Warren Moon] have resembled the Browns of late, current, and early, but since that means Jack Frost Giant, pay attention, it comes down to a game of whom do you trust, Doolin' Dalton or the death-spiraling Matt Schaub? I'll take door number three, Monty. Hey, J.J. Watt! Texans 24-17.

Adrian Peterson @ Green Bay: Repeat after me, to the tune of Lollipop Guild  ♪ this is a quarterback's league ♫ and ponder that it's up to Ponder. If he had had one of his trademark 15-of-33 clusterfucks, Lovie Smith would still have a job. The truly transcendent aside, running backs are a dime a baker's dozen, Yo! Adrian's the former, but Christian's still gotta keep the apostasy on the back crucifix. Ain't gonna. Packers 31-24.

Night Moves @ The Fucking Ravens: Chuck Pagano giving leukemia the bird notwithstanding, a pox upon both these blights upon a sporting reality that never existed. Andrew Luck's good but, like his team, lucky, and as of this moment, not as impressive as Russell Wilson, see below. Lest ye think I come not to praise but bury Indy after dragging its corpse up and down the boulevard, six out of the last seven playoff teams that were outscored by 30 or more in the regular season won their first game, and the one that didn't was playing one of the other six, i.e. because why not march behind completely baseless trends involving laundry from decades ago. Furthermore, half of Baltimore's defense is torn and frayed, but because Harbaugh the Elder ought to be smart enough to ignore all this Yay! Quarterback shit and run Ray Rice 45 times against the sieve that gave up a century mark to Peyton Hillis, Ravens 27-17.

Seattle @ Washington: Russell Wilson. Caveat the first: none of these are adjusted for era. Thus, Dan Marino doesn't get the benefit of the 7,963 rule changes since yesterday to assist the offense and would still own his once-sick marks. Caveat the second: RGIII is a man among men, but tossing against the styrofoam of the NFC East isn't quite the iron gauntlet Our Man Flint had to deal with. That and a corner tandem that harkens back to a certain pair of Browns, the choice is sorta clear, even if their twee threads make me wish I was blind. Seahawks 23-16.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

365 364 more days of the same old crap

"Are you open on Saturday?"

It's the little things. And it's the big things that counter them through a sledgehammer attack so surreptitious that you don't realize until after the fact that you've spent gobs of Time Oodles picking up powdered shards and put them back together, malformed like a post-Krazy Glue Humpty. Dance? Not even in the Burger King bathroom. Any further cusp-of-grunge requests? No?

Aw yiss.

Plus I've got that shiny new abstract bauble to distract for awhile.

The new year's already an improvement, though the day is young(ish).