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I bet you expect me to make some dumb excuse about Thanksgiving, teaching or having lots of work for not posting in what seems like forever. Well, you're wrong.You see, I was driving my little Fit down the road and hit a tree. Right after this happened, everybody in the world found out that I was having sex with 3,234 different women each night. With that in mind, you should realize that I can only text things like, "CU l8er for OMG good stuff. Can I be ur boyfriend? I will wear you out soon" to so many people in one day and still have time to post here.
I hope you guys understand. I mean, it's kind of understandable, right? We only so many hours in a day. Some things have to take precedence, and that includes my many mistresses.
In case you didn't figure it out, I'm actually lying about everything I just wrote. I was trying to make a joke about Tiger Woods. If you haven't heard, he's a professional golfer that likes to have sex with skanky women.
He's famous and married a hot Swedish nanny and the world is currently in the process of acting surprised that a famous dude who married a hot Swedish nanny may like to have sex with women, that he may be superficial. Who would have thunk it?
Seriously, the only thing I find even remotely interesting about this whole story is the idea that none of this would have happened if Tiger could just back out of his driveway without incident. Then nobody would have found out about anything. I mean, that's kind of odd, right?
Oh, and I must admit, I did really enjoy reading the text messages in the Post last week. The whole situation proves he's an ass, but the texts just made him look incredibly stupid. So I'll say it right here: Tiger Woods, you can play golf but you have a brain the size of my big toe. And my big toe is not abnormally large. It's really quite average looking.
Honestly, though, I don't have a great excuse for not posting lately. The holiday made me incredibly busy, so the week before and after were ridiculous. After that, though, I was just in a groove of not posting. Sorry. I promise it won't happen again. Believe me.
I'm sure there have been plenty of fun things I could have posted about over the last month, and now that opportunity is gone. That's what saddens me the most. I saw three great shows over the last week. I find it absolutely amazing how well "The Blind Side" is doing at the box office. I thought I was in the majority whenever I said, "Sandra Bullock can't act." Who knew? I could have talked about all of this at length. Lots of paragraphs.
What else? Well, I'll admit something somewhat embarrassing here. I've always sort of enjoyed fantasy football. I've done it for a few years with my little brother's friends and that's been it. I spend very little time doing it and don't watch that many games. But I've become addicted to fantasy basketball. My friends Harris, Jay and I constantly talk about it; that's really all we talk about at the bar. Anyway, I wanted to get that off my chest.
So, yeah, since I can't go back in time and recommend things, just be ready for Thursday. That's when Eric Bachmann plays Cafe Nine. That's going to be an awesome and huge gig. I'm an excited boy. I'll leave you with a video of his:
3 comments:
Anyone who thinks Tiger juggled 12 mistresses and a wife at the same time all by his lonesome are delusional. I would have a hard enough time juggling ONE other woman aside from my significant other. And this guy had another DOZEN? Obviously, he had a whole coterie of employees responsible for scheduling his time with these fine, upstanding ladies. They are every bit the pea-brained sleazebags that Tiger is. After all, they got PAID to do it.
Well, say what you will about Sandy Bullock, but she can make a pseudo-crappy movie on the cheap that makes beaucoup bucks.
I got to see a screening of Avatar over the weekend. THIS took ten years and over $300M to make? It's every bit as crappy as "Blind Side," only in this one Sandy Bullock, uh - the females are blue. And I don't know about you, but I don't like my women the color of Kool Pops, even if they are really just Zoe Saldana in bad body paint.
P.S. - In my fantasy basketball team, Charles Barkley returns from retirement and helps win each game by eating most of the players on the other team.
Friend...comrade....
I cannot go back in time either.
This is sad.
Because, as a show of Ferrucci solidarity, I tried to watch at least a quarter of that Carrrie Underwood special last week (Dude...it was TWO hours long).
And lemme just say this...if I COULD go back in time...I'd watch Cartoon Network instead.
I mean - this girl IS smoking hot. That hockey guy is one lucky SOB. She seems like a pleasant enough gal. And I can even hear a song of hers on the radio without experiencing what I like to refer to as the "Idol cringe."
HOWEVER...when you have to WATCH this girl sing, well...I don't want to upset you, Pat, but...I SWEAR she's a robot. I mean, we're talking the Stepford Singer. When Carrie sings a happy song, she shows no discernable emotion. When she sings a sad song, nuthin. Angry song? Bupkus. Maybe she wears her hair over her ears because she's a Vulcan (albeit a really HOT Vulcan). Anyway, after about 20 minutes of that far-off, emotionless gaze on her face, I got creeped out, and had to switch to something that made me feel good about myself (I think it was "The Biggest Loser" - I always say to myself - sure I'm a loser - but I'm not THAT big a loser...)
Anyhow, if one day you realize your dream and meet Ms. Underwood, I have but one suggestion - make sure you're wearing a grounding strap before you shake her hand.
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